‘Alex,’ she said, her voice wavering, ‘I want you to give up the case.’
‘What?’ He was instantly guilty about not having devoted more time to Rudolf Kersten’s murder. ‘I’ve been delayed, but don’t worry, I’m getting to the bottom of it.’
‘No,’ the widow said, her voice now firm. ‘I forbid you to investigate any further. And Alex, you must promise me one more thing. Whatever you do, don’t go to Kornaria. There’s. . there’s nothing for you in that accursed place but death. Do you hear me? Don’t go anywhere near it.’
‘What’s happened, Hildegard? You don’t sound well.’
‘Well?’ she said, with a tremulous laugh. ‘Soon I will be burying my husband, the hero who helped rebuild this part of Crete. Soon. . oh, never mind. Go to the good, Alex.’
Mavros had been puzzled by the call. Hildegard didn’t sound like the calm and controlled woman she had been even in recent days. What had the widow found out to change her mind so radically about her husband’s death? And why was she so adamant about Kornaria? As far as he knew, the couple’s only connection with the village was that their tormentor, David Waggoner, lived there.
Not long afterwards, he received a call from Niki’s mobile. Heart thundering, he answered it, speaking her name.
‘Your Niki is safe, Mavro,’ came a voice he recognized — it was that of Dhrakakis, the mayor. ‘For the time being. I propose a trade. Luke Jannet for her. But you, and only you, must come with him.’
‘How do I know you’ll keep the bargain?’ he asked hoarsely.
Dhrakakis laughed. ‘You have to trust me. We Cretans have a deep-rooted sense of honour.’ His tone hardened. ‘Be here by midday or you’ll hear the woman die on your phone.’ The connection was cut.
‘What is it, Alex?’ Cara asked, taking in his expression.
He told her what had been proposed.
‘You can’t do that!’ she exclaimed. ‘They’ll kill you and Niki as soon as you give them that shithead Luke.’
‘It’s possible,’ Mavros said, going to Haris and speaking to him in a low voice. Shortly afterwards, the Cretan slapped him on the shoulder and called over one of his associates.
Mavros spent the next fifteen minutes on the phone to Athens police commander Nikos Kriaras, the man who had recommended him to Luke Jannet. Kriaras was unimpressed at being called so late, but he was soon hooked. He agreed to give Mavros’s idea consideration and talk to his contacts in the Ministry of Public Order. The sting in the tail was that Mavros gave him six hours to come up with the goods, or word would be passed to the press that the authorities had refused to take action in a double kidnap by the most notorious villagers in Crete.
‘Why are you looking so pleased?’ Cara asked.
‘Never mind. You realize there’s no way you can come with us?’
The actress gave him a foxy smile. ‘I’ve already talked to Haris about that. He said his wife was coming and I could hang with her.’
Mavros swore under his breath. It wasn’t only Cretan men who were one step away from violence. He wouldn’t fancy taking Eleni on in a fight. And the same went for the deceptively dangerous, non-Cretan Cara Parks.
‘It’s your neck,’ he said, shaking his head.
Then his phone rang again. He didn’t recognize the number.
‘This is David Waggoner.’ The former SOE man sounded faint. ‘Listen carefully. I know your woman is in the village, but you must notcome up here. They will eventually let her go, believe me. Perhaps your friend Tsifakis can broker a deal. If you appear, you’ll be committing suicide.’
Mavros tried to keep his voice steady. ‘Why the sudden interest in my safety? You and Roufos set those neo-Nazi attack dogs on me.’
‘I had nothing to do with that. My only connection with that repugnant man was over Kersten’s coin collection. I have cut all ties with him.’
‘And you still say you had nothing to do with the German’s death?’
‘I certainly do.’ Waggoner paused. ‘Listen, Mavros, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick about me. I may have overstepped the mark by obtaining payments from Kersten over the years, but the man was a cold-blooded killer in the war and a hypocrite for the rest of his life.’
‘You also overstepped the mark, not to say the law, by aiding and abetting the Kornariates in their protection rackets and other activities for decades. For all I know, you’re the mastermind behind the village’s drug production.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, man!’ the Englishman barked. ‘I facilitated their dealings on the coastal strip, nothing more.’ He sighed, as if in pain. ‘Look here. It’s as simple as this. If you stay away from Kornaria, I will give you certain papers and memorabilia that I took from the EAM man known as Kanellos in 1943.’
Mavros felt a blow to his heart. ‘You have things belonging to my father?’
‘To him or his beloved party, yes. Do you want them?’
Of course I fucking want them, Mavros said to himself, trying to keep afloat in the maelstrom of emotion that was suddenly sucking him down. ‘How. . how do I take delivery?’
‘You know where my place in Chania is. Be there tonight at nine o’clock. But bear in mind, I will know if you’ve been in Kornaria, even if by some miracle you escape. I will destroy everything immediately, be sure of that.’
‘Why do you care if I go to the village?’ Mavros asked, trying to keep the old soldier on the line.
‘That’s my affair,’ Waggoner said, breaking the connection.
Mavros called back, but there was no answer. He slumped in his chair.
‘What is it?’ Cara asked, putting her arm around his shoulders. ‘Those blows to your head playing up?’
‘Yeah,’ he replied, gradually getting a grip. It wasn’t the first time he had been tempted by information relating to his family, though in the past it had been about his brother, Andonis. In almost every case, people had invented things to distract him from the case in hand. It was very likely that David Waggoner was doing the same thing — but why? What interest could he have in Mavros and Niki?
He looked up to see Haris standing in front of them.
‘All will be well, Alex,’ the Cretan said. ‘We have the equipment you asked for and my technicians are working on it.’
‘What equipment?’ Cara asked.
‘Need to know basis,’ Mavros said, tapping his nose.
Hildegard was sitting in front of the fire, watching the last blackened wisps of the papers she had burned disappear up the chimney. All the photographs of her and Rudi had gone up in smoke earlier. There were only two things left, and she would be making use of them soon. The labrysshe had placed on the mantelpiece, no longer needing whatever power it might have bestowed on her as a woman. Oskar had called earlier, trying to make peace, but she had told him not to bother her again. That was the last time she would speak to him.
It was impossible not to think of the distant past — the ruins of Berlin, the horrors of the Russian occupation, the rapes she had suffered. For decades, their life in Crete had provided a refuge from those terrible memories, but no longer. Rudi’s life had been a sham, he had been the hypocrite that Waggoner always said he was. Which meant their life together had also been a sham — no, worse than that, a perversion of the good. Oskar’s revolting beliefs proved that, but the idea that Rudi had tried to take advantage of them was almost the last straw.
The only saving grace in the last few days had been Alex Mavros. He had been taken in by Rudi, but so had she and for much longer. At least Alex had tried to get to the truth. She only hoped he would take her advice about not going to Kornaria. That place was evil, her husband had always said so — but at the last he had been prepared to use it to dispose of the very man who had helped them. Why had Rudi been so keen to hire Mavros to get the thirty coins back? Of course, he hadn’t wanted them back at all, employing Mavros only to prove to the insurance company that he had taken every possible step to secure their return. He had wanted to pay a deposit to Oskar for God knows what services, and the burglary must have been a set-up. He would never have expected Mavros to succeed against the ranks of skinhead swine. Getting the coins and the money back must have been a terrible shock to him. The paper she had found in his pocket was obviously written after that — when he had truly lost control of himself.