A Solitary Reaper Read online

  The line crackled again as the headphones were passed back. "You'd better come home soon. She's been dying to cook for you ever since she heard about Theia."

  "I'm sure," Stelios muttered.

  "Try some other islands too, Stelios, we can't be the only one."

  * * *

  Savva paced his office; five steps back and forth across the polished floorboards. Anthony Goldstein's words rattled through his mind, pinging against his worries and suspicions and what little evidence they'd gathered so far. He padded to the window and peered down at the city. The sky darkened under storm clouds moving across the Aegean. The change in light turned the rooftops into puddles of dried blood.

  With that horrible thought, Savva shuffled to his desk, and stuffed Matthias' file into his briefcase. Out of the single black filing cabinet in the far corner, he dug out a manila folder with the name Anthony Goldstein neatly typed on a white sticker. Without a backwards glance for the teeming squad room, he locked his office, and left the building.

  Outside on the heaving sidewalk, he paused, letting the cool, sweet breeze of expectant rain ruffle his suit coat, peek under his collar, and blow away the stale office air. It was a short walk home, but Savva didn't want to see anyone, so he turned down alleys covered with multicolored graffiti. A grey cat with a white stomach sidled up to him, following for a few meters. He gazed at it, into its intelligent blue eyes, and smiled. The cat seemed to take this as one step too close to intimacy and sprang away–it's tail horizontal and its ears flat.

  Savva found himself at his front door, the air considerably cooler on account of the impending rain. They'd have to eat inside tonight. He shrugged off his suit coat, locked the briefcase in the wardrobe, and changed into a pair of dark grey linen pants, a blue, merino wool sweater, and thick wool socks. The house was quiet and still. Disappointed to find Shayma wasn't home, Savva padded to the kitchen deciding to fill the void with food.

  On a plate he piled pita, leftover lamb klefiko, a slice of pastitsio, olives, and a hunk of red Leicester cheese from Sparkenhoe Farm in England sent in the last care package from his brother in Scotland. Rising onto the balls of his feet, he pulled out a bottle of ouzo from the cabinet where they kept the liquor, and poured a generous measure. He'd barely sat down at the table when the ceiling shifted above him and he remembered the girl.

  He balanced the plate in one hand–stuffing the fork into his trouser pocket–and his glass on the other and softly hit his foot against the lintel. "May I come in?"

  There was no sound from within, which Savva took as an affirmative. His eyes immediately went to the bed, but the quilt was carefully tucked in, the pillows plumped; it was empty. A soft movement at the window caught his attention.

  "You're up," he said as though he hadn't been about ready to pass out at the sight of the empty bed. "I brought some food, and some ouzo. It's not too early is it? Want some?"

  The girl wore a baggy blue sweatshirt, which Savva recognized as one of his own. From when I used to run the length of Mitilini in the mornings, Savva thought wearily. The hood was pulled low over her eyes and her hands were encased in the sleeves. He put the plate on the trunk at the end of the bed and watched as she took one of the pitas and a piece of the cheese. He stacked pillows at the foot of the wardrobe, and settled onto them with the plate balanced on his lap.

  He picked up a pebble-sized piece of cheese. The sharp, earthy tang exploded in his mouth. It was unlike anything else in the world … except for the black truffle studded cheese he'd had on vacation in Provence with Shayma eight years ago. He still dreamt of that cheese. The pastitsio was cold by the time he shoved the fork into its layers of pasta, ground beef, and béchamel sauce, but he relished it all the same. He popped a black olive into his mouth and washed it down with a healthy sip of ouzo. The girl leaned against the window frame, tore off a piece of pita, and chewed it like she was being asked to write an essay on its taste and texture.

  "I almost forgot you were here, you're so quiet," Savva said.

  The girl ignored him. She didn't shiver or twitch. She didn't have to keep a constant eye on him anymore, but only sat on the window seat as comfortably as if this was her own home and she had a whole day free in which to do absolutely nothing. "Tell me more about your daughter," she whispered, her fingers tracing the line of the windowpane.

  "What do you want to know?"

  "Was she always like that? Going after what she wanted?"

  "Oh yes. Always, with single-minded devotion. It created a lot of friction between her and Shayma. They're both that way, both headstrong, completely unshakable. I used to escape out to the pier and fish when they argued. A man can only handle so much yelling before he goes crazy. I'd come home after an hour or two, lugging my catch, and they'd be back to normal.

  "One day they had a huge fight. Minerva was thirteen, and she'd kissed a boy at school. She said she loved him; they were going to get married. She was young," Savva said as the girl snapped her head to his. "Shayma explained it wasn't going to happen. Minerva was livid. Couldn't understand why her mother was doing this. All the other girls in her class had boyfriends. Well, we had friends for dinner, Shayma told Minerva to stay in her room as a punishment.

  "We had a great dinner, lots of food, lots of wine. Our friends left well after midnight, with loud goodbyes. Shayma felt awful as soon as the door closed behind them. She turned to me worried that she'd overreacted and she wanted to go apologize. I told her it wasn't a big deal; let the girl sleep. But she didn't listen to me. A good thing too.

  "She walked up the stairs, wiping away tears. I hadn't even turned to the bedroom to put on my pajamas before she started screaming. Minerva was gone. We tore the house apart, yelling for her, looking everywhere. Shayma sobbed, screaming it was all her fault.

  "She tore off down the street, telling me to start calling our friends to see if Minerva had gone to them. I put my hand on the phone when it rang. I had a great boss in those days. He was like a father to me. It was him who'd called. Minerva was at his house, asleep on the sofa. She'd walked the two miles in the pitch-dark to his house. She was sobbing, crying that her mama didn't love her anymore."

  Savva paused; the girl still hadn't moved. Her chest barely rose underneath the layers of thick cotton. But her head was turned slightly towards him, hanging on every word.

  "I left a note for Shayma and drove over. Minerva was there on the sofa, her thick hair splayed out in a jumble of tangles. I broke down. My boss' wife excused herself. I wept. It hadn't been twenty minutes since we'd discovered the empty bedroom, but it felt like a lifetime. Every breath, every second without her, was a knife to my heart. I thought I'd have a heart attack. Everything hurt. The fear, the helplessness, imagining the horrors that could've befallen her–I couldn't …

  " finally got myself under control and only then did my captain call Shayma. He told her we were both there and we'd be home soon. I told him he must think we were the worst parents in the world. He smiled, and shook his head. 'She came here because she wanted to be found, she wanted you to come and get her,' he said. Minerva woke when I blew my nose. She walked sheepishly over and stood in front of me, blinking for dear life, her tears spilled out and she howled about how sorry she was and how running away was naughty.

  "I brought her home; more crying. Shayma and Minerva both broke down, apologizing all over themselves. She slept between us, Shayma on one side, me on the other. They fell asleep right away, but I watched them. We never spoke about it again, but a night never went by that Shayma didn't check on Minerva."

  Savva shook his head to dispel the image of the empty bed and the memory of that night when he thought he'd lost everything–only to have the same feeling return again only a few years later.

  "Did she ever run away again?” The voice broke through the memories.

  "No," Savva replied. "Shayma told her the only way to solve her problems was to talk about them, not to run away. And if she couldn't do it, then all of Minerva's bo
oks and toys would find themselves being given away to needy children. Well that sobered her up. Minerva crossed herself and said it would never happen again. And it didn't."

  "How old would she be?"

  "Old enough."

  "Do you miss her?"

  "Every day. You'd think that after so long, it would go away, but it doesn't. I think of funny things to tell her about Stelios: my sergeant. She was a few years older than him. His parents moved here when he was ten. She thought he was an idiot but Stelios worshipped her. I sometimes wonder if they would've married.

  "I put my hands on a bouquet of her favorite flowers, ready to buy them; then I remember. I stomp up here after work and imagine how I'll rant to her about my boss. I got all the way to the door of this room once. Every time it's like I've lost her all over again. The floor drops out from under you and you're falling through all the pain."

  "Was she sick, is that why she's gone?"

  "No," Savva said. "Do you want to come downstairs? You're free to sit in the garden, no one will bother you there." The girl shook her head. Well, no time like the present. "Do you have parents?"

  Shadow fell across her face. She nodded once.

  "Can you tell me about them?"

  She shook her head violently.

  "Why not?"

  Silence once again fell across Minerva's childhood bedroom and in the door came fear. The girl quivered and shook and fell back into the bed.

  "Please I want to help you."

  "He said he'd kill them all."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "Morning, Sir.” Savva stood at the doorway to his office the next morning and watched as Stelios strode up the hallway.

  "I'm going to have to go to Athens today."

  "Will Kleitos sign off on the trip?" Stelios asked.

  Savva massaged the base of his neck. “Call his office will you? See if he's in."

  He walked to the window. The glass was warm from the sun, so he turned and rested his back against it–desperate enough to try anything to loosen the muscles. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift, thinking of his father's boat tied up in the harbor. How long had it been since he'd taken it out?

  "Sir?"

  Savva opened his eyes and sighed. "He's in, isn't he?"

  "He is."

  Savva pitched forward and smoothed down his hair in the back. "Well, wish me luck."

  "Good luck."

  Savva stopped at the doorway. "Get me on today's ten o'clock flight."

  Stelios smiled. "You'll go regardless of what he says, won’t you?”

  Savva tapped the lintel with a mischievous grin. Upstairs, on the top floor he teetered in the gust of cold dry air.

  "Captain Savva, what a pleasure."

  A bright smile, unseen for weeks, lit Savva's face. "Kupía Galanis how are you?"

  "Well, thank you, Sir. What brings you up to the top floor?"

  "I need Kleitos' permission to travel to Athens for an interview."

  Kupía Galanis smiled and turned her head; her aquamarine and diamond earrings caught the light, casting rainbows on her desk. Her dark hair was piled around her shoulders in soft waves. "As it happens the Inspector General of the North Aegean rescheduled his visit for tomorrow. I'm sure you could pass off your travel to Athens as a way to show the Inspector General how devoted Mitilini is to solving this ghastly murder."

  Savva beamed. "Thank you."

  "Anytime," she said and pushed the intercom button on her phone. "Captain Savva is here to see you, Sir."

  There was an almost inaudible huff on the other end, before: "Send him in, please."

  Kleitos was, for once, engaged in rapid activity within his office. A clear plastic filing tray now sat on his desk (holding all the reports he did not read), the floors shone like one massive beacon, and the golf clubs were absent. This, however, was nothing in comparison to the man himself who was: disheveled. He bent over a desk drawer; his hair no longer perfectly parted, but hanging into his eyes, shirt unbuttoned, tie and suit coat cast off and trailing off a chair onto the floor. It was only eight am.

  Savva cleared his throat and said jovially, "Kalimera, Sir."

  Kleitos shot up like a jack-in-the-box. "Ah, Savva. What do you want?"

  "I understand the Inspector General is arriving tomorrow, Sir."

  "Yes he is," Kleitos snapped. "What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy? I don't have time for idle chit-chat."

  Savva inclined his head. "Of course, Sir. You have many demands on your time, not least of all the Inspector General's visit. It's on that particular note I came to speak with you, Sir."

  Kleitos surveyed Savva through narrowed eyes. "Yes?"

  Savva mounted a look of deepest concern onto his face. "Colonel Gallas in Athens managed to set up a meeting with a mafía informant who has information regarding my murder victim. Unfortunately, his informant refuses to leave Athens, which precipitates my travel there. I couldn't ask Booras to go, as the meeting requires a level of finesse and experience. And as the Inspector General had rescheduled his visit, and it might be prudent of us to be seen taking a definitive step toward solving this case …”

  Kleitos slid over to his chair and sat down. He steepled his fingers and surveyed Savva. "It's true the Inspector General's visit is hectic. For me in particular. I don't see why Lieutenant Booras can't go. The Inspector General will want to hear about the progress on the case from the officer in charge–when he gets here.”

  Savva's fingers twitched and he hid them behind his back, unconsciously standing at-ease. "I'll type up a full report for you both before I leave and if the Inspector General has further questions, I'll be available on my tilefono."

  Kleitos hesitated. The dark hairs on his chest rippled in the breeze from the floor vents. "I appreciate your concern, Savva. You may go. But have your phone on you in case the Inspector General wants a word."

  "Of course, Sir. Is there anything else?"

  Kleitos frowned. “No, thank you, Captain. That will be all. I'll except your report before you leave and a full report of your activities when you return."

  Savva stepped back, nodded again at Kleitos, and exited the office.

  "Well?"

  Savva smiled in the direction of the excited voice. Kupía Galanis stood at the doorway of her office, biting her lip. "He's approved the travel request."

  "I'm sure this will be a great help to him, what with the Inspector General's trip tomorrow."

  "Indeed," Savva said. "I am in your debt, Kupía Galanis."

  She waved off his thanks and slipped back behind her desk. "I did next to nothing, Captain. Safe travels."

  "Yes, thank you."

  Savva walked back downstairs, his heart lighter. He smiled at a passing corporal who sprang back as though a poisonous snake had jumped out at him. In the squad room, he plunked himself down on Stelios' black filing cabinet. Unlike Kleitos' new showpiece, this was dented and scratched from decades of use.

  "Any luck, Sir?" Stelios asked. He leaned back in his chair and surveyed Savva.

  "The best," Savva said. "The Inspector General of the North Aegean Region shall grace Mitilini with his presence tomorrow and the Colonel believes it would send the right message that the officer in charge of this case should be seen to be doing his utmost to solve the murder."

  Stelios brought his hands together in one sharp clap. "Perfect. I got you on the ten o'clock flight."

  "Did you manage a hotel?"

  Stelios perked up. "Colonel Callas called while you were with Kleitos. He said his wife is out of town with her sister, so he's invited you to stay with him. I told him you'd be delighted. Plus, I'm sure it'll make Kleitos happy–saving money and all."

  "It seems that's what my life has become." Savva rose and shook his head. "I'll be off home then. Email me the flight details."

  Savva shuffled across the squad room to his office but turned midway at yelled Stelios' name.

  "Yes, Sir?"

  "I want you to compile a report
for Kleitos about Matthias' case. Deliver it to Kupía Galanis when you're finished."

  Stelios' eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "Will he read it?"

  "It's not for him. It's for our illustrious guest."

  * * *

  As there was little more he could do at headquarters, Savva walked to the coat rack, dropped his tilêfono into his inner suit pocket, and left. A few of Shayma's friends, huddled together in a tight knit group in front of the bookstore, comparing their purchases, nodded to him. He nodded back, and increased his pace–past barbershops with tilted poles, a boarded up travel agency, and a bustling antique store with a genie bottle on top of a child's high chair in the window. A teenage boy he thought he recognized from an assault case tipped his phone to his head in a strange pseudo-modern salute.

  Tourists parted in front of Savva's sour face and his unrelenting stride. The bench–his bench, was free. He settled into it and the moment he closed his eyes, Matthias glared at him, his head caved in, dried blood still pooled in his eyes. Savva rubbed his eyes, and considered calling Shayma just to forget Matthias. Just to forget the two children who might be in danger–just so he might have a few minutes of blessed relief from this work. But no, he couldn't place that pressure on Shayma–the weight of it was too great. She saw her own share of suffering, daily. He thought of the pink house, ablaze with ringing phones and donation deliveries, slammed him with another dose of responsibility. He hadn't done anything about the girl's case today. He hadn't spared a moment's thought of her since he left the house. As soon as this is all over …

  Savva lifted his head and peered over the pristine water to the gulls bobbing on the undulating waves like discarded bread. Across the wispy grass he slid his feet, scooted down until his neck rested on the back of the bench, folded his arms across his chest, and closed his eyes. The world disappeared and all that was left was the sound of water on rock and the whisper of the sea breeze against the olives and their leaves.

  "Sir?"

  Savva snapped up. His eyes shot open and he blinked in the sun. Thanos stood in front of him, taking great care not to smile. "Thanos."