The obvious answer was love. But that would be insanity. Moth-to-the-flame insanity. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at the two men sitting across from her in the train compartment. Yes, insanity.
And it has cost me dearly.
***
By the time the homicide unit arrived from Syros it was nearly noon, giving the sun a chance to re-bake the bloody contents of the house to a deep, gag-inducing stench. Even the coroner retched until he could dab some menthol gel above his upper lip.
“It’s a nasty one, Tassos,” he said.
The man he’d called Tassos held a white handkerchief doused in menthol up to his nose. The two uniformed cops with him did the same. Looking his full sixty years, five foot eight, and unlikely to have missed a meal in many years, Tassos nodded. “Horrible way for Christos to go. Horrible way for anyone.”
The coroner pointed at a white marble statuette of the Greek god Adonis that lay toppled on the floor between Christos and the dog. It was covered in dried blood. “If that’s the weapon, the first blow to his head probably ended it. The rest was rage. I can’t even recognize his face.”
“What about the dog?”
“There’s a fireplace poker close by the poor thing. Looks like that’s what did it in.”
“Do you think one blow took it out, too?”
“Does that matter?” Said the coroner.
“Costas, just answer the question.”
The coroner knelt next to the dog. “The dog was struck more than once.”
“So, either the killer was also pissed off at the dog or had trouble taking it out.”
The coroner nodded. “And if he had trouble, the dog might have gotten a piece of him.”
“Or her. Make sure the boys are careful, there might be more than one human DNA sample in this…” Tassos waved his hand at the floor but didn’t finish his sentence.
“Chief Investigator Stamatos?”
It was a Mykonos police sergeant standing inside the front door.
“Yes?”
“Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but the maid wants to know if she can leave. She has another job to get to and is afraid she’ll be fired if she’s not there on time.”
“Tell her to stay.” Tassos looked at the coroner. “Do you need me?”
“How could I possibly do my job without you staring over my shoulder?”
“That’s what I thought. If you find anything interesting, just yell. I’ll be outside.”
Tassos turned to the two uniformed cops. “The same goes for you. And be careful where you step. We’ve got a hell of a lot of house and outside property to cover, and our glorious ministry’s cutbacks leave it all to us, so take your time. Hurrying won’t get you back to Syros for whatever you’ve planned for tonight. It will only piss me off if you miss something.”
What he didn’t say was how many bad guys were literally getting away with murder because of the country’s financial crisis. There simply weren’t enough cops, equipment, or time to do a proper investigation. “Not on my watch,” Tassos muttered as he walked out of the house.
The maid was sitting out of the sun on a cafe-style, white-wrought iron chair next to the front of the house. The sergeant and two officers leaned against the stone wall about thirty feet away.
Tassos walked over to the woman. The sergeant started toward them but Tassos waved him off.
“Keria.” Tassos used the respectful form of address for a married woman. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but I’m sure you understand that we have much to do to catch the people responsible for this.”
The woman’s expression was flat. “With Mister Christos gone, my other job is all that I have.”
Tassos nodded. “I understand. Times are very tough. What hours did you work for him?”
“From eight in the morning until two in the afternoon, Monday through Friday.”
“He was an early riser?”
“Every day as soon as I got here he’d walk to town for coffee in the harbor with his friends.”
“What time do you have to be at your other job?”
“Two thirty.”
Tassos looked at his watch. “We have an hour. You’ll make it with no problem. What can you tell me that might be helpful?”
“I know nothing. I just found his body and called the police.”
“Did you check to see if anything was missing?”
“I called the police from the living room and sat there with Mister Christos until they arrived. I never went anywhere else in the house.”
“Did he have a safe?”
“I wouldn’t know that.”
Tassos walked over to another chair and dragged it into the shade next to the woman. “Looks like I’ll need this, keria, because if that’s the kind of answers you’re going to be giving me, we’ll be talking for quite a while.” He sat down facing her.
“I don’t understand. I answered your question.”
“How long have you been cleaning Christos’ house?”
“Almost three years.”
“Like I said, did he have a safe?”
“I don’t-”
Tassos raised his hand. “We both know you knew every inch of his house better than he did. So, if you keep playing dumb, you might just convince me you had something to do with his murder. Now, did he have a safe?”
She blinked twice. “Yes.”
“Where is it?”
“There were two. One in his bedroom closet, in the wall behind an icon, and another in the living room.”
“Where in the living room?”
“In a wall covered with large white marble tiles next to the fireplace.”
“How did you know about them?”
“Mister Christos never tried to hide the one in the bedroom. Many times he went to it while I was cleaning the bedroom.”
“And the one in the living room?”
“A few months after I started working for Mister Christos he asked me to clean out the fireplace in the living room. I noticed some of the marble tiles had separated from the wall. I touched them, and they swung open like a door. The safe was inside.”
“Did you say anything to him?”
“No, I left the tiles just as I found them. I didn’t want him to know I knew about the second safe.”
“Why?”
“He’d never done anything to suggest he wanted me to know about it. I thought he might be testing me to see if I touched things that I shouldn’t.”
“Did you ever see the marble tiles open again?”
“No.”
Tassos nodded. “Did anyone else know about the safes?”
“I don’t know.”
Tassos looked at his watch. “Keria, you’re running out of time.”
“Many people knew about his safe in the bedroom.”
“What about the one in the living room?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Did his girlfriend know?” Tassos had spent his time on the boat trip over from Syros calling several of Christos’ well-known friends. They’d told him about the girlfriend.
The woman’s face came alive at the question. “She’s a whore.”
The “putana from Ukraine,” was the phrase most often used by Christos’ friends. “Why do you say that?”
“I made the beds.”
Tassos shrugged. “So?”
“I could tell when it wasn’t Mister Christos who’d been with her.” She lowered her eyes. “His hair was silver. Not black or brown or…”
Tassos nodded. “I get it. Do you know the names of any of her visitors?”
“No, I never saw any of them. She’d have them over in a guest room after I left and before Mister Christos came home for his nap in the late afternoon.”
“Did he know about the other men?”
She shrugged. “If he did, he never said anything to her. At least not when I was around.”
“What else can you tell me about her?”
“She had a boyfriend.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know, but he’s not from Mykonos.”
“How do you know?”