Katerina and Manny had left – but not before she asked Andreas to meet her later that night at a boat leaving for a 'pre-panegyri party.' He said he'd let her know and joined Tassos in kissing her good-bye.
Tassos was shaking his head. 'So, what do you think, party boy, is the artist our new number one suspect?'
Andreas ran his fingers through his hair, shrugged, and went to sit behind his desk. 'He's sure moved up on the list, but being eccentric doesn't make you a serial killer.'
'And everyone who knows him seems to know about his tall, blond-haired nymphs and the mines. Like you said, he could just be our killer's inspiration.' Tassos dropped back into his chair.
Andreas stretched his arms out above his head. 'We still have to find him – and his four missing potential disciples: Panos, Paul, Ilias, and George.'
Tassos patted his chair. 'What do you think about Manny?'
Andreas nodded no. 'I don't think so, but we've got to keep an eye on him until the deputy minister's niece is found, just to be on the safe side. After all, he's the only suspect around to watch. Be a shame to lose him too.' Andreas gave a sarcastic smile.
'I know how you feel.' Tassos paused. 'Let's head back to the artist's place and check out the church. I know it's not one of Father Paul's, but I still think we should – just to be sure.' He put his hands on the chair arms and pushed himself to his feet.
Sure of what? thought Andreas as he stood up and walked around his desk to the door. 'Okay, but I think you're just trying to keep me away from Katerina's party.'
Tassos laughed. 'You know, in the old days – before Mykonos had all this 24/7 nightlife – a panegyri was the only place for the locals to party.'
Andreas grinned. 'Like I said, you don't want me to have a good time.'
'It's also where the unmarried met – some even eloped right from a panegyri. I'm sure Katerina knows that.' He gave Andreas a light tap on the back of his head. 'You'll thank me in the morning.' Echoes of London had been their favorite album for waking up on a gloomy Sunday morning in Peter's flat. John Williams – of all people – made them want to have sex. Annika rolled onto her side to feel him, to stroke him in the darkness. He wasn't there. She wanted Peter; she wanted him very much. She thought he must be asleep on the edge of their bed and stretched out her hand but did not find him. She rolled toward him and reached again. Still no Peter, but she felt something – something familiar, like the music.
Annika ran her fingers lightly along the hard, strong textures – all silky no matter where she touched. She felt no pain. She wanted to be closer and slid on her side to where she could press her body against the one her fingers were exploring. She felt the smooth, cool skin against her own. She pressed and released her breasts and thighs against her companion until the tingle came between her legs, the one she wanted Peter to touch. But he wasn't there. Only their music was with her.
She wanted more. She forced herself to her knees and pressed her body against her newfound lover as she struggled to her feet. Her head was swooning. All she could think of was finding release. She moved to the music as she had so many times before. It felt so good – the firm, cool pressure of his body as she slid along him in a slow, torrid search for what she knew must be there.
She found it in a place perfect for her needs. She gripped it lightly at first, more tightly when she knelt to take it in her mouth. Her tongue fluttered over it until it was as wet as she. Abruptly she stood, then paused trying to make out her lover's face in the darkness. She could not, but no matter, she needed this. She spread her arms and legs and stepped forward to mount him and be taken. Up and down she moved, her nipples as hard as his, her inner thighs wet from how he made her feel. Faster and faster she drove herself until, screaming, she collapsed onto the floor, next to the wall. He was a watcher. It was his greatest pleasure. He couldn't remember when he began watching, but it was when he was young. His sister had caught him once, then told on him.
To his mind, the modern world was overrun by an endless rush of words. Far too many for him ever to know what was true and what was not, what was right and what was wrong. In his silent world beneath the earth he only watched – never spoke, never exchanged a smile or a nod of recognition. He showed his tributes no sign that he existed in their world – or they in his. That was how it should be. That was how he wanted it to be. That was how it was.
He touched the scar on the head of his penis. It was a cigarette burn, like the others circling his groin. Marks from his father. For watching his sister, he'd said – or was it for watching them both? Whatever, it didn't matter anymore. By the time they reached the artist's place it was early evening. There was no light in the house, but there was a glow about the door frame of the church. They parked by the house, quietly made their way to the church, and listened. They heard nothing at first but after a minute caught the sound of something human. It was definitely coming from inside, yet it sounded far away at the same time. Andreas looked at Tassos and pointed at the door handle. Tassos nodded and pulled his pistol.
Holding his gun in his right hand, Andreas reached for the handle with his left and gently turned it. The door was unlocked, and he crouched and yanked it open.
Tassos' eyes darted back and forth above his raised gun as he scanned the room. Seconds passed, and there wasn't a sound.
Andreas was about to speak when he heard the sound again. It was coming from under the floor, up through an opening partially covered by a marble slab. That was where the light was coming from too. There were shadows moving about in the light below the floor. Someone was down there. They could make out a ladder of sorts anchored to the far side of the opening. It was the way down into the crypt – and what must be the old mine entrance. He whispered, 'Should we go in?'
Before Tassos could speak, they heard a sudden, high-pitched wail and a deep, soulful moan rising out of the earth beneath them. It was the music that finally got to Annika through the haze that was her mind. Why was it playing here – wherever here was? She felt herself fading away but forced herself back. She thought, I told him, didn't I? I told the bastard all about Peter, about us… about our music. She was fading again and knew she was losing herself to sleep. She moaned to herself, 'Water, water. Don't drink water,' and passed out. It was the third time that day that Catia had called her brother's office, and the third time his secretary said he was in a meeting. In her most courteous tone Catia said she did not want to interrupt her brother but it was 'urgent he gets this message immediately.' The secretary wrote down Catia's words and read them back at her request. Catia said, 'Perfect, dear. Thank you. Please give it to my brother at once. Good-bye,' and hung up.
The secretary knew this was not the sort of message she'd dare walk into the deputy minister's office and read to him. She didn't even want it associated with her hand-writing. Something about a handwritten message made it easier to kill the messenger.
The gentle ping of Spiros Renatis' computer meant he had a new, urgent e-mail message. He quickly glanced at the screen and clicked it open. Dear Spiros,
When you were a little boy and hadn't done what you were supposed to do, Mother made me look under all the beds in the house until I found where you were hiding. There must be a very big one in your office. WHY HAVEN'T YOU FOUND ANNIKA?
Love, Catia. This time he placed the call himself, but still it wasn't to Andreas.
'Hello, mayor, it's Spiros Renatis. How are you?' They'd met a few times but didn't know each other very well.
The mayor had no idea why the deputy minister was calling but guessed it had something to do with raising either funds or hell on his little island. Mainland politicians were always asking for his help in such matters. He never minded because he knew it gave him far more national political influence than any mayor of only six thousand voters could possibly deserve.
'Fine, thank you. How nice to hear your voice, Minister. How are you? Are we going to see you soon on our lovely island?' His voice sounded prerecorded.
'No complaints here and, yes, I'm planning to be there for the August 15 holiday,' said Spiros.
'Wonderful,' said the mayor. 'I look forward to seeing you again. Is there anything I can do to help you with your plans, Minister?' No reason to draw this out, he thought.
'Please, call me Spiros. And thank you for the offer, but we're all set.' Pause. 'There is one little thing, though, I hoped you might be able to help me with.'
Here it comes. 'Sure, how can I be of service?' The mayor was at his concierge-sounding best.
Spiros sounded tentative. 'It has to do with my sister's daughter. She's on Mykonos for holiday and hasn't called her mother. I left word with your police chief to get her to call, but so far, my sister hasn't heard from her. I can't imagine it would be that hard to find her since I told him where she was staying.' Pause. 'So, I was wondering if you could give him a call and tell him how important this is to me.'
Mihali thought he must be missing something. Spiros was the deputy minister of the arm of government in charge of police. Why was he calling him to speak to one of his chiefs? And why wouldn't Andreas call him back? There had to be more to this than the deputy minister was telling him. 'I'm surprised to hear that. The chief seems a responsive sort of guy.'
Spiros spoke quickly. 'Oh, I'm sure he is, and this probably isn't a big thing to him, and to be honest, I think my sister is a bit of an alarmist – my niece only arrived there a couple of nights ago – but after all, she's my only sister and Annika is her only child.'
The mayor smiled to himself. This guy's too embarrassed to keep henpecking away at Andreas the way his sister's doing to him. He just wants to be able to tell her he now has both the mayor and the police chief of Mykonos looking for her. 'Sure, no problem. Anything specific you want me to tell him?'
'No. He already knows her full name, Annika Vanden Haag – her father's a Dutch diplomat – and that she's staying at the Adlantis Hotel.'
It was a very warm evening, but the mayor felt a distinct chill. 'What does she look like?' he asked, his voice becoming shaky.
'Your typical tall, blond, blue-eyed, twenty-two-year-old Dutch beauty.' He sounded proud. 'Who just graduated from Yale University.'
Silence.
'Are you okay?' asked Spiros.
'Uh, yes, just looking for a pencil.' His heart was pounding.
Spiros repeated the information, but the mayor never bothered to write it down. He already knew what it meant. He kept his voice in check long enough to assure Spiros he'd get the chief to address this at once.
He hung up and stared out his window at the sea. His office was on the second floor of the two-and-a-half-story municipal building standing at the south edge of the old harbor. It was built in the late 1700s as the home of a Russian count and was the only building on the harbor with terra cotta roof tiles. It had seen the rise and fall of many ruling powers on Mykonos. The mayor's eyes drifted up to the sky. The sun had just set but the heavens were still bright. He wondered where Andreas was at that moment – and if he knew that the golden red sky was falling in on them.
At the moment it was the earth, not the sky, that held Andreas' interest. He was the first one into the crypt. He didn't use the ladder, just jumped in. It was only a few seconds more before Tassos was down the ladder but by then Andreas had found his man – and a large brown dog fiercely loyal to the master who'd rescued it from starving Mykonos winters and poisoned baits. Luckily for Andreas, in dog years it was almost as old as its master. Startled, Andreas instinctively ducked to the side as the dog leaped and missed with a midair, snarling lunge for his throat. It crashed and rolled to the floor by the base of the ladder at the feet of a surprised-looking Tassos. The dog never took its eyes off Andreas and scrambled to its feet for another run at him, but Tassos grabbed it from behind and held its snout closed while Andreas turned his attention – and gun – back on the man.
The pounding in Andreas' voice was more because of the dog than the man. 'What are you doing down here?' Andreas demanded.
The man was kneeling and seemed surprisingly calm for one just surprised by two men with guns. 'It's my church. Hello, Tassos.' He looked to be in his seventies, with the craggy face and silver hair of an old fisherman. His well-worn black jacket and dusty fisherman's hat completed the picture.
Tassos nodded. 'Hello, Vassili.'
Andreas knew it was time to lower his gun. 'Sorry, we heard the wailing and moaning and thought someone was in trouble.'
The man struggled to his feet. 'It's my wife.' He pointed toward a small marble plaque on the wall. 'She died five years ago and we still miss her.' He gestured to the still snarling animal to come to him. Andreas nodded and Tassos let him go. The dog glared at Andreas but did not snap as it passed him on the way to his master.
'The wailing was mine, the moaning his.' He scratched the dog behind its ears. The man now looked to be in his eighties.
'Sorry, sir,' Andreas said again.
'If you were looking for me, I don't live here.' He didn't sound bothered at all – almost seemed to welcome the company.
'No, sir, we were looking for your tenant, Mr Daly.'
The man nodded. 'Tom's not here now, probably off in some mine.'
'Yes, we heard he likes old mines,' Andreas said.
'Sure does. He was pretty upset when I told him I had to close up that entrance.' He gestured toward the rear of the chamber. 'But I told him this was where Anna always wanted her church to be.' He looked toward his wife's remains. 'Tom's a good fella. He understood. Even helped me build it. Did all the work himself, sealing up the old entrance.'
Andreas glanced at Tassos, then back at Vassili. 'Do you mind if we look around?' He gestured toward the wall sealing off the mine from the crypt.
The man shrugged. 'Look all you want.'
Andreas took out his flashlight and studied the wall. It was made of two solid, four-foot-wide by four-foot-high slabs of gray-brown granite tightly fitted one on top of the other. He looked at the old man. 'Rather unusual construction for a church crypt, wouldn't you say?'
The man shrugged again. 'Tom said, "If we're going to build a church for Anna, let's do it right." Said he wanted to make sure no one could break in from the other side.'
Or into the tunnel from this side, thought Andreas. He beamed his light on the floor by the wall. Nothing there to indicate that the wall swung into the crypt – like the door it resembled – but maybe it swung into the mine. He lowered his shoulder to the wall and pushed, then gestured for Tassos to give him a hand. The two men pushed as hard as they could, first on one edge, then on the other. The wall didn't budge.
'What are you doing?' The old man sounded more curious than annoyed.
'Just making sure it's secure,' said Andreas. 'Is there another way into the tunnel?'
'I guess, but you'll have to ask Tom. I'm not much for mines. I always preferred the sea myself – until my Anna insisted I take over her family's farm. But I brought her back to the sea when I built her church to Saint Nicholas, protector of sailors.' He was rambling off into reminiscences.
'I noticed the blue roof,' said Tassos.
That was a courteous way to cut him off, thought Andreas.
The man nodded, seemed to forget what he was saying, and hobbled toward the ladder. He bent over to pick up the lantern and started up the rungs. 'You done here?'
Andreas looked at Tassos and nodded. 'Yes, sir.'
Tassos stood by the ladder waiting for Vassili to reach the top rung and climb into the sanctuary. Instead, the man placed the lantern on the sanctuary floor and asked Andreas to hand him his dog. Andreas stared at the dog, which was staring at him, then looked at Tassos.
'Here, let me do that,' said Tassos, grinning. 'Vassili, since you built this church, maybe you can answer a question for me.'
'What is it?' He took the dog from Tassos, placed it on the floor, crawled off the ladder, and stood up.
Tassos started up the ladder. 'Is there anything you can think of that churches built to Saints Kiriake, Marina, Fanourios, and Calliope have in common that makes them different from churches built to Saints Nicholas, Barbara, Phillipos, and Spyridon?'
The old man didn't answer, just stood silently in the sanctuary seemingly waiting for Tassos and Andreas to join him. Finally he spoke. 'I wish I could help you, but I'm not a priest.'
'I'm not talking about the saints themselves. I'm talking about how the churches are built.'
'I know of no differences except of course for the icons.' He paused for a moment. 'Come to think of it, there might be a difference, but you'd have to check with the archbishop.'
He had Andreas' interest. 'What difference?'
'I'm not sure if a church has to be built with its front door facing the setting sun on its saint's name day. Though that's the way I built this one.' He waved his hand.
'What are you talking about? Everybody knows the front door has to face west so the sanctuary faces east.' Tassos sounded impatient.
Vassili shook his head. 'No, Tassos, the front door faces the setting sun.'
'What difference does that make?'
'I see you're not a sailor.' Vassili smiled. 'The sun doesn't set – or rise – in the same place all year. It sets along a line running from the northwest to the southwest depending on the season.'
'How does that answer Tassos' question about differences between the churches?' Andreas asked.
The man shrugged. 'I'm not sure it does, but if a church has to be built with its door facing the setting sun on its name day, the ones in one group face one way and the ones in the other another.'
Andreas was puzzled. 'Why?'
'The name days for Kiriake and the three saints you said with her all fall in summer – June, July, and August – when the sun sets to the northwest. The others have name days in November and December, when it sets to the southwest. That's about all I can think of. Hope it helps.'
If Andreas still had his gun in his hand, he'd have knocked himself out when he smacked his forehead. 'Of course! They all have name days falling in the heart of-'
Tassos finished Andreas' sentence. 'Tourist season!'
Andreas shook Vassili's hand hard enough to rock him. 'Thank you very much. You've been a great help,' he said, and raced out with Tassos right behind him – leaving the old man and his dog alone again in their church.
Andreas was running on pure adrenaline, his every muscle tense, every blood vessel pounding. He barely gave Tassos time to close the car door before spinning the tires in the dirt. He knew what this meant. Saint Kiriake's name day was July 7, the day after tomorrow. If they didn't find Annika Vanden Haag by then, she'd be dead. No doubt about it. Annika felt weaker than she could remember ever feeling. She must have been drugged. No other explanation made sense to her. She needed something to eat, something to drink, but was certain if she did, she'd be as good as dead.
She tried to get up. That was when she sensed how sore and raw she was down there, and vaguely what she'd just been through. Had she been raped? Instinctively she touched herself to feel for injury, then for fluids. She found no semen there; nor on her belly or thighs. It was a small but precious moment of relief.
What's this? On the outside of her right thigh she felt a swelling. She pressed at it and instantly realized what it was. Ever since childhood her body had reacted this way at the point of an injection. Now she panicked. She realized that whenever she slept he had open access to her body.
She knew she must stay awake to defend herself. It was her only chance at surviving. If she were going to die, she'd go out fighting. She knew her family was looking for her. They had to be. There was still hope someone would find her – if only she could stay awake. He'd first used prayer to survive his daily moments of childhood terror, later he developed other, more efficient means for coping with his past. He still practiced both, as his tributes could attest to, had any remained alive.
They were all tall and blond as his sister was – or would have been. He knew just what to say to gain their trust and bring his foreign tributes down into his world among the foreign gods – and what drug to use to control them. Like his tributes, he chose his drugs for a purpose: some drugs for sleep, some for giving pleasure to his gods, some for both. There was no problem finding whatever he needed on Mykonos, this island of open pleasure. All he required lay in the bag by his feet. He was prepared for anything.