The lobby lights were dim and a muted TV was flickering with a rerun of a soccer game. The night manager was lying on the couch dozing. He jumped up when he heard someone and forced a smile through sleepy eyes. He didn't recognize Andreas at first, but when he did the smile disappeared.
'Mr Ilias not here.' He was nervous.
'I'm not here to see him. I'm here to see you.' Now the man was very nervous. 'Where can we talk?' Andreas' voice was crisply official.
The man showed him to the office by the reception counter.
'I have a few questions for you,' Andreas said.
'I told you everything,' the man said, his body shaking.
Time to make him shake more, thought Andreas as he shook his head and said, 'I don't think so.'
Andreas made him repeat everything he could remember about Helen Vandrew. Nothing new. Andreas raised his voice a few notches. 'Okay, now tell me anybody else you can think of who might know something about her. Anybody you saw talk to her, anybody you saw with her, anybody you saw near her!' His voice had risen until he was yelling.
'I don't know.'
'Think, damn it! Did you ever see her with anyone?'
'No, like I said, never.' The man looked hysterical with fear.
Andreas softened his voice a bit. 'Look, she was pretty and alone here for two days. Someone must have tried to talk to her. At breakfast or when she was going out.'
'Honest, there no one. She never come to breakfast. She never come back second night, and first night she go out of taxi alone.'
Andreas heard a new word.
'Taxi? You never said anything about a taxi.'
'It just Manny. He bring her in morning.'
Now Andreas was yelling for real. He grabbed the man by the shirt. 'Listen, you bastard, I told you I wanted the names of everyone you ever saw with her. Even Jesus Christ himself! If I even think you're holding back or covering for someone, I'll find so many ways to keep your ass in prison the only way you'll ever get out is in a coffin! Understand? Now tell me everyone!'
The man was probably frightened enough to wet his pants. He was in tears. 'I no think you mean taxi drivers. Sorry, sorry, sorry. There no one else, no one. On my mother's grave no one else.'
Andreas kept scaring the life out of him for another fifteen minutes until he was certain the man was telling the truth. All that work for the name of one lousy taxi driver. Annika wasn't quite sure why she agreed to leave the piano bar with him to get something to eat, but he knew everybody there, was interesting, and behaved like a gentleman. It seemed harmless enough – and it wasn't as if he were a total stranger. He suggested a place out of town, a local Italian restaurant on the road to Kalifati Beach, southeast of Ano Mera. She'd been there before and liked it but didn't tell him; after all, she wasn't supposed to know the island.
The place was full when they arrived, as if no one knew or cared how late it was. He acted shyer than she expected, often pausing thoughtfully before speaking. In academic circles, taking such time to collect your thoughts was known complimentarily as taking a 'Harvard pause' – though Yale kibitzers said it meant waiting for the voices inside your head to tell you what to say next.
They sat outside, just off the beach, at a shaky wooden table barely covered by a plastic, blue-and-white checkered tablecloth. The ground was hard-packed and sandy, but the nearby fig trees and geraniums seemed to like it. So did the mosquitoes. The owner brought Annika some repellent and a wrap for her shoulders – the night air was a bit nippy for beach wear. She wasn't dressed or in the mood for a romantic dinner, which made this all the more perfect a choice. The only thing romantic about this place was a funnel of rippling silver moonlight coming at them across the sea between two matching hills locals called 'the breasts of Aphrodite.'
They ordered pizza and chilled red wine. It was great, and reminded her of a late-night food-run in college.
'How do you like the place?'
'I love it.' She took a bite of pizza.
'I thought you would.' He sipped his wine. 'It's more relaxed than most places in town. Seems more real to me than there.' He gestured toward town.
She nodded in agreement as she picked up her wine-glass. 'Absolutely. It's crazy back there.'
'Bet you can't wait to leave.' His voice was calm, matter-of-fact.
'Oh, I like Mykonos. Just have to find the right crowd to share it with.' She sipped her wine.
'No luck yet?' He put down his glass.
She nodded again. 'For sure on that score.' She put down her glass and excused herself to go to the bathroom.
When she returned a chocolate souffle was on the table.
'Surprise. I thought you could use a pick-me-up and the chef has a secret recipe for the absolutely best deep-dark chocolate souffle in all of Greece.'
'Wow, I never knew that.' That was true, but she didn't mean it to sound as if she'd been here before, so she quickly added, 'Greece really has souffles?'
He looked at her, paused, and smiled. 'Yes, Greece has souffles.'
It was delicious. They finished it and their wine. He went to pay the check and returned with two sfinakis on a silver tray. He handed one to her.
'A Mykonos tradition. Yamas.' He lifted the other glass to clink with hers.
She smiled and decided not to dump the drink. She was headed straight back to her hotel for the night; this would be her very last one. 'Yamas.'
Clink. All Andreas wanted to do when he left the hotel was head straight home to bed, but he called the taxi dispatcher instead. She said Manny wasn't due to start his night shift for another half hour but as soon as he signed in she'd tell him to meet Andreas at the police station. Not even enough time for a quick nap, he thought. Annika didn't realize how tired she was until they were in the car headed back to her hotel. The music on the CD player was soothing, and he wasn't forcing her to talk. She tried to stay awake but was too exhausted. She leaned her head back against the seat and shut her eyes. Only for a moment, she thought. Only for a moment. Andreas was downstairs by the front door talking to Kouros when a silver Mercedes taxi slid into the lot. There was space by the front door, but the driver parked away from the building, beyond the reach of its floodlights. He looked like most Mykonos taxi drivers – dark hair, swarthy complexion, light-colored short-sleeved shirt, dark slacks, and dress shoes. They tended to take themselves seriously.
Andreas assumed this was Manny. Their file on his taxi license listed him as forty-five, and he looked about that age. The driver walked over to them and asked if the chief was in. 'I was told to meet him here.'
'Hi. Andreas Kaldis.' He extended his hand. 'Thanks for coming over.' Andreas noticed that for a man of average height and weight, his forearms were massive.
'No problem.' They shook hands. Despite his obvious strength, Manny's handshake was exceptionally weak.
Andreas took him up to his office and closed the door. The man appeared calm, not concerned in the least as to why the chief of police had summoned him at one in the morning.
'Any idea why I asked you here this late?' Andreas began.
'No, sir.' He answered like someone used to talking to police. He's probably had his share of run-ins over tourist complaints, Andreas thought. Andreas gestured for Manny to sit in front of his desk, then walked around to its other side and picked up a photograph of Helen Vandrew. 'Ever see her before?'
Manny looked at it carefully. 'I think it's the same one another officer showed me,' he said, and handed it back to Andreas.
Clever answer. 'I meant while she was alive.' No need to hide the fact that she was dead – everyone knew.
'Not that I can recall.'
Another clever answer. 'I don't know how to tell you this, Manny, but you're one of the last people to see her alive.'
Manny twitched but kept his composure. 'Why do you say that?'
'Because,' Andreas said, speaking slowly and deliberately, 'I have a witness putting her in your taxi.' He paused for a few seconds and continued with a shrug. 'If you want a lot of cops asking a lot of people a lot of questions tying you in to a murder investigation, just keep answering like you think I'm a fucking idiot.'
Manny sat silently.
'Why don't I start with a call to your dispatcher asking for your location around sunrise on June third?'
Andreas could tell he'd surprised him, but still Manny said nothing. It was the savvy way to behave around questioning cops. Time to turn up the heat. 'Okay, if that's the way you want to play it, let me tell you how it's going down on my end. You'll make me waste my time checking out my witness' story, and if it checks out, I'll make your life on this island a living hell. My men will stop you a dozen times a day. There won't be a U-turn you'll get away with, and heaven help you if a tourist ever makes a complaint against you. My purpose in life will be to yank your taxi license the very first chance I get. So, either talk or get out of here so I can stop busting my balls and start busting yours.' He put the photograph back on his desk and stared at Manny.
Manny sat perfectly still for a moment, then leaned over and picked up the photograph. 'Now that you remind me, I think I did have someone who looked like her as a fare. I dropped her off at the Adlantis Hotel that morning.' He remained calm, eerily so.
'Where did you pick her up?'
'Walking along a road on the other side of the radar station.'
Andreas' pulse jumped. 'What was she doing out there?'
'How would I know?'
'Don't start up with me again. A pretty girl walking alone on a road in the middle of nowhere at sunrise, and you didn't ask her why?' He raised his voice.
Manny let out a breath. 'Okay, she said a boy took her on a motorcycle to that beach where the priest lives. He got a little aggressive, she said no, and he left her there to walk home. I saw her on the road and picked her up.'
Andreas nodded. 'Good. Now tell me what you were doing out there at sunrise.'
It was the first time he looked uncomfortable. 'I dropped off a fare.'
'Really? Who and where?'
'I don't remember.'
'You'd better start to, unless you want to be my number one suspect in her murder.'
Manny's breathing quickened and he looked down at the floor. 'He's my cousin.'
Andreas was puzzled. 'Who's your cousin?'
'The boy on the motorcycle. He called me on his mobile to tell me he'd left a girl alone on the beach. He wanted me to pick her up. He's not as bad a kid as he seems. Just a little hot-blooded at times.'
'What's his name?'
'Yiorgos Chanas. His father owns Panos' Place. That's where he met her.'
'Did you ever see her again?'
Manny paused – that had to mean yes. Andreas waited.
'The next night. I saw her getting into a taxi at the stand by the harbor.'
'Was she with anyone?'
'Yes, but he didn't get in with her.'
'Who was it?'
'George, I don't know his last name, he's that South African jeweler who speaks Greek with the big shop over by Alpha Bank. I swear that's the last time I saw her.'
Andreas knew who he meant. He asked for the name of the other taxi driver, but Andreas didn't recognize it. He called Kouros into his office, and together, they pushed Manny through his story a half dozen times, banging away at every inconsistency and hesitant gesture. When Andreas finally told him he could leave, he warned him to keep his mouth shut – unless he wanted to become the island's poster child for efficient taxi law enforcement. Manny left in a hurry with Kouros right behind him on Andreas' order to find out ASAP what the other taxi driver knew about the girl.
Andreas sensed there was something Manny wasn't telling them. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the man was far too calm for all the pressure he'd been under. Perhaps Tassos knew something about him. He'd ask when they spoke at ten. For now, he needed sleep. She'd fallen asleep slumped over on the front seat. At the rotary where the road to her hotel branched off he went around and around until they were headed back toward Ano Mera.
He was taking her elsewhere.