‘Some also say it was a tragic coincidence when the patriarch of Africa, purportedly sent by the Ecumenical Patriarch to check that monastery’s books, perished in a helicopter crash on the way to Mount Athos. Others say some of the monastery’s Eastern European contributors were anxious to remain anonymous.’
Andreas shook his head. ‘You sound like an old Greek sitting around a taverna spinning bits of old news, idle gossip, and off-the-wall speculation into international conspiracy theories. There’s no proof whatsoever for what you’re implying.’
Dimitri picked up his glass and winked. ‘That you know of.’
Andreas looked at Kouros, then back at Dimitri.
‘How’s all that tie into Vassilis’ murder?’
‘Don’t know. But the Russians could have used their big money to burrow so deeply and secretly into that monastery’s infrastructure that even its abbot wouldn’t know what was going on. That would have made it relatively simple to embarrass the whole of Mount Athos by involving one of its oldest and most respected monasteries in a financial scandal and greatly increase the chances of relocating the head of the Eastern Orthodox Church to Russia. With all that’s at stake, I wouldn’t bet against the Russians doing whatever it took to pull it off, including murdering someone who might have figured it out.’
‘Vassilis?’ said Kouros.
‘Enjoy the meze, I’m going to get the fish.’ Dimitri stood up and walked away, taking his glass with him.
‘The man sure as hell knows how to make his exit,’ said Kouros.
‘And his point.’ Andreas drummed his fingers on the top of the table and looked west. ‘You know, if any of what he told us is true, or if he’s working for somebody who’s trying to make us think it’s true, we could be in the middle of some very deep shit.’
‘Located in the middle of a very big minefield.’
‘Blindfolded. I think the time has come to find who put us here.’ Andreas reached for his cell phone.
‘How are we going to do that? The minister sure as hell isn’t going to tell us.’
‘He probably doesn’t even know. My guess is this didn’t pass through normal channels.’
‘So, like I said, how do we find out?’
Andreas dialed and waited. ‘Hi, it’s me. We need to meet and talk about how you can help with a big surprise party.’ He hung up. ‘Answering machine.’
Kouros said, ‘I hate the way we have to use cell phones these days. Can’t say a damn thing on them directly. You’d think after that scandal over tapping the prime minister’s phone they’d have figured out some way to make them secure.’
Andreas shook his head. ‘If someone has the right sort of equipment there’s virtually no way of preventing him from listening in on cell phones.’ He picked up a piece of cucumber with his fork. ‘And if something at all close to what Dimitri suggested is true…’ he rolled his fork in the air, ‘I don’t even want to think about it.’
Kouros picked up an olive and popped it into his mouth. ‘Why, worried about mind readers?’
Andreas shrugged. ‘That’s all we’d need, but thanks for reminding me. I better call Lila as soon as we get to the hotel.’ He put the fork in his mouth.
‘At least GADA keeps all our landlines secure,’ said Kouros.
‘Let’s hope so. I’d hate to think of someone listening in on your late-night desperate bachelor calls from home.’
Kouros grinned as he picked up another olive. ‘Jealous. So, what’s next?’
‘Looks like barbouni.’ Andreas pointed to Dimitri coming through the door carrying a platter of fried red mullet and a bottle of white wine.
‘Here’s something to get your minds off of business for a while. All that will wait.’
Not really, thought Andreas.
Dinner with Dimitri was an experience. Between the great food, a bit too much wine, and endless bitching about every politician in Greece, Dimitri managed to sneak in a few subtle inquiries on the investigation. Andreas deflected them all, or so he hoped.
After dinner they stopped by the Biblio. Shop owners on tourist islands think like fishermen: if you want to catch anything, you better be there when they’re running. So when tourists were massing on the island, everything stayed open late. This shop was barely wider than its door, but there was no telling how deep it ran, because every bit of space was jammed with open boxes stacked to the ceiling. No one seemed to be inside, although the door was open.
‘Hello, anyone here?’ said Andreas.
A shuffling sound came from somewhere deep within the mess of boxes, and a tiny person popped through what until then seemed just a crack between the cartons. It was a very old woman dressed all in black, with raging, uncombed gray hair, dark bright eyes, and a pencil behind her ear. She nodded.
‘Hello, I am a policeman investigating the death of Kalogeros Vassilis.’ Andreas took care to address her formally and use the respectful title for a monk. ‘Abbot Christodoulos thought he might have purchased some envelopes here yesterday.’
The old woman nodded yes, and pointed to a carton off to her right, about three feet above her head. He wondered how she reached them.
‘Did he buy anything else?’
She nodded yes.
‘What?’
She nodded toward a display of crosses hanging by lanyards on a pegboard next to the door. ‘One of these?’ He pointed at one of the crosses in the display.
She waved her hand to the left of where Andreas was pointing, and kept waving him to move his finger until it pointed at a silver-colored one on a black lanyard. ‘This one?’ he asked.
She nodded yes. Andreas picked it up. It was square-edged, made of sheet metal, and its longer leg was at most three inches long and one inch wide. A thin, black lanyard passed through a hole at the top of the cross. More of the lanyard material was wrapped tightly around the longer leg just below where it intersected with the shorter one, presumably as a fashion accent for a cheaply made tourist item. It was marked ten euros.
‘Do you know why he bought this one?’
She gestured no.
‘Did he ever buy a cross from you before?’
She gestured no, again.
‘Was he alone?’
She nodded yes.
‘What did he say to you?’
She pointed to the carton of envelopes and crosses, as if that were the extent of the conversation.
‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm him?’
Another no.
Andreas looked at Kouros.
‘ Yaya,’ Kouros called her by the Greek word for grandmother and smiled at her as if she actually were his yaya. ‘Can you think of anything that might help us find who did this to Kalogeros Vassilis?’
The old woman spread her arms wide, turned her palms up, closed her eyes, and shrugged toward the heavens.
They thanked her and walked back to the car. Kouros drove. He said, ‘That was helpful. Wonder if she can speak?’
‘She probably speaks only Greek and is so used to communicating by gestures with tourists who don’t speak her language that she does it with everyone.’
‘Why do you think he bought that cross?’
Andreas shrugged. ‘Add that to our what-the-hell-is-going-on list.’ He stared out the side window at the lights down below in Skala and on the riggings of ships in the harbor. They all fit together quite nicely against a sky alive with stars. ‘I have to call Lila.’
‘Mavros said the hotel’s about five minutes from here.’
At the final right-hand bend on the mountain road back to Skala they headed down a narrow road marked HOTEL THIS WAY. A few blocks later they stopped in front of a white, three-story stucco building adorned with concrete slab balconies and the brightly lit sign, HOTEL. It was a style reminiscent of forgettable holidays.
‘Too bad he couldn’t find us anything in Chora,’ said Kouros. ‘He said everything’s booked solid for Easter. This place belongs to his cousin.’