‘Yianni, start interviewing the people on His Holiness’ list.’ Andreas looked at the abbot. ‘And, if you have no objection, I’d like to see Vassilis’ room.’
‘Certainly.’ The abbot stood up and nodded goodbye to Kouros. ‘Follow me, please.’
Vassilis’ cell was in a whitewashed building by a pebble and stone courtyard filled with flowers. The building stood on the south side of the monastery and, if his cell had a window on the outside wall, enjoyed a terrific view of the valley below. What Andreas first noticed was the silence. Only birds disturbed the mood.
‘His room is at the far end.’ The abbot pointed. ‘It’s the one with the table in front.’ A photograph of a young, smiling monk sat next to a single white lily on a tiny, square-top table. ‘As soon as I heard, I gave instructions for no one to enter Vassilis’ room until the police said it was allowed. We needed nothing from his room to prepare him.’
‘What time did you learn about the murder?’
‘A little before three-thirty this morning.’
‘Did the police find anything in his room?’
‘They haven’t asked to see it.’
Figured. ‘Has anyone been inside?’
The abbot looked at the door and pointed to a bit of wax running from above the lock onto the frame. ‘No, my seal is still on the door.’
‘Open it, please.’
Inside was not what Andreas expected, and from the abbot’s gasp, nor had he. The place was a mess. Books tossed everywhere in a way suggesting they’d been skimmed before discarded, a mattress sliced to pieces, every drawer emptied, contents scattered across the floor.
‘Jesus — sorry,’ said Andreas.
‘I was thinking the same thing.’ The abbot shook his head. ‘How could someone get in without disturbing my seal?’
Andreas didn’t answer right away. He stood studying the mess. ‘What’s missing?’
‘I have no way of knowing.’
‘Think hard. Think about the man, think about his life, think about what he valued, what he used. It might help you to remember something.’
The abbot stared at the floor, then at the bed, and finally at the desk. ‘No, I’m sorry, he treasured his cross, it belonged to his grandfather, but other than that I can’t — wait a minute. Why, of course! His computer! It’s gone.’ The abbot looked around again at the mess. ‘All his disks are gone, too. He loved his laptop. It was his pride and joy. We presented it to him last year as a gift in honor of his fortieth year with us.’
‘Are you sure no one else but you had access to your seal?’
‘Positive. It is from this ring.’ He thrust out his right hand. ‘And it never leaves my finger.’
Andreas nodded. ‘I was afraid you’d say that. Otherwise it would be all too simple.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Since no one could have entered after you sealed the room, someone had to get in before you arrived. No way they got in through that window.’ Andreas pointed. ‘It’s still locked shut and must be forty feet from the ground. Unless this is one of the great coincidences of all time, where a man’s room is ransacked and his life taken in the same night in unrelated incidents, I’d say if we find who did this we find who murdered him.’ Andreas paused. ‘Unless, of course, you or one of his fellow monks did this after learning he was dead and before you sealed it.’
‘I was the first to learn of his death. And the room was sealed within minutes after that. As for my being the likely computer thief, Vassilis used a PC. I’m a Mac man.’ The abbot smiled.
Andreas nodded with a grin. ‘Fair enough. That leaves us with whoever killed him doing this either before the murder or in the thirty to sixty minutes between the time of death and when you sealed the room.’
‘What sort of person would murder and rob a man of God, then come into his room and steal yet more from him? Heaven help us.’
Andreas didn’t give the answer he was thinking: someone willing to take one hell of a risk — like a professional killer not finding what was wanted on the victim, or making damn sure no one else found anything. ‘Any chance of computer backup for what was taken?’
‘We have a very elaborate backup system here, what with all the information we must protect in our library, but the work Vassilis did on his laptop he considered personal and much of it never made it onto our system.’
‘What do you mean by “personal?”’
The abbot smiled, as if reminiscing. ‘Vassilis didn’t like the idea of his every thought becoming part of what he called the “information universe” before giving serious reflection to whether what he offered would help or hurt the purpose for which he lived. He worked offline from our network on those sorts of things until he had something he thought worthy to share.’
Nothing’s easy, thought Andreas. ‘Can you get me what you have of his on your backup?’
‘Certainly.’
Andreas bent down and picked up a plastic wrapper with three ten-by-twelve manila envelopes inside. They were unused. He looked around and picked up six more, all unused. ‘Where’s the tenth?’
‘Pardon?’
‘The packaging says “ten envelopes,” but I only see nine, and they’re unused.’
The two men scoured the room but found nothing.
‘Come to think of it, I remember passing Vassilis on his way back to the monastery yesterday afternoon. He was carrying a plastic shopping bag. The envelopes may have been in it.’
‘Do you remember a name on the bag?’
‘No, but he would have purchased them at Biblio, a shop just off the town square…’ The abbot’s words faded off at the mention of the square.
‘Thanks. I think I’ll give my partner a hand with the interviews.’ Andreas paused. ‘I’m sincere about the thanks. I know this must be very tough for you.’
The abbot nodded. ‘You have no idea how much Vassilis meant to this monastery. Not only was he a true man of God, he was a mentor to us all. He wanted nothing of higher rank, yet there was no one above him in the Church of Greece who did not treasure his judgment as if he were a peer. He was their genuine friend and a trusted, respected confidant.’
Andreas caught a glint of something in the abbot’s eyes, as if his words had triggered a thought. But the abbot said nothing. He didn’t have to. Andreas said it for him, ‘Perhaps he was too much of a “confidant.”’
The abbot stared off into the middle distance. ‘God help us if that’s the answer.’
Andreas nodded. ‘Amen.’
4
It was nearly sundown by the time they finished interviewing those they could find on the abbot’s list. A few visiting monks were out wandering about the island. The abbot said he would arrange for them to be available in the morning. Dozens of interviews had yielded two things: a mound of praise for a revered man, and zero leads. No one saw the monk leave, knew why he left, or had any idea of who might be involved in his death.
They were standing in the piazza by the monastery’s gift shop. It was closed and the piazza virtually deserted. ‘No way some local did this,’ said Andreas.
‘Way too professional,’ said Kouros. ‘But why?’
Andreas shrugged. ‘My guess is vengeance or fear. But it had to be a hell of a motive to lead to this.’
‘You think it might be tied to Vassilis’ past, from before he became a monk?’
Andreas shook his head. ‘I doubt it. Can’t imagine whatever drove this taking forty years to come to a head.’
‘Maybe one of the visiting monks noticed something?’