A Solitary Reaper Page 13

  "And their dad?" Stelios blurted. Maria's face fell and the shade slipped. "I'm sorry, I'm stumbling all over myself. Ignore me."

  "It's alright. I wanted him to be more involved but it wasn't possible with his work. We saw each other every so often. I take the boys to see him. We meet all over. We went to the UK, Spain, and Norway one year to watch the Northern Lights. All that snow. The boys went wild."

  "It sounds like a lot of fun," Stelios said. Maria smiled, but her eyes were rimmed with unshed tears. "Where is he now?"

  Maria blinked. "He's moved on."

  "On?" Stelios repeated.

  "Yeah, on. I doubt we'll see him again," Maria said, but without conviction, as though she were reciting a platitude someone had taught her long ago.

  "That's terrible. Do your boys know?"

  Maria shook her head. "Not yet."

  She poked her ice cream with the spoon, swirling it over and over until it liquefied. The spoon clinked again and again on the bowl like a beeping timer. Stelios picked a piece of lint off of his trousers and flicked it under the table. It came to rest amongst the un-swept deleterious of decades.

  Maria put down the spoon and licked her lips. "What's the real reason you aren't home?"

  "Too quiet."

  It was something he was sure Savva had guessed, and Kaikas too for that matter. He tried to deny it, tried to pretend that it was anger, and not pain that drove him from his comfortable home. But here was a beautiful woman who understood, who'd been driven from her home by pain as well. By loss. By grief. Perhaps that was it. Grieving. He couldn't think about Theia without a lump rising in his throat, caught on the sharp painful edges of memories.

  Maria nodded. "My father stared at me when I got home this afternoon. I don't suppose you know what fathers are like with daughters."

  "My father is the worst with my youngest sister."

  "Ah," Maria said with a knowing smile. "The baby."

  Stelios grimaced. "He's convinced himself that every Greek male is either: corrupt, un-Christian, gay, or just unfit. He wants her to go abroad next year for university."

  "Where?"

  "Not sure. He's debating the merits of various nationalities and their general fitness for matrimony and fatherhood. The Swedes and the Norwegians are looking good right now."

  Maria laughed. It pealed around the room, wove through the bar, wrapped itself around the old men, and fluttered out the door. Everyone turned to look, smiles broke over the old men's bronzed wrinkled visages, transforming them once more into young men. Men who could catch a woman's eye with one flick their thick hair or flexing of their arms–thick and strong from hours at the oars. The woman in black smiled and revealed a beauty that had been lost in declining middle age. Stelios also grinned and straightened in his seat.

  "Sorry," Maria breathed, hiccupping herself back. "You're hilarious."

  Stelios let her have a moment of mirth. "I know what you mean; about your father."

  "Does your mother hover?"

  Stelios groaned. "I told her about ... my fiancé, she was ready to bulldoze through. Although in her case it would mean baking until her fingers bled."

  "So a typical Greek mama?"

  "Yes."

  "I suppose we're lucky to have them. Lucky that they care about us so much," Maria mused.

  "I guess."

  He was unwilling to admit that he wished his mother would come down; that she would fill his house with the smells of her cooking, and provide that companionship and care that never seemed to be in short supply. He could sit at the table and talk while she worked and be transported back to childhood: the cherished only son. She'd give him the first bite of the lamb and plop a piece of baklava in his mouth. She'd put her arm around his shoulders and tell him how handsome he was. She'd be there.

  Maria grimaced and checked her watch. "I should be going. I want to kiss the boys goodnight."

  Stelios was unwilling to let her depart so easily. "Do you have a car?"

  "No, I walked. It was nice to have the quiet to think."

  "I'll drive you, if you'd like," he said, rising and placing a few euros on the table to pay for their drinks and her half-finished ice cream.

  Maria nodded, though it had been more of a statement than a question. She snuck one last spoonful of her dessert and let Stelios help her into her linen coat. As they walked out the men smiled, and one by the door, white hair a jumble on top of his head, winked at Stelios from behind perfectly round glasses.

  Maria gazed out the window at the blurred lights and propped her chin on her palms they drove. She offered no conversation and what friendship had been built between them had stalled. Stelios followed her directions to a white house on the edge of the city. Orange light shone from a single window at the front of the home. Was someone waiting up for her?

  "Thank you for listening," Maria whispered.

  "Sure," Stelios managed.

  She was too close and her perfume, jasmine and sandalwood, wafted over him, drawing him closer, muddling his mind. She smiled as though she understood, leaned forward, and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks for the ride, Sergeant."

  She opened the door and breezed up the walkway, drew her keys out of her purse, and inserted them into the door. She waved and then disappeared from sight. At the orange window a shadow moved. Stelios bit his lips. He drove away, not thinking of jasmine or sandalwood on the hollow of a curved neck. Not thinking of sitting across from a woman whose laughter shook the entire room. Not thinking of the way her shirt gaped slightly as she leaned to kiss him. I can't get involved, Stelios repeated over and over as he drove homeward.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "Don't forget to check on her before you leave," Shayma whispered.

  Savva fingered the kitchen counter (why did she have to recite this like a rosary?), watching as the sun slowly brightened the bougainvillea and turned the stone wall pink. As soon as his alarm had gone off, she'd sauntered into the bedroom with a latte and her first reminder–check on the girl. In the bathroom with a towel around his waist and a toothbrush in his mouth, she reminded him again.

  "Oh, just leave, woman," he muttered as soon as she was out of earshot, humming a tune he couldn't place.

  She came back a minute later wearing a white dress covered in magnolias and low heeled espadrilles. Her black hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders. It was quite enough temptation to sod off work and the houseguest for an interlude in the bedroom.

  Shayma adjusted a fluttering sleeve. "Can you try to come home for lunch? I left a casserole in the refrigerator and there's yesterday's lamb."

  Savva took a deep breath to forget the image of her on their bed. "Oh no trouble at all, I only have a murder investigation to run and they usually solve themselves."

  "Good."

  They walked out of the house into the warm light of the morning. In the silence it was just possible to make out the sound of the sea. But a red scooter whizzed past them, screeching around the blind corner and breaking the calm.

  "Is she a flight risk?"

  Shayma's eyes drifted to the top of the house, and the lines on her face grew deeper. "I don't know. She won't come with me to Davonna's."

  He stuffed his hands in his trousers and fingered a piece of lint in the left pocket. "I can ask Stelios to drive by and I'll be home for lunch."

  Shayma nodded and leaned forward to kiss him. "You're a good man, Alexandros."

  Savva puffed out his chest. "That's what they all say."

  "I'm sure they do."

  She patted his cheek and smiled. Her hand lingered. Savva put an arm around her shoulders and inhaled the delicate fragrance of bergamot on her neck. She burrowed into his chest and wrapped her arms around his back. A shutter opened with a bang. A radio squeaked into life. A cat hissed and shot out across the street. Still she held him. He laid his chin on top of hers. How was it that he felt as if he were the one being held? Where did she get this power to make him feel so whole? She squeezed, and just a
s blood began to rush downward, she sauntered off to the car with a backwards wave and nothing more. Bloody disappointment, that.

  He shuffled back to the house and up the stairs. In low tones he told the girl he'd be home for lunch and gave her a disposable phone in case of emergencies. He placed it on the window within reach. He left through the loudly creaking front gate. Ten minutes later (because he dragged his feet) headquarters loomed into view. Kleitos' shutters were the only ones still closed. Of course, the man wasn't in; if he did come to work, it was after eleven. Then he'd take an hour break for lunch, and inevitably never end up back at the office.

  "Morning, Sir," the desk sergeant said in a dour voice.

  Upstairs, a dull hum echoed from the squad room. Three uniformed officers sauntered by. Thanos was among these and the only one to give him a tenuous smile. Savva slid into his office and slipped behind his desk. But as he picked up a pen to makes notes on the case, Stelios and Kaikas appeared in the doorway.

  "Kalimera, Sir."

  Stelios' eyes were red, his face pale. Savva indicated the seat across from him. "Kalimera. Long night?"

  "Not especially."

  Savva turned to Stelios but it was Kaikas who began. "I went to a couple restaurants last night, Sir, asking around for any information on Papatonis and whether anyone saw him."

  "Did you?" Savva said.

  "Yes, Sir. I talked to the owner of The Blue Castle restaurant: Nikolaos. He hasn't seen Matthias before, but said I should try Kalamies Taverna. I spoke to the Kalameis’ staff and a barman and a busboy remembered seeing him. The busboy saw Matthias arguing with another man outside the restaurant. The conversation turned sour."

  "Who was the arguing acquaintance?"

  "He was in the restaurant when I was in the kitchen talking to the staff. I took a picture and sent it to Sergeant Booras."

  Stelios leaned forward. "It's Anthony Goldstein, Sir."

  Savva dropped the pen he was bouncing. He forced the thrill in his fingers away. It was too little to pin any hope of a quick end to the murder investigation. People argued. Any yet ... people didn't argue with Anthony Goldstein.

  "Goldstein."

  "Yes, Sir. I have the photos. Both of him and the men around him."

  "They'll be friends ... locals. Harmless. Goldstein doesn't do any business in public. Not where he'd be seen or overheard," Savva growled.

  Stelios took a step forward. "Should we go talk to him again at his house, Sir?"

  "No," Savva said stiffly. "Call him and get him in here. We'll treat him well enough, but I want him here."

  "Today?"

  "No, schedule it at his convenience. He'll be much more amendable if it looks like we're playing his game."

  "Yes, Sir."

  Savva smiled. "Good work, Private."

  "Thank you, Sir."

  "Get the barman and the busboy in to give their statements. Afterwards, get back on Matthias' background. I want to know how often he was on Lesvos."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Next time, take someone with you."

  "Yes, Sir," Kaikas said and breezed from the room.

  Stelios massaged his temples. "She's eager."

  "She's good," Savva countered. "Shut the door will you?"

  As soon as Stelios had done this, and settled primly into his chair, Savva stood and began to pace. "Have you found anything?"

  Stelios shook his head. "I worked late searching the databases. Nothing so far, Sir, but I'll keep at it."

  "You're coming home for lunch with me today."

  "I am?"

  "Shayma's worried about hooligans in the neighborhood, thinks they're trampling her rose bushes. And she baked too much lamb so ..."

  Stelios nodded. "Efaristo."

  Savva waved it off, switching gears, "Did you find anything new on Matthias?"

  "No, Sir, but I have a call into Athens, requesting Matthias' file. They have someone I can speak to. An insider. But we'll probably have to go to Athens to talk to him."

  "We better get some background on Goldstein as well," Savva added. "And I'm not referring to the man's birthday."

  * * *

  Giorgos' employees came to the station and gave their statements before the lunch rush. Anthony Goldstein, when contacted by Private Kaikas, said he'd be honored to come in tomorrow to speak with Captain Savva, and Kaikas had found a rental agreement under Matthias' name, which was filed in Athens fifteen years ago. His old apartment was near the university in Athens, but Matthias Papatonis never attended. Stelios wrote it off as inconsequential, but Savva disagreed. At noon, Shayma called to remind him again.

  "I'm already walking down the hallway," he grumbled into the phone as a brooding Stelios trotted in his wake.

  They crossed crowded streets filled with milling tourists who took pictures of black graffiti. Savva caught fragments of at least six different languages. English chief among them, but he pretended not to understand. The terrible language made his brain seize with the amount of work it took to understand. He did say ciao to an Italian couple that smiled as they strode by hand-in-hand.

  At the house, Savva put his hand on the gate and opened it as slowly and as loudly as possible. The hinges protested and he caught the tail end of Stelios' eye roll.

  "Was that necessary, Sir?"

  "It's an alarm."

  "It's not the best alarm system."

  "It's simple," Savva countered. "Why else do so many people have dogs: the noise. It's off-putting."

  They took their time on the walk; Stelios touched the rosebushes that lined up in front of the house like soldiers, while Savva hunted needlessly in his pocket for the key.

  "The rosebushes look alright, Sir," Stelios said, winking.

  "So they do. Shayma must have replanted them." Savva walked inside and shouted back, "Take off your shoes."

  He preceded Stelios up the stairs and stopped in the doorway. The room was quiet and warm, though the windows were flung open as far as they would go. She hadn't moved. Or if she had, she'd found the exact same spot and curled into it like a cat.

  "We've come for lunch. I'd like to introduce my friend Stelios. He's not on duty either," Savva explained. The huddled mass shifted on the bed and refused to make eye contact. "I'll bring you up a plate."

  When they were back in the kitchen Savva asked, "What do you think?"

  Stelios leaned against the opposite counter as Savva put the spinach pie in the oven and the bread and olives on a plate. On a whim he brought out a bottle of white wine and placed it by the bread. He leaned over, tapped the oven door, and shuffled from foot to foot. He was in half a mind to eat the pie cold … after all it was mostly cheese. Eh, why not, we're too hungry to wait, Savva thought, pulling it back out. Stelios didn't seem to notice–he only chewed on his bottom lip like a piece of gum.

  "I haven't had any luck with missing persons. Perhaps she hasn't been reported yet. What do you think? Is she running from a person or the law?"

  "She's terrified–you've seen her, a bundle of nerves."

  "What are you going to do, Sir?"

  Savva scooped a slice of butter on a tray and pulled down a plate for the girl upstairs. "I try to talk to her, let her know she's safe, see if she'll open up to me."

  "How long are you going to keep her here?"

  "As long as she wants," Savva said.

  He put a hefty square of spinach pie on the girl's plate and went upstairs. He re-entered the kitchen a minute later, thrust wine and the glasses into Stelios' arms, and nudged him to the garden.

  In the few minutes inside, he'd forgotten the heat that came rippling off the stucco to hover over the streets–roasting all those caught unawares outside. Savva opened a sun-bleached white umbrella over the table as Stelios lovingly placed the food on the wooden table, swatting away two pesky flies with an angry flick of his wrist. They eased into their chairs like men returned home from a long day's work. Savva kicked off his loafers and fell to the casserole with gusto.

  "Not
hungry?" Savva asked through a full mouth.

  Stelios pricked the spinach pie with his fork; the filo pastry broke into a thousand fragments like sandstone. "I drank a lot last night."

  "At home or out?"

  "Both."

  "Ah."

  "I ran into Kupía Iliadou."

  Savva perked. "What'd she have to say?"

  "It's a bit fuzzy because of how much I drank after ..." Stelios muttered. "She was out because a girlfriend of hers from university had died."

  Savva shook his head and whispered, "Tromerós."

  "It is terrible, she has two little boys, six and ten. No, seven and nine. Her father was watching them."

  "What else did she say?"

  "I can't remember."

  "You shouldn't drink," Savva said as Stelios tipped back his glass and then lowered it slowly–looking sheepish. "I don't mean not at all, just not excessively."

  "I'll remember, Sir–next time."

  The curtain at the window fell back as soon as he glanced up. His phone rang. He ignored the call, and shoved the now silent phone back into his pocket. "Kleitos' office."

  "Aren't you going to answer it, Sir?"

  "I'm at home. Eating lunch. He can wait till we get back."

  But the phone rang again, Savva glared down at it as though it was the Turkish army ready to re-invade, but this time he strode away from the table to speak to the caller under the shade of the bougainvillea.

  * * *

  "Hello?"

  "Alexandros, its Nikolaos."

  "I thought you might call."

  "I met one of your officers last night."

  Savva dug his bare feet in the cool dirt. "Private Kaikas."

  "She's a sharp woman."

  Savva interrupted. "You sent her to Giorgos."

  Nikolaos could ramble ad nauseam about women: his favorite and most expounded theory (that Savva secretly agreed with) was that the true female nature was more celestial than men were prepared to admit–it was what tragically caused most marital problems. God did better the second time around and men should just accept it.

  "I did. But I have a question, Alexandros."