Jeffrey Siger - Mykonos After Midnight

“And what are we going to use for money?”

He shook his head. “Oh ye of little faith. Remember, police aren’t as expensive as they used to be.”

“Stop bullshitting me, Sergey. What’s going on?”

The tall man opened one of the bottles of vodka as the short man put out four mismatched water glasses.

“Like I said, we’re celebrating.”

“Tell me or I’m out of here!”

“But to where? Where can you go now that is safer than here?” He waved toward the two other men, “With us?”

She blinked.

He walked over to her and put his arm around her shoulder. “Come my love, it’s time to celebrate.”

And so they did.

***

The screen lit up and a buzz vibrated along the tabletop. Tassos put down his coffee and reached for his phone. He looked at the name of the caller, ANDREAS KALDIS, and pressed ACCEPT.

“I was wondering when I’d hear from our country’s feared head of its Special Crimes Division.” The two cops met when Andreas served as chief of police on Mykonos, and they’d remained fast friends after his promotion back to Athens as chief of the division charged with investigating matters of national concern or potential corruption.

“Tell me about it. If it weren’t for a court appearance I had this afternoon, Spiros would have had me on Mykonos busting your balls for answers to feed the press.”

“Ahh, Spiros Renatis, our distinguished fearless leader and minister of public order. How nice of him to still take an interest in my work after all these years. He should have dropped by, I’d have been more than happy to see him. At least he could have called. I’m hurt.”

“Yeah, I bet. He’s more afraid of you than he is of his wife,” said Andreas. Tassos had been on the force so long that everyone either owed him a favor or feared what he knew about them-on both sides of the law.

“You mean the one who gives him his social standing?” said Tassos.

“Hey, easy there fella, you’re hitting close to home.” Andreas’ wife was the daughter of one of Greece’s oldest and wealthiest families and the socially prominent widow of a shipowner before they married.

Tassos laughed. “How is Lila, Andreas, mou?”

“My bride is fine and sends her regards.”

“So, what can I do to help you?”

“As if you didn’t know. Christos Vasilakis had a lot of friends, he was a media darling, and Spiros sees the chance to become a headline hero again with a quick arrest.”

“Well, it won’t be quick, but we’ll make an arrest.”

“You’ve solved it already? I’m impressed.”

“It wasn’t that hard. There were three of them. Christos’ girlfriend and two other guys. They showed up at Christos’ house in a car they’d stolen from the old port, killed him, drove the car back to the old port, left it there, and took the Sea Jet to Athens.”

“How the hell do you all know that?”

“Got your attention, huh?”

“Always do.”

“I had one of my guys check the neighborhood for security cameras. He found video covering practically the whole route between Christos’ house and the old port. Do you have any idea how many cameras are out there? They’re everywhere.”

“Good thing my secret liaison days at deserted fields and beaches are behind me.”

“You better believe it. These days whatever you do outdoors you’re likely doing for an audience.”

“When do you expect to make an arrest?”

“No telling. That’s something we’ll have to work through Europol. My guess is the killers are out of Greece by now.”

“Anything for Spiros to tell the press?”

“Not yet. If he does, it will tip-off the killers we’re on to them, and they’ll disappear like smoke.”

“I guess that means I tell him nothing.”

“I leave that to you. But knowing Spiros as we do, and his penchant for kissing the ass of anyone he thinks might help his career, if you told him the whole story he might think it serves his interests better if they’re never caught.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” said Andreas.

“There’s a part to this murder that makes the simple solution I just described far more intricate a puzzle than I dare tell you on a mobile phone. Even a supposedly secure one.”

“Jesus, Tassos, you and your dramatics. You’re just trying to get me over to Mykonos to buy you dinner.”

“Andreas, how many times do I have to tell you? ‘We’re cops. We don’t pay.’”

Andreas laughed. “A perfect description of our different approaches to police work.”

“So, are you coming or not?”

“How about tomorrow morning on the first flight? I promised my mother that Lila and I would have dinner with her tonight.”

“And Tassaki?”

“If we didn’t show up with her grandson, I doubt my mother would feed us.”

“Yeah, Maggie said that your mother won’t even let you use a babysitter.”

“I’m glad to hear that my secretary is keeping you up to speed on my personal life.”

“Your secretary is discreet. It’s my girlfriend who talks.”

“Cute.”

Andreas had unknowingly rekindled an old romance between Tassos, a long time widower, and Maggie, Andreas’ secretary and mother superior of Athens’ police headquarters.

“But seriously, my friend, get over here ASAP.”

“Will do. See you tomorrow. Good night.”

Tassos put the phone on the table. He picked up his coffee, took a sip, turned his head, and stared at the crescent of tavernas spread out along the harborfront. He watched a few taverna owners trying to lure passing tourists inside with offers of “very fresh fish, special price.” The enticers were obviously transplants from other places. Mykonians didn’t act that way. They looked down on such pushy practices, considered them contrary to their philosophy that hospitality meant serving, not pressing, your clients. So far, that approach had worked out well for them. Mykonos’ tourist draw was the envy of every island in the Cyclades, if not everywhere in Greece.

He took another sip of coffee and thought about how much the times had changed. The island was still paradise, and the old town never failed to enchant tourists wandering its centuries-old maze of whitewashed two-story buildings aligned every which way along narrow, flagstone alleyways. But paths once used to flee invading pirates now served as playgrounds for village children beneath the watchful gaze of black clad grandmothers chatting away across brightly painted wooden balconies.

A pack of scantily clad college-age girls walked by, toying with the taunts of boys calling out to them from the taverna. Tassos smiled. Maybe times hadn’t changed that much. Just the places. He’d heard locals say that during the hectic summers of Delos’ Third Century BCE heydays as the commercial trading center for the ancient world, Delians would send their wives and children to Mykonos during the hot summers. Not so much to holiday-as many wealthy but busy Athenian husbands and fathers sent them today-but to save them from the advances of thousands of anonymous sailors and traders passing through the island looking for ways to spend their time. Today, the former sanctuary posed the greater threat to virtue than the Delian ruins. A promise that drew even more to the flame.

As with everything in Greece, the history of Mykonos entwined with the gods. Some said the island’s name came from Apollo’s grandson, Mykons. Others claimed it just meant “a pile of rocks” in keeping with the myth that Heracles fought the Giants in aid of Zeus and after defeating them threw the vanquished into the sea where they turned into the massive boulders found scattered around Mykonos.

The first evidence of human inhabitants on Mykonos dated back to 4000 BCE. For most of the ensuing six thousand years, whether the island prospered or not depended primarily on its proximity to the more commercially developed islands of Delos, Syros, and Tinos, and to the foreigners then in control-Carians, Egyptians, Phoenicians, Minoans, Ionians, Athenians, Macedonians, Romans, Venetians, Turks, and Russians, were among those who dominated Mykonos at some point.