The Dead Travel Fast (9 page)

It seemed to work; the men shuffled sullenly out of the glade. Michales cut the Albanian down and someone passed him a hip-flask of rough brandy. When he managed to get to his feet, he was told that if he wanted to live he should get off the island on the first boat out. Steve watched in a daze. The Albanian thanked the Captain but not him and then disappeared limping into the woods below. As they returned to the firebreak Michales took his arm in a firm grip.

“You make enemies yourself and now you make enemies for me I think; you must hope that your friend Vassilis will put word round the island that you are not to be hurt because you are in a bad moment. Go to the trucks and bring us up some water to drink then go back to your place in the line and work.”

Steve stumbled back to the pickup, his hands shaking so much he kept dropping the bottles. His legs felt weak and he had to sit in the lee of the truck to pull himself together. He’d seen the side of island life the tourists don’t and he wished he hadn’t. He felt he had done the right thing, but again maybe he’d got it wrong.

He felt alone here, alone and very vulnerable. He’d run from Skendleby for safety and peace, but the veil obscuring the real nature of life had been ripped and he’d glimpsed things that put him outside the protection of the natural world. He took some deep breaths to settle himself then collected a pack of water bottles and made his way back to the line.

By nightfall the firebreak was finished and it was quieter; the planes and helicopters returned to their base in Pythagoreio for the night. Now they’d try and stop the fire from crossing the break and hope to extinguish any sparks the wind carried across. He looked down the pitifully thin line of men and fire tenders entrusted with this.

Then, for the first time in hours, he remembered the other blaze across the bay threatening his village. When he turned to look back towards it he saw, through the dark, a thin straggle of light from the fire tenders and army trucks that defended a line snaking down the mountain. It was breached by a series of breakthrough fires, which were the advance guard of the huge wall of flame creeping inexorably down the slopes towards the village.

The prominent Adam’s apple bobbled in Adamidis’s throat as he spoke. Theodrakis knew it was impolitic to stare, but the sight exerted a morbid compulsion he couldn’t resist. They were back in the claustrophobic windowless room of the new police station in Karlovasi. This time, for obvious reasons, Samarakis was not present but his death hung heavy over the meeting. Andraki looked even worse than he had when Theodrakis last saw him.

He had never really understood Andraki’s role in all this; he didn’t hold any position of real importance on the island and now that his archaeological background may be of some use, he seemed to have mentally disintegrated. Adamidis must have realised he didn’t have their full attention and snapped out.

“Perhaps this will be of more interest to you then, Theodrakis; there have been messages of concern from Athens. Yes, I thought that would grab your attention; it must be a great deal of concern for them to turn their precious attention to our backward little island, particularly when the whole of Greece is drifting towards economic ruin and civil disorder. But here, it seems, they think things are even worse and for once they have judged accurately. Do you realise how close we are to a breakdown of law and order? Riots and demonstrations in the towns and half the island on fire.”

He lost any pretence of self-control and began to shout.

“Fire that has been deliberately started! Do you know that a suspected arsonist, an illegal, of course, was almost killed by a mob over near Spatherai yesterday? And do you know what most people
on this island, not just the stupid or retarded, but the majority think is the cause? The murders: the fucking murders they sent you over here to clear up for us, as we were obviously too incompetent to solve them ourselves.”

He took a deep breath and continued at lower volume.

“Now they’re angry that, despite us enjoying the special talent of their blue eyed boy, the murders have speeded up and included a senior police officer; a man who shortly before his death was publically threatened by you. In fact, Theodrakis, that’s about the only time you have seemed to have shown any purpose since you got here.”

Adamidis spluttered to a halt and mopped his brow with a neatly folded handkerchief that he took from the top pocket of his jacket. The silence in the room was palpable and for a time Theodrakis thought it might never be broken; at last Adamidis re-folded his handkerchief and continued in a more measured manner.

“My point, Syntagmatarchis Theodrakis, is that these murders are no longer just a crime, they are the pulse beat of the island, a contagion that spreads other evil in its wake. Now they and the fires have spread across the mountain. So it no longer matters if there is a curse because people believe there is. This has changed how they behave and madness consumes them. The killing of Samarakis reduces our credibility, it makes fools of us. So you will go across to Marathakampos and you will make an arrest. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

Theodrakis chose not to respond; the proposition, although driven by a certain logic, was ridiculous and would put justice on the same footing as crime. They had no leads and no suspects. He was saved from having to reply by a knock at the door. The station adjutant entered and whispered to Adamidis. Theodrakis was able to let his thoughts drift, he would quite like to go across to the other side but he wouldn’t base himself in Marathakampos; he would go to the fishing village where the waitress worked. The message changed things, and when Adamidis turned to speak again it was in a very different tone.

“It seems, Theodrakis, that your trip to Marathakampos will have to wait.”

He paused for a moment as if to increase the drama of his next
sentence, and as he waited to learn of the new development Theodrakis felt sweat trickling down his back in the hot and airless room.

“Apparently, following your instructions to observe a suspect, an arrest has been made in Vathia; you should have told us you were making progress; I would have not spoken so harshly. Obviously you need to get back there at once.”

He favoured Theodrakis with his chilly smile, which was the nearest he ever came to warmth. Theodrakis was baffled, if pleasantly surprised; he couldn’t imagine how his men in Vathia would have put together the evidence to arrest anybody, never mind the island’s killer, but it got him out of this room and restored some of his credibility in Adamidis’s eyes. He looked at Professor Andraki and saw that this unexpected breakthrough seemed to have afforded him little satisfaction. Adamidis noticed the exchange of glances.

“Ah, that reminds me of the purpose of our good friend the Professor in this meeting: apparently he has been informed by a very influential highly placed source on the island of the presence of a certain archaeologist, with specialised expertise which might be helpful to you in this case. An Englishman if I remember correctly, and any suggestion from this particular source needs to be regarded as an instruction. But meeting him will now have to wait; off you go, Theodrakis, let’s hope you can wrap this up speedily.”

He offered his hand, as much as a form of dismissal as a courtesy, and Theodrakis left the room with an internal sigh of relief. He couldn’t, as seemed to be the pattern, remember anything he had said during the meeting but nevertheless his stock seemed to have risen. He ordered a squad car in the main office and exited through automatic doors which opened with their calming swishing noise. Outside he waited on the steps for the squad car to take him to Vathia. It pulled up almost immediately, which was a relief as the steps reminded him of the last time he’d seen Samarakis alive.

Although in terms of distance the coast road from Karlovasi to Vathia was short, it never took much less than an hour as the single lane route had to twist and turn its way round every coastal creek and inlet. Often the car’s progress was impeded by the slow
pace of a laden down donkey, a painfully slow tanker or ancient truck. The bends were so narrow that even the police driver who habitually overtook at great risk to life on corners was forced into a mode of some circumspection. To Theodrakis this was one of the benefits of the journey, as it postponed the enigma of arrival and its inevitable disappointments. This time, the protracted length of the journey was especially welcome as it would give him some time to try and puzzle out what the hell was going on.

He was none the wiser by the time the car pulled into the compound of the Vathia police headquarters. He was relieved to be entering the station by the back door, protected by the compound barrier, as he’d caught a glimpse of the crowd and press outside the main entrance as their car swept past. Once inside, he went straight to the ops room where the records of the case were laid out. The room was empty but before he had time to shout for the duty officer Costas came lurching down the corridor towards him.

“Syntagmatarchis, we have him ready for you in the interview room.”

“Who? Who have you got in the interview room and how did you get him?”

“The old man you told us to watch, we pulled him in.”

“I said talk to him not arrest him, we don’t have evidence. Or do minor details like that not bother you?”

“But we do have evidence boss, once we got him in we fingerprinted him, we thought it was a waste of time, we’ve known him for years, he’s mad but harmless. But they matched the ones we got off Despina Karamanlis the second murder, the only ones we have, he must have got careless then.”

Theodrakis couldn’t believe the old man was the island’s “Devil Killer”, and he saw from Costa’s face as he finished speaking that he too still had doubts. But almost, it seemed, to convince himself, Costas rambled on.

“And Doctor Lucca has got the DNA evidence back at last; we have top priority with the labs now so we could have a match within hours.”

He looked up at Theodrakis’s face and recognised the sceptical and typically stuck up look on the Athenian bastard’s face, but carried on in spite of it.

“Boss, he confessed and now we have evidence, fingerprints and soon DNA.”

“Who charged him?”

“Syntagmatarchis Kostandin.”

“Kostandin. Well that explains why the press know; he’ll eat and drink well tonight.”

Theodrakis knew he should have kept the thoughts to himself and could see Costas resented his comments; they tended to stick together, these island types. It was too late to take the words back, and before he had chance to say anything Costas came back at him in a tone that failed to conceal his resentment and anger.

“You know the pressure we’re under to make an arrest on this one, you know how jumpy people are getting, and you know what they’re saying about our failure to catch this bastard. The lads can hardly go out for a drink without some old crow cursing them or some smartarse cracking a joke. Most of us go back to houses full of frightened women and kids at night. We thought you’d be pleased.”

Theodrakis conceded to himself that he probably had a point but said only,

“I’ll interview him in thirty minutes, make the arrangements.”

Costas grunted and turned to walk back down the corridor but before he turned the corner Theodrakis heard him mutter just loud enough for him to hear,

“With a decent boss we’d all be eating and drinking well tonight.”

Theodrakis let this go; he half agreed with the man anyway. He’d stopped thinking of himself as the boss some days ago. The only way he felt he could cope with the case and the island was to mentally detach himself and to some extent, apart from the nightmares which he couldn’t control, it worked.

Perhaps it worked too well, as he was beginning to feel as if he ceased to exist: he rarely spoke at meetings, did all he could to avoid the case and his colleagues. He remembered reading once that during Custer’s last stand, some of his terrified soldiers just sat down and covered their heads so they could try to shut out what was happening and stop it existing and that’s how they died.
This was how he was beginning to see himself; in hiding, waiting to be found out.

Half an hour later he walked into the interview room, a dark and windowless box made worse by the feral smell of the long-unwashed body of the disturbed old man. The policeman standing on guard looked ready to faint and Theodrakis sent him to the canteen to fetch some coffee. Ignoring the stench, he sat down across the table from the old man who smiled at him.

“Forgive me for having kept you in here for so long, some coffee is coming.”

As he said this, the door behind him opened and Costas shuffled into the seat next to him; he neither spoke nor looked at Theodrakis. The coffee arrived and the old man gulped his straight down. He didn’t seem effected by the scalding heat; both Theodrakis and Costas had to blow on theirs to cool it. Theodrakis started the tape.

“Before we start the questions you need to understand that we have your confession, we have your finger prints on the body and before this interview is over we will have evidence of your DNA on the body as well. Do you understand what that means for you?”

The old man nodded before replying,

“So, if you have all that then you will also know that I didn’t do the others, particularly the fat cop, they got others to do them.”

He looked directly at Theodrakis after he said this and then beamed at them as if they were friends sharing a joke. He wiped some coffee spill out of his dirty white beard then asked,

“Can I have another of those with something a bit stronger in it? I’ve been here for a long time, you know.”

Costas grunted like a maddened boar and reached across the table to grab the old man round the neck.

“Listen, you murdering mad bastard, you’ll get nothing from us but a fucking kicking before they sentence you to death.”

Theodrakis restrained him and Costas sat back down; his face was covered with sweat, he seemed to have difficulty controlling himself. Theodrakis put a hand on his shoulder and spoke to the policeman standing behind him.

“Fetch him some more coffee and put a heavy slug of something in it.”

He felt Costas start to rise in protest and increased the pressure of his hand on his shoulder.

“Leave this to me.”

Theodrakis felt strangely calm. The old man beamed across the table at him. They waited in silence until the drink arrived, the old man put it back in one gulp.

“Good that was; if we get this done quickly, can I have another?”

“Go on then, tell me about how you killed Despina Karamanlis, that’s who you say you killed.”

“I never knew her name but it was the second body you discovered; but there’s others you still don’t know about.”

“Yes, she was called Despina, why did you kill her?”

“I was instructed to kill her; I had to. You know how they work.”

“Who are they? Please explain that to us.”

“Oh nice try that, yes, you’d like me to tell you that wouldn’t you, policeman? You’d like that but you know I can’t.”

He sat back and chuckled as if Theodrakis had told a particularly clever joke. The room felt much cooler; Costas was leaning back in his chair to put as much distance as possible between himself and the old man.

Theodrakis sensed unease in the room, could hear the young policeman behind him shuffling about. He felt strangely detached and sensing he’d get no more satisfactory an answer to his last question, changed tack.

“But you will tell us about how you killed her, won’t you, that’s what you came here for isn’t it?”

“Well, shredding the ear was the most difficult, you can see that can’t you, Syntagmatarchis? Wouldn’t have been so bad if she’d been young and pretty like some of the others but they gave me an old one. I’ve never been lucky and my teeth aren’t up to much so biting through the lobe was a bit tricky and, of course, she struggled, the old sow.”

He stopped and stared across the table at Costas then grinned at Theodrakis saying,

“The fat one’s looking a bit queasy isn’t he; I don’t think he can cope with this. Shall I wait while you fetch a tougher one?”

Theodrakis looked at Costas and saw how pale he’d grown. Behind him the young policeman crossed himself and made the sign that protects from the evil eye. The room was now very cold but the fetid smell had faded. It was as if he and the old man were holding their conversation in another dimension where only they could understand the rules. The man leaned forwards, whispering,