A Solitary Reaper Page 10
CHAPTER SEVEN
Savva's hand was on the staircase door when his phone rang. Kleitos' office. Savva answered the phone reluctantly, but his spirits immediately rose when the same unfamiliar female voice from yesterday informed him that Colonel Kleitos was unable to make their scheduled appointment and would like to reschedule.
Savva clapped his hands in glee, threw open the back door of the police department, and skipped off to his Saab. Glory be. Not only did he not have to sit in a meeting with Kleitos and explain ad nauseam how a murder investigation worked, but he also was free to visit the Harris'. In his glee, he pulled out of the parking lot and nearly collided with a Nissan truck on Kikladon Street. The man at the wheel threw up his arms and anger and then quickly lowered them after realizing who sat behind the wheel. Savva bowed his head in apology and waved the Nissan on.
He took a circuitous route through Mitilini and pulled into the drive of the Loriet Hotel twenty minutes later. The palm trees beckoned in the soft breeze. A pair of women crossed the courtyard and entered the low-slung building that housed the spa. The heat of the day seemed not to penetrate the thick canopy of trees. Hints of jasmine and orange blossom hung on the air; the hotel was its own oasis. Savva sauntered to the front doors, which were held open by large square blocks of blue-white Carrara marble.
An elderly couple shuffled past him; the husband held a banana in a vice-like grip while his wife poured over a crisp map of Lesvos. Guests milled about in the lobby; carrying glasses of water, clad in bathing suits and clutching towels, and lounging in the padded wingback chairs scattered about the room. Savva sidestepped a waiter and strode to the reception desk where a young woman, in it a tight white blouse with billowing sleeves and a blue and white patterned necktie, was fixated on the computer screen hidden by the counter. Savva cleared his throat and she looked up.
"Are Mr. and Mrs. Harris in their room?" He held out his warrant card and squinted to read her nametag, "Gaia."
"I don't believe they've come down for breakfast yet, Captain Savva."
"May I speak to Kupía Iliadou then, if she's in?"
"One moment."
Gaia picked up a phone, dialed, tucked a strand of light brown hair behind her ear, and relayed Savva's question. After a moment's pause, she replaced the phone. "Kupía Iliadou asked if you'd wait for her in the garden. I'll take you there."
As Gaia led him past the dining room, the sounds of breakfast: forks poking china plates, glasses clinking on wood, the murmur of stilted conversation, drifted out through the open door. The smell of honey, filo pastry, and fried onions wafted along the corridor, born on the back of echoing cutlery. But before he had a chance to get properly hungry Gaia turned down a long glass hallway, and out through a door, nearly invisible in the wall, which disgorged them into a compact but bright private garden.
"Kupía Iliadou will be with you in a moment, Sir."
Savva nodded and Gaia disappeared down the windowed corridor. He turned to look at the garden. It was a small cobblestoned space, only seven meters square, and was filled with the sounds of a tinkling fountain surrounded by a circle of freshly trimmed grass. Behind this, propped against the wall was a massive ladder; on which sat dozens of pots overflowing with herbs and spices. A long rectangular earthenware planter of rosemary rested on the bottom rung. On the floor next to the ladder was a large pot full of succulents–one of these curled like Shirley Temple's hair. Savva leaned down to read the wooden stick stuck in the lovingly tilled earth: moraea tortilis.
He straightened and turned in a slow circle. Across from the ladder, and next to the door, was an ornate metal tea table with two matching chairs, and a chaise lounge with several pillows patterned with the Greek flag. He stared on the chaise lounge, and thought longingly of the e-reader Shayma had offered to buy him for Christmas.
'For when you have a few minutes of down time,' she'd said.
He scoffed. 'When do I have down time?'
But Shayma was right. It would've been lovely to pull out the small black tablet whenever the fancy struck him. He could be re-reading Aristotle while listening to the soft plink-plink of the fountain. Oh well, he muttered, and contented himself with inhaling the soft trickle of rosemary, loosening his tie, and tipping his head back to soak in the morning sun.
"Kalimera, Captain Savva."
Savva blinked and shot up. Maria Iliadou stood framed in the doorway, still the picture of elegance: her hair loosely braided and pulled to one side, her lean figure encased in a burgundy sheath dress. A thick layer of concealer lay heavy under her eyes and her lips were pale with chapped skin. "Kalimera, Kupía Iliadou."
Savva stood and motioned her to the metal table. She pinched the bridge of her nose and as her left hand dropped back to her side, he noticed, for the first time, she did not wear a wedding ring. He did not know why, but it made him sad. She rooted around in a pocket in her dress and pulled out a phone. Her head bent over it, she studied the screen and returned the device to its pocket.
Maria smoothed out nonexistent creases in her dress. "What can I do for you, Captain?"
"I'd like to ask you a few questions about your guests."
"The Harris'?"
"Yes."
"I'm afraid I can't tell you much. They booked, oh, eight or nine months ago via our website. We haven't had much chance to speak. They are quiet, keep to themselves, and according to the valets–tip well."
"Have you noticed a change in them since Mr. Harris found the body?"
"Nothing more than one would expect. It's been shocking for both of them."
"What have you observed between them?"
"What do you mean?"
"They didn't sit next to each other when I came to the hotel to interview them the first time. I thought perhaps you might have noticed some hostility as well."
Maria frowned, the concealer under her eyes creased in long vein-like wrinkles. She clutched at a thin necklace from which hung three small golden hearts. "They are cool to one another, but that's normal in couples who have been married a while, right?"
Savva cocked an eyebrow. "Could be. When do they leave?"
"I don't know off the top of my head."
"I'd like to speak to Mr. Harris again."
"I'll call his room and see if he's in." Maria walked to the door but paused. A small scratching echoed across the enclosed garden, Savva looked up. Maria's hand twitched on the metal door-handle. "Who was it you found?"
"We'll release his name later today. It's been a struggle to find any family to notify."
"It's awful ... and with no one to mourn you."
"I agree," Savva said.
Maria readjusted her necklace and left. Savva sat on the edge of the fountain and dipped his hands in the water. Even in the strength of the sun's rays, which bounced off the coins at the bottom, the water was cool. He trailed his hands back and forth and closed his eyes and listened to the silence. But though all he wanted was to sink into the solitude, his mind ran from task to task and over the evidence they'd gathered on Matthias and over the new and perplexing problem of his houseguest.
"Captain Savva."
Savva stood to shake the man's hand. Dark circles lay heavy under Adam's eyes and a new paleness had settled onto his face like a layer of too-think sunscreen. "I am sorry to bother you again, Mr. Harris."
"Adam, please. It's your job, Captain, and I'd like to help in any way I can. I don't know what else I can tell you."
"Often times it's the small, overlooked details in an investigation which are immensely important. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary, perhaps while you were hiking? Perhaps it caught your eye but you dismissed it as inconsequential?"
Adam was silent for a full minute, his brows were pulled together, and a glaze drifted over his eyes. "I don't remember anything on the trail. Frankly I don't remember much of the hike–it's all a blur."
"That's understandable." Savva smiled. "What about the man who told your wife about the hike?"
"I don't believe so, but if you feel threatened we can post a uniformed officer at the hotel until you leave."
Adam shook his head. "Oh no, that won't be necessary."
"I appreciate your help, Mr. Harris. I apologize that your holiday has been hijacked by such a traumatic event."
"So am I." Adam started. "Will we be free to leave?"
"Of course, we have no intentions of asking you to stay."
"What a relief."
"If you're worried about anything at all, you're more than welcome to call our headquarters. You'll be able to speak to myself or Sergeant Booras at any time."
"Thank you, Captain."
"I'll leave you to your vacation, Mr. Harris."
Savva took a deep breath and turned toward the door, but Adam collapsed forward and hung his head. The fountain plinked behind them and a swallow alighted on the high wall, trilling in welcome. Savva leaned forward and waited.
Adam pushed a hand through his thinning hair and bit his lip. "I lied about moving the body. I'm sorry. I know it was wrong. So wrong. I thought you'd think I was lying if I told you the real reason why I moved him."
"In your own time."
Adam Harris sucked in a mouthful of air. "When I was young we raised sheep and I helped with lambing. My father gave me three ewes and I named every one of their lambs. For the first few weeks lambs stayed close to the flock but soon enough they got more adventurous and wandered off and every spring the coyotes came. They don't need the food. They weren't starving. They toy with the lambs like a cat with a mouse and then they rip them apart ... a leg near an irrigation pipe, the slippery intestines trailing on the green grass. Frodo. He was the first I ever found in the pasture. I was five. Half of his head was gone.
"There's nothing worse for a child than to trip over a mangled bloody corpse you'd named a month ago–recognizable by the small black circles on his ear that made him look like he was wearing Mickey Mouse ears. I suppose when I saw the man on the trail; I felt the same way I did back then. I wanted him to know that someone cared, that he wasn't a mere corpse."
Savva made a small noise of assent. A trail of snot dangled from Adam's nose. He thanked Savva quietly and then rose, as if in a dream.
He understood at a level that Adam wouldn't believe. He too had seen mangled corpses in the fields and helped his friends load them into buckets and burn the bodies. Shaking aside the memories, and the strange resemblance to the crime scene, he stood and brushed a bit of dust from his pants. His phone rang, echoing around the enclosed garden.
"Stelios?"
"Kaikas submitted the press release to Kleitos for approval with Matthias' name. We didn't have any luck tracing any living relatives, so there's no one to notify."
"Alright, I'll be back in fifteen minutes. Make sure you get a couple of uniforms to man the tip lines."
"Yes, Sir. Also Rallis called and asked me to tell you there was nothing of note. He said you'd understand."
"I do," Savva said and ended the call.
He walked back the way he'd come and listened to the noise from the dining room as it grew louder and louder. Maria Iliadou stood by the door that led to the pool and waved at him. He grinned but kept walking. The only suspect was exonerated and the case was right back where it started.
* * *
He arrived back at the office just as Kleitos gave his permission to send the press release to the media. At the back door he met Stelios, who relayed that their superior was overcome with glee that the Americans had not been arrested.
"It's not just that," Savva corrected. "He's thrilled it hasn't hit the international media–worried as he is about tourism. He probably has the restaurant owners and boat rental agencies hounding him to get the case solved and out of the newspapers."
Since they'd hit a wall with Matthias' case, Stelios told Savva he'd start searching missing persons. Across the hall Kaikas had phoned the local newspaper to ask whether they had any articles on Matthias' mother's suicide. She was proving herself much more useful than anyone had imagined and Savva was grateful for the earnest help.
Savva prayed Stelios would get lucky with his search, and he'd be able to give Shayma an answer soon; they'd have some to help the girl. As though certain Stelios would flounce back into the office with a name, date of birth, and address, Savva twirled his thumbs and refreshed his email for five minutes. When it became obvious this miracle was not about to be performed, Savva walked downstairs to forensics to talk to Iason Rallis.
The garden-level forensic department crawled with the quiet activity of an anthill. Savva weeded his way in and around four forensic techs; heads bent over tablets with headphones in their ears, and knocked on the lintel of an open office door. Iason turned away lazily from his grey laptop and motioned Savva in.
"Didn't Booras tell you?"
The room was cool and pleasantly bright, and lacked the bustle of the upstairs offices with their constantly ringing phones and ribald laughter.
Savva pulled over a chair. "He did. I wanted to hear it from you."
"If you say so. Well, the story checks out. Adam Harris is from Colorado, he's lived in or around Denver most of his life, and other than two speeding tickets, why do the Americans still bothered with those?–he and his wife are clean. One of my guys was in the office late and was able to do the checks."
"He said he grew up on a ranch, or at least somewhere where they raised sheep."
"Right. Some town around Denver. Castle Rock." Rallis used the English word. "I think that's the place."
"So they're exactly who they appear to be."
Rallis turned back to his laptop. "Looks that way."
"Thanks," Savva grumbled.
"Do you have any other leads?"
Savva fell back against the chair and stared at the pockmarked ceiling tiles. "None. All I have are questions. Where did the anger come from–and why were they angry? Why a brick? Where are they now? How did Matthias and his killer know each other? The list goes on."
Rallis turned from his screen, stared at the open office door, and picked at a skin tag on his neck. "Isn't the answer in the anger? In why this was Matthias' fate?"
"That's the angle we've pursued. Kaikas and Booras are dredging archives and databases for information on Matthias. If only we could talk to a mafía informant or one of our guys on the inside."
"I doubt you'll be able to convince brass to let you talk to them."
Savva bristled. "Why?"
"Because keeping an eye on the mafía's activities is much more important, to them, than a lone murder."
Savva tisked. "Right and since Matthias is dead I'm only pursuing justice ... not some half-baked 'eradication' strategy from Parliament."
Rallis shrugged. The two men sat in silence. Rallis jigged his foot in time to the ceiling fan and Savva stroked his beard with one elbow plopped on the desk.
"I have a question."
Rallis mumbled something indistinct.
"Have you heard of any girls going missing recently?"
Rallis cricked his neck. "Why on earth are you asking me?"
"You have family spread all over Greece," Savva said gratuitously.
"True."
"Any Greek women that have gone missing?"
"No, but I haven't been paying attention. There's so much horror nowadays, anything that's not a terrorist attack doesn't make the news cycle. Do you want me to ask around?"
"If you would."
"What's this about, Alexandros?"
Savva registered the use of his Christian name, a rare occurrence inside these walls, but he was encouraged by it. Iason was loyal to a fault–a dramatic by-product of his over large family. So he took the plunge and told Iason about the young woman staying in his daughter's bedroom. Iason's eyes fi
rst grew large and then slowly narrowed, centimeter by centimeter.
"The answer's easy: get a hold of her card."
"How? By holding her down?" Savva blurted.
"That's the easiest way."
"Fat lot of use I'd be if I lost my job because a sexual assault claim. I'd have better luck trying to convince her to let me have it."
"She doesn't trust you?"
"I have no idea. She's been in my home for less than twenty-four hours."
Iason chewed his lip and studied the white tiled floor. Inexpert hands had laid it; there were cracks in it–now filled with years of sweeping dirt. "She couldn't have come from far away; probably on a ship or boat of some kind."
"I assume so."
"Maybe she's worried someone is still out there looking for her."
"But who is she running from? And who would put a cop in danger?"
"Maybe she's on the run from the likes of our murder victim."
"The mafía?"
"Don't you think so?"
Savva shook his head. "I have no idea. She didn't mind that I'm a cop. It seemed to comfort her. Why would she stay in my house?"
"We could be wrong. Maybe she's on the run from your lot and the best spot to hide would be right under law enforcement's nose," Iason said sagely.
"It doesn't make sense for her to hide out at a policeman's house if she was on the run from the law. She has to know her very existence births questions. But Davonna's house isn't secure–anyone can go in during the day, maybe she couldn't handle the lack of security."
"Asking around will be your best bet, then," Rallis said. "I'll call around tonight and let you know. Did you release the name then?"
"Yes," Savva said, registering the abrupt conversation change.
"Think it'll dislodge anything?"
"Someone knew him. I'm sure someone knew him here."
* * *
Savva left Rallis' ordered, computer filled domain and escaped headquarters by the back door, on the opposite side of the building from Kleitos' office. A dry breeze ruffled the edge of his suit coat, and tugged at the fraying edge of a pop-up store's cream awning. The sounds of tourists haggling with the vendors drifted on the wind. He walked through them, and they scattered and reformed like schools of fish. He walked down the cracked and uneven sidewalk of Keas Street, his polished brown loafers stepping over the massive fissures without a second thought. He drew even with his pale green house and sighed.