A Solitary Reaper Page 12

  Nikolaos studied the photograph with narrowed eyes. "I don't recognize him. We get a lot of people in here. We're open six days a week, and I'm not always out in the restaurant." He tapped the picture. "Can I show this to the boys?"

  Eleni assumed he meant the staff in the kitchen and nodded. Nikolaos strode away with the photograph lightly pinched between two thick fingers waved in the wake of air his body created. The floor shook under his weight. He pushed open the door to the kitchen; it swung open and closed like a pendulum. Eleni took the opportunity to shove the last piece of bread into her mouth and wash it down with the last of her glass.

  Nikolaos returned, handed her back the photograph, and sat with a sad shake of his head. He poured more wine. "No one recognized him."

  "That's unfortunate."

  "What kind of a person was he?"

  "What do you mean?" Eleni asked.

  Nikolaos leaned forward and opened his hands in supplication. His dark eyes no longer danced, but were still, and their depths seemed endless. "Tell me about him. Did he have a family? What could he have done to deserve," he motioned to the photograph and the crushed skull in front of Eleni's mind, "... this?"

  Eleni bit her bottom lip, and forced the terrible vision away. She took a deep breath and chose her next words with care. "He didn't have a family and ... I don't know what he did, but he was a secretive man."

  "What did he have to hide?"

  Eleni considered this. "I'm not sure."

  "You don't know much, do you?"

  She tore her eyes from Nikolaos' disappointed visage. No they didn't know much about him–bashed down as he was in the prime of his life. He was an enigma. Captain Savva had even commented on it–and he was a man who couldn't be fooled. All they knew for sure was that Matthias had worked for the mafía and left after his father died.

  "His past," Eleni ventured. "I think he was trying to keep it secret."

  Nikolaos frowned and steepled his fingers. "We get men like that here; trying to avoid their pasts. But Lesvos is a small island. Word gets around."

  Eleni pushed her wine glass away and leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

  "Lesvos is a small place. If he was avoiding someone, it didn't last long."

  "So you think it's possible that either his killer recognized him or was told about his arrival?"

  "It's possible."

  "Captain Savva thinks he might have met a member of the public with certain unsavory ties, if you know what I mean."

  "Try Kalamies Taverna, it's down the coast a bit. Gorgeous view of the sea."

  Eleni rose. "Thank you,"

  Nikolaos smiled hugely, flashing his brilliant teeth. His eyes even managed to sparkle in their brilliance. Nikolaos covered her hand with both of his. The calluses were stiff against her dry palm. "I'm always keen to help the police. Especially when it's one of Alexandros' people. Tell him to come in sometime. I'll roast him some good lamb. Shayma doesn't let him out enough."

  Eleni stifled a laugh. "I'll tell him."

  "You come in too, with your man. I'll treat you."

  Eleni stiffened and stared awkwardly at the table. But Nikolaos took her discomfort in stride and said in a conspiratorial voice.

  "Or better yet, come alone, and I'll put you at the chef's table in the back."

  "Efaristo," she said. "Thank you for the offer and the meal."

  She brought out her purse and made to pay but Nikolaos pushed her hand away.

  "You don't pay. I asked you to eat, you didn't order. Go to Kalamies. Tell Giorgos I sent you."

  Eleni smiled at this, the most common male name in Greece. "I will."

  Nikolaos pulled her into a warm embrace and kissed her on the cheek.

  * * *

  Eleni turned the Mini back onto Kountourioti Place to make the short trek up the coast to the restaurant Nikolaos had recommended. Red scaffolding was still propped against the cream walls and white plaster work of the Archeological Museum. How long had it been there? A year? Two? A scooter peeled past her as she waited for a lorry hauling crates of fruit backed into the road. It narrowly missed colliding with said scaffolding.

  Still muttering about the necessity of following road rules, as she parked, Eleni hopped out of the Mini stared at the restaurant in front of her. She saw a long low pale pink building that hugged the side of the hill and commanded a spectacular view of the sea. She saw long pillars, which disappeared into the softly lapping waves that supported the half of the restaurant, which hovered over the sea. Two sedans and three scooters were parked near the kitchen door. Tourists milled about across the street, probably Brits, judging by the pale legs, which so brightly reflected the late afternoon sun.

  Immense glass doors, with round golden knobs for door handles, barred the entrance but offered an enticing view of the rooms behind them. Eleni had learned her lesson and used minimal force to gain entrance. A girl, fifteen at the most, with widely spaced eyes and a pixie hair cut, called out a warm greeting. Eleni asked for Giorgos, feeling ridiculous, as there were probably six men in the restaurant who shared the name. But the girl smiled, led Eleni around the restaurant's patrons and into a back room with a small window looking out onto the sea.

  Giorgos appeared soundlessly at Eleni's shoulder as she took in the view. He was a small man, with cropped grey hair, a small button nose, two hooded blue-grey eyes, and small hands clasped lightly in front of a three piece tweed suit. He resembled a British academic than a restaurant owner ... if indeed either was supposed to look like anything at all.

  "Kalispera, what may I do for you?"

  "Kalispera. I'm Private Kaikas from the Hellenic Police, and I'd like to ask you a couple of questions. I spoke to Nikolaos at The Blue Castle and thought you might be able to help me."

  "Ah," Giorgos said, a smile crept up his cheeks and crinkled his eyes. "He fed you then, what a pity. Come on back."

  Giorgos put a warm hand on her arm and steered her through the crowd in the kitchens to a small office at the back of the restaurant. It was partitioned from the kitchen but with three glass walls that allowed him a full view of his staff.

  She pulled out the photograph. "Have you seen this man in here before? His name's Matthias Papatonis."

  Eleni watched as an upward tick of recognition spread over Giorgos' face. His hands inched forward and grazed the photo, his head cocked to one side. "He looks familiar."

  "He was murdered three days ago. You've probably seen it on the news," Eleni offered.

  Giorgos waved her comment away. "Oh no, not because of that. Let's ask my staff, see if they remember the same."

  Giorgos motioned for Eleni to follow. He slipped between a line of stainless steel countertops that gleamed from between the spaces of bright white plates, to the center of the kitchen, where he rapped his fingers hard on the closest counter. Everyone in the vicinity stopped. The noise stopped. Even the lamb, roasting on the spit, stopped drizzling.

  "This is Private Kaikas from the Hellenic Police. She'd like to know if we've seen this man in here before."

  Giorgos held the photograph aloft and revolved on the spot so that his staff could see it. There were strapping lads with heavy tubs of dirty dishes, young girls with black aprons around their waists and pens behind their ears, and thick armed men with sleeves of tattoos at the ovens. Giorgos' employees leaned collectively forward, with narrowed eyes, like prowling cats.

  "Wasn't he in here last week, Afentikó?" One of the girls said, her eyes moved from the photo to Giorgos.

  "I'm sure he was," another man said, a case of wine in his arms. The barman perhaps.

  "That's what I thought," Giorgos murmured.

  "Was he with anyone? Did anyone talk to him? Give him any trouble? Was he in here often?" Eleni asked.

  A collective round of silence followed her questions. The busboys shuffled from foot to foot, beads of sweat formed on their foreheads. One of them stole a quick glance at Giorgos, then set his tub on the counter, and rubbed his hands.
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br />   "He wasn't with anyone, but I saw him in here twice," the barman said. "He kept his head down and didn't speak to anyone. But then the second time, we had loud group in here, he must have heard or noticed someone he knew because he whipped around like someone had called his mother a whore. He peeled out of the front door not five minutes later. He left a bottle of good Oregon wine half finished on the bar: Cubanisimo Vineyards. We order it so the Americans have something to drink."

  Something. Finally something. Eleni stepped forward. "Anyone else?"

  "I saw someone shouting at him in the car park. Well, it looked like it started out innocuous enough but got heated."

  Eleni cocked her head. The crowd of staff parted to showcase the busboy who'd set his tub on the counter. He blushed and assiduously avoided Giorgos' peering gaze. "Who was it? Do you know?"

  "I don't know his name," the boy said. Eleni sighed and she stuffed the photo back into her purse. "But he's just come in if you want to see him."

  Now that was something. Eleni flicked her hand for the busboy to show her. Her heart thumped and she imagined the look on Captain Savva's face when she told him whom she'd found and entirely on her own. She stopped at imagining meritorious promotions when the busboy pointed through the kitchen door's round glass window.

  "There in the corner. The man with the blonde hair in the checkered shirt."

  Eleni rooted around in her purse, pulled out her phone, zoomed in as far as the camera would go, and snapped a photo of the man and then the others surrounding him. She opened a text message and attached the two photos.

  'Victim was seen at Kalamies Taverna restaurant with the man in the checkered shirt.'

  She ended the text with her last name, pressed send, and turned back to the staff to thank them. They nodded but didn't seem to realize what they'd done or what they'd provided. After they'd disappeared back to their patrons, Eleni addressed Giorgos.

  "Do you have any surveillance here?"

  "Above the cash register."

  Nothing on the car park then. "Would you have receipts for what he ate and drank?"

  "If he paid with a card. Shall I email them to you?"

  "Please," Eleni said and handed over one of her cards. "My contact information is on the back. If anyone remembers anything please feel free to give me a call."

  Giorgos nodded and asked if he could send her home with tiropitas or a dessert. Her stomach was straining the clasp of her trousers, but she decided that to refuse the offer would be rude. Giorgos pushed a bag into her hand and led her out the back of the restaurant.

  She parked outside a friend's apartment, next to a huddled mass of ten scooters, when her phone rang. She flicked pastry off her fingers and held the phone to her ear.

  "Kaikas."

  "Do you know who the man in the photo is?" Stelios asked in a brittle voice.

  "No."

  "It's Anthony Goldstein."

  * * *

  Stelios told Kaikas they'd talk to Savva in the morning–there was no need to disturb their boss at this hour. He stuffed the phone into his trousers and slouched over a glass of ouzo in the corner of his least favorite taverna. It was only old men who came here and not for the victuals but to berate the quality of both fishing and their wives. There was no chance of running into anyone he knew, no chance that Theia would sidle in with a couple of her girlfriends to celebrate singleness. He took a gulp of ouzo and listened without hearing to an old Olympiacos vs. AEK Athens football match.

  He rubbed at a spot of grease on the table, which hadn't been updated since the restaurant opened in the late sixties. How could it be over? How could Theia walk out after four years together? He was a cop how could he get home in time for dinner every night? What the hell was she thinking? Oh damn, what was he thinking? How long had he ignored the signs? How long had he fooled himself into believing that she would change–that they were good for each other? What a merry mess.

  He banged the empty glass on the table and a woman, in her mid-fifties, across from him, her black skirt slit up past her knee, gave him a simpering stare. If breasts were money she'd be a billionaire. She caught him staring and twisted her leg so that the slit rose higher to expose more of her varicose-veined leg. Stelios put up a hand to shade himself from her desperate eyes and pulled his phone back out.

  He bent closer, oh god, was she moving? He zoomed in on the photos Kaikas sent. Good, she was reaching for her wine. In one photo Goldstein sat at the head of a table, arms spread on the back of the bench, and legs crossed effeminately. Who were the men surrounding him? There was a chance Savva might know–and there was a chance they'd be important.

  Stelios rapped his knuckles on the table and was about to send the photo to Savva when the door to the bar opened, and a woman slid in. An unnatural hush fell over the room–the TV quieted. She breezed across the room, her sculpted legs cocooned by undulating grey slacks, long black hair drawn into a ponytail a loose at the crown of her head. Though her face was pale and her eyes were rimmed with red he recognized her. Maria.

  As she strode past them, the old men in the corner, halted their unceasing lamentations, and turned their heads to keep her in their sights. Stelios lowered his phone onto the plastic tabletop. The barman blinked as she walked up to him, lucky bastard, and ordered. She stuffed her hand into the pocket of her grey slacks, pulling the fabric taunt around her ass, and handed him a ten-euro note. Stelios waited in his shadowy corner for someone to join her, but the door to the taverna remained solidly closed. It was the opportunity of a lifetime–not to mention it would repress the woman in black. He slid over to the bar; his insides roiled, and he stumbled on the uneven floor. Her hair gleamed in the weak yellow light.

  "Are you alone?"

  Maria Iliadou frowned. "I'm sorry?"

  Her eyes were blank and his heart plummeted. "Sergeant Stelios Booras; we met at the hotel."

  Maria nodded and pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Stelios, yes, sorry, it's been a long day."

  "Are you alone?"

  Maria glanced about the room, drawing excited looks from the men in the corner and a furious glare from the woman in black. "Yes."

  "Care to join me? I promise: no business." He lifted his hands in surrender.

  "I don't mind, Sergeant," she said with an attempt at a smile.

  "Stelios, please."

  He motioned her to the booth where his empty ouzo glass lay on the table. She wiped crumbs off her seat and then stared out the window at the twinkling lights of cars and scooters, which wound their way up Kidonion Street. He kept his eyes from the dip of her shirt and the way her gold necklace drew the gaze down. Oh, if she'd say something, anything, that would break the awkward silence. Theia didn't know when to be quiet, so he'd never had to fill the silence. He tried to catch the barman's eye so at least he'd have a drink to play with. He leaned over and caught the man's eye when she stirred.

  "So why aren't you at home?"

  Stelios sank back into the booth. "Oh, too wound up."

  "Me too."

  Maria nodded her thanks to the barman as he placed a glass of wine and an overflowing bowl of pistachio ice cream in front of her and spilled a quarter of Stelios' second glass of ouzo.

  Stelios wiped up a trail with his finger and nodded to the ice cream. "Long day?"

  Maria fingered the stem of the glass and then stuck her spoon in through the center of the mass of ice cream. She twisted it in and continued to fiddle with it, long after Stelios glanced away. "I got some terrible news today about ... a friend from university."

  "What happened?"

  Maria picked at a spot on the table. "Died."

  He cringed inwardly. "I'm so sorry."

  Maria lifted her head, her dark eyes met his, and in the smallest space of a moment they went from dry to wet. Stelios clenched his hands together under the table and braced himself for a flood. "It was so unexpected. I was waiting for a call too. I put it down to the fact that life gets in the way. I rationalized it. And now
this ..."

  Maria's head fell in her hands, her whole body convulsed, her shoulders curled inwards, as if in her grief she sought to make herself as small as possible. Stelios inched his arm forward until the tips of his fingers rested on her hand and he gently patted it, like one would approach a wild animal. The old men looked askance, their faces full of masculine pity for a man in such mortal danger.

  Maria wiped her eyes and hiccupped. "I'm so embarrassed. I thought I was ok. I shouldn't have come out."

  "Sudden deaths are always a shock. You shouldn't be embarrassed."

  She sunk her spoon into the ice cream. "Yes."

  They collapsed back into an uneasy silence, fingers rubbing the rims of their wine glasses. The football match went on half time. The old men turned back to their drinks and lamb and olives now that it was apparent Maria had composed herself. Stelios glanced out the window to avoid her piercing eyes, and sagged against the booth.

  "Are you married?"

  Stelios glanced wildly around. "Me?"

  "You're the one I'm sitting with."

  "No," he blurted. "But I was close. My fiancé called off our engagement."

  Why on earth had he said anything? Was it to see her frown and sink immediately into the all to familiar position of female distress and worry? Had he hoped that at the first sign of pain in a man she would melt into him: that somehow they'd end up in a sweaty panting pile on his bed? And then what? Taken off the case because he'd gotten involved, ok, she wasn't a suspect, but she was peripherally involved in a murder investigation. Savva would spend at least an hour growling threats at him for that.

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "What about you? Married? Kids?"

  It seemed to Stelios that a shade came down behind Maria's eyes. The sparkle of light and interest went out like a candle. A wall had gone up–a wall that would not soon come down.

  "I'm not married, but I have two boys. They're seven and nine."

  "Where are they now?"

  Maria peered at him. A look Stelios recognized. It was the same one his mother gave when he questioned her decisions. He was about to open his mouth to apologize yet again but Maria waved him off. "My dad takes care of them if I go out, and during the summers when they aren't in school and I have to work."