A Solitary Reaper Read online

  Savva imagined Adam meant the murder victim and not the corpse from his dream. "One moment, please."

  Savva excused himself, walked down the corridor, to find Maria Iliadou and another woman in deep conversation. With their heads bent together, their bodies angled away, and the advantage of the thick carpet, they seemed not to have noticed his approach.

  "I'll have the shower fixed right away Mrs. Harris," Maria said as he drew near. "Captain Savva, your water is on its way. This is Jane Harris. Mrs. Harris this is Captain Savva of the Hellenic Police."

  There was no need to say why she'd come face to face with a policeman. "A pleasure Mrs. Harris" was all Savva said.

  Maria stepped away to reveal a woman who looked to be held together only by willpower. Her collarbones stood out like half-unearthed fossils, and her eyes stared unblinking from dark sockets. She wore a loose grey cotton shirt dress, belted around a waif's waist and her feet were bare. Savva studied her, and the longer he stared, the deeper the chasm in her eyes became.

  "Captain Savva."

  Savva took her outstretched hand and shook it. It was like shaking the hand of his primary school's plastic skeleton. "Mrs. Harris will you follow me, please?"

  As he turned in the direction of the erstwhile interview room Maria touched Jane Harris' arm and gave her a comradely smile. It was so quick, the smile, so fleeting, that Savva dismissed it as a bystander's mute apology. Jane Harris patted Maria's hand as though the two would never meet again in this life.

  "In here, Mrs. Harris," Savva said, stepping aside so she might enter the room first.

  The muscles around Adam's eyes contracted, and though he stood, the temperature in the room could have fallen ten degrees. Adam avoided her eyes, and though he scooted over on the couch to make room for his wife, when Jane sat the gulf between them was visible. Savva pulled one of the upholstered armchairs over and sat in front of the silent couple.

  "I wanted to wait until you were present, Mrs. Harris, because many of the questions I have concern you."

  Jane Harris grimaced, but rather than revealing some hidden beauty, her weary smile augmented her emaciated face. Her lips pulled back over her protruding teeth like a starved dog. Savva recoiled and shifted into a better position in his chair.

  "How long have you been on Lesvos?"

  Adam Harris answered. "Three days."

  "Who suggested that your husband hike Mt Lepetimnos?"

  Jane thought for a moment. "It was someone at the hotel. I've talked to almost all of them about what there is to do on the island. I think it was by the pool ... or perhaps the front lounge. The days have run together," she said; as though a holiday was excuse enough for her poor memory.

  "Can you tell me what this person looked like? The day it was? What time?"

  "It was a man, older ... I think. Dark hair and dark eyes."

  Older. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Savva rolled his own dark eyes and ran his hand through his own dark hair. "Forgive me, ma'am, but you've described almost every man on Greece. Can you remember anything else?"

  Jane stiffened. Her top lip curled and she leered at him like he was an impetuous child who was intent on ruining her time by the pool. "I didn't plan to be a part of a murder investigation. I didn't take notes. All Greeks look alike. He was older but not old."

  Savva pursed his lips. "Do you remember the day or the time?"

  "No I don't. It could have been the weekend."

  Jane cocked her head, blinked balefully, and folded her claw-like hands in her lap. Why had he come if this was the sort of cooperation he got? Pretentious, self-important Americans. "Thank you, Mrs. Harris," Savva said before he turned his attention to her husband.

  Adam flinched, flailing his arms as though he'd love to shove his wife in front of him, desperate for Savva to turn his attention on her.

  "Why'd you move the body, Mr. Harris?"

  At his side, Jane Harris could have been a statue. She neither peeked at her husband nor wildly about in shock. She merely stared at the wall; full of the pretense that this was neither real nor important.

  "I told you. I felt bad for the man."

  "He was already dead, Mr. Harris. There was nothing else you could do than call the police."

  "I ... he ..."

  "Yes?" Savva pushed.

  "I didn't want to look at his head anymore. It drew my eye; the mangled mess at the back of his skull. Bits of brain and bone splayed out. I wanted to throw up. So I moved him."

  Savva watched Adam twist his fingers and cross legs. Jane's haughty face played in the periphery. There was something, something which nagged at his mind. None of it sat right. They were too far apart on the couch. Too stunted in their explanations. As the sunlight streamed through the open windows and a breeze ruffled the orange drapes, Savva shivered.

  * * *

  The squad car shuddered to a halt in front of Stelios Booras' white bungalow. Eleni wiped her sweaty palms against her uniform trousers and adjusted her collar for the fifth time. She sat. Peered from the rotting Nissan, propped up on concrete block stilts, in the neighbor's drive, to the door, and back again. She took out her phone but texting a 'here' to her superior officer didn't send the right message. Oh ta, Eleni, she grumbled, you're cracking bad jokes to yourself. What next?

  Eleni pulled down the visor and glared at herself, ignoring the pimple that had surfaced this morning on her cheek. "You're a police officer. Get a grip."

  She shouldered the door open and her hand hit the butt of her pistol. Two years and she still hadn't gotten used to it being there. Too bad this wasn't the UK where only the specialized officers were armed. At the sky blue door she pushed one escaped curl after another out of her face and back into her bun and prayed that her breath didn't smell of the garlic bread she'd had for breakfast. Why did Dimitris have to complain about the hours she worked? A grip, get a grip; you're at work, Eleni. She ejected her boyfriend from her mind, checked that her shirt was tucked in, and adjusted her cap. She knocked. The sound echoed hollowly through the house. Eleni shuffled from leg to leg, conscious that her hastily made bun was precarious. Bobby-pins failed one by one.

  Stelios popped out of the house, a briefcase in one hand and a water bottle in the other. "Finally here?"

  He pushed a pair of dark aviator sunglasses on his face and turned his key in the lock. He was dressed in a tailored blue suit and crisp white shirt, but his gaze was flat and his manner forced.

  Eleni ignored everything her female brain had absorbed. "Captain Savva called to say that he didn't get much out of the Harris' and we are to meet him at the Istoriko Lounge in Neapoli."

  Stelios buttoned his suit coat. "What about the employee who told them about the hike?"

  "Mrs. Harris couldn't remember much beyond that it was an older, but not old, Greek man."

  Stelios tightened his tie and smoothed his hair. "A what?"

  "She can't remember when or where she talked to him or what he looked like other than 'dark hair and dark eyes'."

  Stelios rolled his own dark eyes. "Americans. Can't rely on them at all."

  Eleni trailed Stelios across the garden, shut the gate, and slid behind the wheel. "She told Captain Savva the days have blurred together which is why she can't remember."

  "That's convenient."

  Stelios yanked open the passenger door, shoved the seat back as far as it would go, and folded himself in. Eleni wiped off dust from the otherwise pristine dash. She felt Stelios' eyes on her and turned the key in the ignition.

  "I'm sorry about what happened," she said in the smallest whisper almost hoping that he wouldn't hear.

  Eleni instantly regretted opening her mouth. The vehicle fell silent as though they'd both been struck dead for touching the Ark of the Covenant. He'd shout about her lack of professional decorum, he'd tell Savva and get her kicked off the case. But Stelios stared ahead as though he hadn't heard her. Glory hallelujah.

  "Thanks," Stelios said calmly, as though he'd just remembered he was spe
aking to a woman.

  "It's a miserable thing to happen."

  Stelios put up his hand. "Can you drive please, Private?"

  The bubble broke. Eleni nodded and cranked the wheel and drove south in the direction of the Istoriko Lounge. After five minutes of painful silence, Eleni braked in front of a low slung white building with a red tile roof, three sapphire blue doors, a quaint little wooden gate that separated it's small front porch from the busy street, and a towering palm tree that shaded a voluptuous outdoor dining area. Savva sat in at a wooden table with turquoise chairs under a columned gazebo, facing the sea. He chewed his lip as though it was a cigar. And greeted their arrival with a long sigh and a smile.

  "I'll go order mesimeriano shall I? It's close enough to lunch time," Stelios said.

  Savva nodded and Eleni sat beside him, scraping the chair over the cobblestones. The noise drew stares from men gathered in portly groups around tables strewn with chessboards and glasses of ouzo and bottles of sweating water. Even the flies that buzzed lazily in the heat seemed fat. She hung her head and dropped into her seat and poked a cinnamon mint surreptitiously into her mouth.

  "Feel out of place, Kaikas?" Savva asked.

  "No, Sir."

  "Good, never feel out of place on police business. Never allow anyone to steamroll you."

  Eleni perked. "Yes, Sir."

  "He'd better not come out with a measly platter; I only had toast for breakfast."

  "Did Kupía Savva get a new toaster?"

  Savva swung around his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "How do you know about that?"

  "I saw her at the market a few weeks ago, she told me you been broiling toast."

  "Hmm," Savva said, not convinced. "How's Stelios?"

  Eleni adjusted her collar and moved the clasp of her necklace. "What do you mean, Sir?"

  "The fiancé?"

  "He didn't talk about it, Sir."

  "Why not?" Savva barked.

  Savva had finally gone off the deep end. "We don't know each other that well, Sir."

  "Yes, but you're a woman," Savva said as though this was both the wisest comment he'd ever made.

  "We don't see each other outside of work, Sir."

  Savva flicked a piece of palm tree off the table. "I hoped he'd said something to you,"

  Eleni leaned forward and smiled for the care the normally abrasive, sometimes rude, man had for Stelios. She opened her mouth to say that it was kind of him to be worried but in her peripheral vision she saw Stelios exit the taverna alongside a black and white garbed waiter. Both bore massive trays.

  Savva rubbed his hands together, his eyes bright with glee, and all previous worries forgotten. There was the traditional vegetable casserole, roast lamb and vegetables, pitas, a pile of cheese, a loaf of bread with a thick slab of butter, salad with aromatic olives, and a decanter of red wine. Savva yanked a plate toward himself, glanced sideways at Eleni, with a 'don't say a word' look.

  Stelios plopped down on Savva's right and poured himself a glass of water. Eleni pulled off a chunk of bread and dipped it into a plate of mushroom and sage infused olive oil. She tipped it upright to keep it from dripping on her uniform shirt. The oil would leave a hideous, dark spot, just dark enough to torment her until she threw the shirt away.

  "So what happened, Sir?" Stelios said.

  Savva took a sip of his wine and leaned back against the metal chair. Around them the kyríos, older men, sat on the same metal chairs, under bleached white umbrellas advertising ouzo, chatting away, gesturing madly with their hands, invoking the name of an empathetic saint.

  Savva speared a piece of roast lamb on his fork. "The wife is a mystery and a half."

  "Because she couldn't remember the man who told her about the hike?" Eleni asked.

  "No, her description was vague. Medium height. Medium Build. I understand being on holiday, but honestly, just hair and eye color? And what if she imagined those too?"

  Stelios twirled an olive between his fingers. "Did Adam Harris tell you why he moved the body?"

  "Oh some tripe about the body being terrible to look at."

  "That doesn't tally with the timing though, Sir. Is he leading us up the garden path? Could be the killer?"

  "Adam Harris was on top of Mt Lepetimnos for at least a half hour before he called us. The ME hasn't done the autopsy yet but you can bet he was dead for at least a day. Besides, Harris' hands and clothing were checked for blood and tissue residue; they came away clean."

  "He could have done it the day before," Eleni said.

  "True, but why come back? For all Harris knew, no one would have used that trail until well after he and his wife were gone. Booras, check their movements. Once we get a clearer time of death we can set it against their alibis."

  Stelios hand hovered over his black notebook. "There's something else we haven't look at yet, Sir."

  "And what's that?"

  "The mafía connection. And we know someone who's connected to them. Right here on Lesvos."

  "Anthony Goldstein."

  "I hadn't forgotten. Mark my words, I'll get that shifty son of a bitch before long."

  Eleni peered at Savva over the tip of her water glass.

  "That too improper for you, Kaikas?" Stelios leered.

  "What?" she said. "No, I wondered about Goldstein. He met with Fitzroy in tavernas to try and get his money back, what if he did the same with Matthias? We should check them."

  "You want to check every taverna on Lesvos? Without a timeline?" Stelios croaked, his mind cracking under the sheer weight of the task.

  But Savva stared at Eleni with a look akin to wonder. "When did you read the file?"

  "Last night ... I was free. I thought if there was a connection to the mafía, then I should get acquainted with the last murder."

  Savva turned to Stelios. "Start two weeks prior to his death; take photos and get surveillance. Go to Goldstein's old haunts first."

  Stelios nodded. "Do we know what Matthias did for them? That might give us a better idea of what we're up against."

  Savva toasted Stelios. "I'll meet with Goldstein today and then contact Serious Crimes in Athens."

  Eleni frowned at her wine glass. "What if it wasn't mafía related, Sir?"

  "You have another theory?"

  "No, but the murder, the level of anger it took ... it was personal. Not a hit."

  "Thanos would agree with you. Since you've been so helpful with the investigation thus far: Kaikas you'll create a timeline of Matthias' movement for last six months. Everywhere he went, everyone he saw, everything he did. If you don't find anything, push the timeline out further. Speak to family, girlfriends, work colleagues, anyone that you can get a hold of."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Stelios, get some of the boys at the station onto flight and ferry manifests. I want to know who's come to and left the island in the past week. Tomorrow we'll go back to the hotel and interview the employees; see if we can track down this 'older but not old Greek man'."

  "Do you think he's gone? The murderer, Sir?" Stelios asked.

  "No, I'm sure he's still here."

  * * *

  It wasn't difficult to find Anthony Goldstein. All he had to do was call Kupía Carras, the mother of Goldstein's daughter Athena, and he was given an address that was fortuitously just down from the Loriet Hotel on El. Venizelou Road. Savva rose from the table, slapped a few euros on the table, and surveyed Stelios and Eleni as they drove in the direction of the police department.

  In his own vehicle, Savva'd no sooner relaxed into the quick violins of Camille Saint-Saëns' Danse Macabre in G Minor, than he swerved off the road, not five feet from where the Aegean turned rocks into sand, and ogled the house opposite. A cream building with black moulding and shutters, a large oak front door, and a wrought iron fence with pointed fleurs de lis. The grass was trimmed to a neat three inches, the shrubbery groomed, and the yucca plants contained. It was large but not ostentatious with a well-maintained garden and pristine stucc
o, but quite at odds with the grey house next to it, separated by a six-foot-tall wall, a TV antenna protruded from the roof like a lighting rod.

  Savva strode purposefully up the walk. He caught the twitch of a curtain at a second floor window as he raised the steel door knocker and brought it down with force. A short minute later he door cracked open to reveal the suggestion of a dark-skinned woman with shifting green eyes. Her hair was wound in a severe bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a severe black dress, black stockings, and a crucifix on a gold chain around her neck.

  "May I help you, Sir?" she asked in a clipped voice.

  "I am Captain Alexandros Savva; Hellenic Police." Savva showed her his warrant card. "I'd like to speak to Mr. Goldstein if he's at home."

  "You may wait while I see if he's available," she said and directed Savva to a short stool next to an ornate banquette.

  "Efaristo."

  She inclined her head and slipped away. Her black ballet flats hovered above the marble-tiled entryway and the parquet floors as though afraid of adding the cleaning of her own footsteps to her already prodigious workload.

  The woman, who Savva took to be Goldstein's housekeeper, came back before he could sufficiently study the house in which he'd found himself. She led him to the back and out a set of double doors to a terrace tiled in a dark grey marble. A tall stone fireplace stood at one corner. In the other a group of red and grey sofas and chairs were grouped around a gold and glass table.

  She motioned him to a long damask upholstered sofa; so expensive it belonged indoors. "May I get you a drink, Captain Savva?"

  "A water with lemon," Savva said, parched after the wine at lunch.

  Savva turned his attention to the long flat garden. A fountain, topped with a statue of Aphrodite, was surrounded by a lush lawn. The shrubbery, the lavender rows, the lemon trees, were all clipped and molded into perfection. But what should have been aesthetically pleasing fell flat. The garden conjured images of the maze-like contraptions the French created at their grand chateaus, turning nature into a mathematical formula: chaos into order. A manufactured beauty with no room for individuality or growth. Nature: limited, blocked, held prisoner.