A Solitary Reaper Page 9

  "I have the flight and ferry manifests. But that'll take ages to go through, better to get the boys on it in the morning."

  "Savva will want to take a look as well. When did Matthias get here?"

  Kaikas dropped her notes and peered at Stelios over the top of her computer. "There's no record of his arrival but he could have sailed on a private craft, I suppose, its 320 kilometers of coastline."

  Stelios stuffed to the window and studied the tired town and the sea, colored orange and pink from the ever shifting of the sunset. On the street in front of the police department, a group of teenage revelers broke apart with gales of laugher. One girl with vibrant red hair waved and shouted something to her departing chums. The laughter turned to squeals of delight.

  "How did the killer find out Matthias was on the island?" Kaikas said.

  How indeed? "Anything else?"

  "Matthias Papatonis was 43 years old. He was born on December 1, 1974, on Lesvos."

  "Here?" Stelios backed away from the window. "Why don't we know him?"

  "His father took him to Athens when he was three."

  "Then what?"

  "Nothing."

  Stelios blinked. "What do you mean?"

  "There's no record of him until his name popped up in connection with mafía activities about twenty years ago."

  "What about school?"

  "I can't find any record of him attending school in Athens. It's possible he was educated at home."

  "What about the father? What'd he do?"

  "He worked odd jobs in Athens, most of it under the radar. He paid little in taxes. I do have him working a few construction sites."

  "What's his name?"

  "Taras Papatonis, born May 6, 1950, died almost eleven years ago. Drowned in a lake. Apparently there were high levels of alcohol in his blood."

  "Could Matthias' father be the link?"

  Stelios' gaze remained glued to the screen. "What do you mean?"

  "What if Taras was mafía–the move to Athens, the odd jobs, the vague work history. Matthias dropped out of sight right after they moved. You have to admit it needs looking into."

  "We'll tell Savva in the morning. He's got a few contacts in Athens he can try. I assume you didn't find any arrests for Taras Papatonis."

  Kaikas shook her head. "Nothing concrete. What's there could easily be written off as trouble-making."

  Stelios opened his mouth about to ask what she'd found on Matthias' mother, but in the doorway of the squad room a pizza boy appeared, escorted by a uniformed officer. Stelios pulled out his wallet and paid as Kaikas scurried off to the kitchen to get plates and napkins. Stelios set the boxes on the round conference table with reverent care, and piled pizza slices four deep on his plate.

  The squad room was silent apart from the sounds of mastication and hearty swallows. Kaikas leaned over to grab a fourth slice. Stelios watched her with a mixture of revulsion and respect. She looked up, fingers frozen in the act of wiping a trail of marinara off her cheek.

  "Don't worry," she said, her mouth bursting, "I'll eat salad tomorrow."

  Stelios dropped his eyes to his own plate piled with mangled remains of crust, "I wasn't ... I don't think."

  "My mom lectures me on my diet all the time: 'In a few years it'll go straight to your stomach and how will you keep a man'?" Kaikas said in a raspy voice. She dropped back against her chair and sighed.

  Stelios offered a commiserate smile and prayed that his own thoughts on the matter wouldn't be requested. But instead of speaking, or looking at him, Kaikas bit her lip and tugged on a thread that dangled from the pocket of her uniform trousers. As Stelios tore off the last vestiges of sauce and cheese from his last slice of pizza, the door opened again. He looked up, half-hoping the pizza guy was back, delivering a bottle of wine.

  It wasn't. The uniformed officer had returned with another man in his late twenties. He was tall, within an inch of Stelios' height, with dark close-cropped hair, and thick biceps encased in a shirt at least two sizes too small. He wore ripped jeans and a pair of pristine white Nike high-tops. Stelios sniffed, jeans were a workman's attire, nothing a self-respecting man would be seen in and certainly not ones with gashes trailing thread.

  Kaikas shrieked and jumped from her chair. "Dimitris!" She ran to the door, put her arms around the newcomer, and kissed him on both cheeks. Stelios turned away, making for his desk, debating the most expedient way to excuse himself from the room. "Stelios, this is my boyfriend Dimitris."

  Stelios swung around with a sigh, and rose halfway before Dimitris held up a wide thick-fingered hand to stop him.

  Dimitris' top lip curled and he rounded on Kaikas. "Why are you still here?"

  Kaikas stiffened. "I'm working."

  "Work?" Dimitris scoffed, his disdainful gaze travelled over at the desiccated remains of their dinner. "You were supposed to be home three hours ago."

  "Dimitris," she lowered her voice and moved Dimitris toward the door, "this isn't appropriate. Can we talk later? I'm at work."

  "Appropriate? Later?" he sneered. "After you've had a chance to play around with your boss?"

  "Sergeant Booras isn't my boss, he's a colleague. We're working."

  Dimitris gesticulated wildly with his hands. "Do you have any idea how this looks?"

  "I'm doing my job!" she squeaked.

  "You need to decide where your loyalties lie."

  Stelios tried to lock his mind on Matthias' case, but he looked up as Dimitris' threat fell across Kaikas' face like a slap. She melted underneath their blows and innuendo. A hatred rose in him, his hands collapsed into fists, his legs carried him forward, and all he thought of was punching the smirk off of Dimitris' face.

  His movement caught Dimitris' eye, he took a step back before he stalked off, his footsteps reverberated with diminishing force, quite unlike the silence that fell on the squad room–which swelled until the room was thick with it. Kaikas remained frozen in the doorway as though time had stopped, and any second now, the man she loved would come running around the corner, laughing at how she'd fallen so easily for his display of cruel misogyny.

  But the hallway did not disgorge Dimitris and Kaikas let out a little whimper. Stelios slunk back to his desk, feigning oblivion to what had happened fifteen feet away. It's what he'd do for any of the guys–give them space, allow them their moment of pain. She stumbled back to her desk, but stopped, staring from the empty plate, to the stack of folders to her monitor with a frown and blank eyes.

  "So, any way to prove Papatonis was mafía?" Stelios said, with more bravado than he felt.

  Kaikas still stood with her back to him. Her shoulders shook. She dropped her head into her hands. The crusading protector of all things feminine departed from Stelios. Visions of his sisters sobbing into their pillowcases and swearing off food and their inconsolable pain flew through his mind. Oh anything, anything, not to have to witness another female meltdown.

  "Which one," she said in a sticky voice.

  "The Elder."

  "I'll look into it. Tomorrow." She walked over to her desk, pulled her plain leather purse off the back of her chair and stuffed her phone, keys, and water bottle into it.

  "You shouldn't let him bully you."

  Stelios' eyes went wide and his hand flew to his mouth. He covered up this distinctly un-masculine response by pretending to pick pizza dough out of his teeth. Kaikas' eyes flew to his and he blinked in the glare.

  "Is it alright if I go? I need to track down a hotel room."

  Her shoulders drew back and her chin stopped wobbled and Stelios had the distinct impression a female Savva stood across from him. "Why should you have to pay for a hotel when he's the one who's being an ass?"

  Kaikas wiped her eyes. "Because I'm tired and I don't want to fight and have to try and kick him right now."

  They squared off. Kaikas' curls stood on end, cackling with unspent energy. Stelios wilted. "Oh hell, come stay at mine. I have an extra bedroom."

  Stelios clap
ped his hands behind his back, unconsciously mimicking Savva's behavior at crime scenes. It made him look distinguished, relaxed, in charge. But he wasn't relaxed. What if Athena decided to come back and she found another woman in his house? Damn. This is what came of acting chivalrous.

  Kaikas' red face broke into a weak smile. "Are you sure? You don't mind?"

  Oh he did mind. Now. But Stelios forced what he hoped was a kind, understanding smile onto his face and said, "Not at all."

  Half an hour later, Stelios lay prostrate in his bed, concentrating on the ceiling, as he kept him mind from the image of Kaikas asleep, her clothes folded on the arm chair in the corner, her body nestled between the blue sheets.

  But across the hall, Eleni Kaikas relived the argument with Dimitris–she spouted unassailable truths at him, and refused to take him back. Yes, it all worked out well for her, Stelios smiled in approval and admiration, and Dimitris collapsed to his knees begging her forgiveness–which of course she did not give.

  * * *

  The next morning both Stelios and Savva woke up to the strange uncomfortable feeling, which comes of having an unplanned guest in one's home. Whereas Savva, who felt relatively sure the girl wouldn't skid down the stairs in her pajamas, walked to the bathroom in his boxers, Stelios, set an early alarm and rushed through his usual morning routine.

  He stood at the kitchen sink; hands wrapped around a small white ceramic mug, and drank the coffee it contained as though it were ouzo. The sun's dawn light hit the back garden and drifted across last year's leaves he'd yet to rake. The floorboards creaked. Oh god, what would he say?

  "Kalimera."

  Stelios whipped around. Kaikas stood in the doorway to the kitchen. One leg scratched the other. Her hair was pulled back into a scraggly bun. She wore the same clothes, though they looked like they'd been ironed.

  "Kalimera," Stelios muttered. He pointed to the coffee pot. "Want some?"

  "Please."

  Stelios handed over a cup of coffee. The silence fell again as they drank. When his coffee was drained and he could think of nothing more to say to her, Stelios muttered, "We should head in."

  "I'll walk," Kaikas said. She slung a scratched leather purse over her shoulder. "That way we aren't seen together."

  Her worry of being seen together surprised him. "If you're sure."

  "Of course. Thank you for the bed," she said and then was gone, the front door closed with a soft thud behind her.

  Stelios washed the two mugs, rinsed out the coffee pot, and set all three to dry on the bamboo rack by the sink. He stepped out of the cottage a full ten minutes and locked the door behind him. The morning air rippled across his face and sunk beneath his shirt where it pressed against his skin with a cool touch. Kaikas' quick feet disappeared around the corner. Across the street his ever-curious neighbor, wrapped in a white bathrobe, shook her head at him and disappeared into her home with a disgusted snort.

  Stelios strode off down the street. "Women."

  * * *

  "You're here early."

  Stelios froze with his hand on the back door of the police department. Savva walked briskly toward him, a leather briefcase swung from his right hand. "I didn't sleep well. I thought I'd come in and get some work done."

  "What'd you and Kaikas do last night?"

  Stelios whipped around. "Kaikas?"

  "Yes, Private Kaikas. Weren't you working together last night?"

  Stelios scratched his ear. "Oh, yeah we did. Matthias was born on Lesvos in late 1974. In '77 his father, Taras, decided to move to Athens. The father's work history is patchy at best. Odd jobs, construction sites, sales. He died in 2006–went swimming while inebriated and drowned."

  Savva tugged his beard as they walked upstairs. The burning soreness in his thighs had yet to dissipate. He tried to tell himself that more exercise was the first and best medicine, but sitting and nursing his wounds sounded better. At his office door, he paused, his head cranked toward the squad room where Kaikas sat, her head cocked at the computer, still in yesterday's clothes. He glanced from Stelios who assiduously avoided his eye, to the pizza boxes in the corner trashcan, to Private Kaikas' day old clothes.

  "Is there family to notify?" Savva asked.

  "Not that we found, Sir."

  "What about his mother?"

  "There's a death certificate from 1977."

  "We'll have to release the name. Get Kaikas to double check on next of kin. I don't want Kleitos calling for my neck because we released it without the requisite due diligence."

  "Yes, Sir."

  Stelios made to walk away, but Savva grabbed his arm and shoved Stelios into his office. "In here for a moment."

  "What is it, Sir?" Stelios said as Savva shut the door.

  Savva motioned for Stelios to sit. "I need your absolute discretion."

  "You have it, Sir, always."

  Savva bit his bottom lip and paced from Stelios' chair to the door. "I need you to run a missing person's check. Greek female, early-to-mid twenties, brown hair and brown eyes, missing within the past month."

  "That's it?"

  Savva blinked. "Start small and expand outwards."

  "Expand to all of Greece?"

  "I suppose. But start with the nearest islands–Limnos, Skiros, Chios."

  Stelios took out a compact black notebook. "Should I ask, Sir?"

  Savva frowned at the notepad, as though it might ... what? What was he afraid of? "Davonna Fitzroy and my wife brought home a young woman last night."

  "A young woman?" Stelios repeated.

  Savva heaved a sigh and repeated the story Davonna and Shayma had told him last night. "They smuggled her in last night like she was in witness protection."

  "They smuggled her in?"

  Savva waved an imperious hand. "Would you stop mimicking me? Yes they smuggled her in!"

  "She didn't say anything?"

  "Oh no, she did. To me."

  "And," Stelios prompted.

  "She asked if I was a policeman and then she said she was sorry for putting us in danger."

  Stelios leaned back in his chair and massaged his bottom lip. "Did Kupía Savva ask you to check up on the girl?"

  Savva desisted with his pacing. "Yes, so start with missing persons."

  "Do you think she's dangerous?"

  Savva waved of the question. "No, but she's running from something. She wouldn't come down for dinner last night, just stayed in the upstairs room."

  "I'll find her, Sir."

  "Thank you," Savva said, then with a dramatic return to the present, placed his hands on the desk and pointed to his computer. "Now, about Matthias' case: as soon as Kaikas has word on next of kin, release his name, and do the usual public solicitation for information. Have her to retrace his last steps. We need a timeline. You meanwhile, keep digging in his past. He met the murderer somewhere. Find anyone who worked with him and get them to talk. If you need to, call the Hellenic Police in Athens, they'll interview anyone you need."

  "And you, Sir?" Stelios said.

  "I have a meeting with Kleitos in an hour, then I'm going to have a nice chat with Adam Harris again. His story doesn't sit well with me. Another go might dislodge some more information."

  "The medical examiner's office called me. Dr. Panteleon emailed her findings. Would you like me to print you a copy?"

  Savva nodded and Stelios hurried from the room. He came back a minute later with a manila folder and handed it to Savva. "I'll let you know what we find, Sir."

  Dr. Panteleon's report was straightforward and didn't contain much more than what she'd told him in the morgue. Matthias had died from trauma and loss of blood. The neurological impairment from the damage to the brain tissue was so great it had caused many of the body's organs to shut down. She could make out at least three blows to the head from a height, which meant Matthias was kneeling when his attacker brought down the brick.

  Matthias had the muscle strength of a man ten years younger and there were no signs of liver d
isease. He could've lived for another fifty years. But the x-rays revealed a host of injuries: broken arms, ribs, ankles, and damage to the knees. The bone damage was all old, the remodeling long since set. Dr. Panteleon couldn't say with absolute certainty, but there hadn't been any damage done in at least the last ten years.

  Savva put down the autopsy report and picked up the lab's preliminary analysis on the trace evidence in the wound. 'Red Brick.' He sighed and scratched the left side of his beard; the dark hairs jumped this way and that to avoid his probing fingers. With a lurch, Savva's hand shot from his beard to the phone and he punched in an extension.

  "Rallis."

  "Iason, are you still in touch with the FBI agents you met at the forensics conference in Geneva?" Savva barked.

  "It was a few years ago, but we've kept in touch."

  "Could you ask them for a favor?"

  "Let me guess; information on the American who found the body?" Rallis said.

  Even the Hellenic Police's best interrogators wouldn't have been able to find a hidden meaning in Rallis' words. He was a living embodiment of discretion and tact. "Exactly."

  "They aren't field agents," Rallis said.

  "They at least have access to the files. We don't."

  "Point taken," Rallis said. "Alright, I'll call. What time it is over there?"

  "They're nine hours behind us."

  "Did you check before you called me?"

  "I like to be thorough."

  "Alright, but you owe me. Just like I'll owe them. Though God knows when I'll ever be able to pay them back, stuck as I am in this backwater."

  "I'll call you later."

  Savva stared at the envelope, willing it to produce something, anything more that would point to the killer or a motive. The clock inched toward eight am. With a grunt he lifted himself from his chair and walked to the coat rack, grabbed his suit coat, and closed his door.