“Syntagmatarchis Theodrakis, sir, sir please, the Devil is amongst us.”
Theodrakis, shaken out of his daydream, looked at the young policeman running towards him along the harbour wall. He inhaled one last draw from the cigarette before throwing the butt to the ground, saw how white faced the boy was. But what could you expect when you were so far from Athens, stuck on this island of time warped communists and peasants?
“Oh, Syntagmatarchis Theodrakis, come quick, there’s been another one, sir; another, sir, she’s in the water.”
The boy reached him and Theodrakis placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Get your breath first, boy, then tell me clearly.”
“They’ve found another, in the sea, messed up badly, could have been someone’s sister. The Devil is back amongst us just like the warning said. God be with us.”
God be with us indeed, Theodrakis thought, it’s like being transported back in time to the Dark Age stuck here. He loosened his black silk tie, the only compromise with the heat and shabby dress of his colleagues that he allowed himself, and followed the young policeman along the waterfront to the harbour’s edge.
The walk gave him the opportunity to study the wreaths, charms and other protections against the evil eye that the locals had nailed to their front doors. Similar charms were attached to the prows of the fishing boats next to the painted all-seeing eye, presumably to augment its powers.
Some holiday resort, he thought, no wonder it’s always empty. And it was true, Aghios Spiridos was empty; never anyone in the bars and cafes lining the seafront, neither Greek nor foreigners. The economic crisis had obviously hit here just as hard as in Athens, only here people’s reaction to it was not as direct as it was in the capital. Here it was more secretive, more sullen. There was a constant sense of unease in the atmosphere he couldn’t quite put his finger on. How did the place manage to keep going and what had he ever done to deserve being posted here?
There were more than enough murders, acts of political terrorism and kidnappings to occupy his particular, if peculiar, talents in Athens where he belonged. But he knew the answer despite his dissatisfaction: there was no one on Samos with his skills, unsurprisingly, so he’d been ordered here, simple as that. He reached the harbour’s edge. A small group of men, mostly fishermen with time on their hands, were gathered staring down towards the water. As he drew level the group made way to let him through: he saw what they saw.
Below, bobbing on the water, was a small boat, and in it were two sick looking policemen staring at a large bundle covered with tarpaulin. Used as he was to the contents of such bundles he felt his heart lurch. Perhaps it was the smell of rotting fish along the harbour, maybe the effect this place had on his nerves. He pulled himself together. The policemen in the boat saw him and looked relieved; it was clear to Theodrakis they had no idea what to do next. He took control.
“Costas, whatever it is you’ve got there needs to be shifted; this isn’t meant to be a sideshow.”
Costas nervously rubbed a pudgy hand across the stubble of his lower face then began to tug the edges of his moustache.
“We found it where the message said it would be, the message was right again, Boss: he’s back amongst us, the saints protect us.”
Theodrakis was about to tell him that the next idiot who mentioned “him being back amongst us” would find himself assigned to a month of doing nights in Kokari dealing with the German drunks when Costas pulled back the tarpaulin.
A prickling of horror raised the hairs on the back of his neck: this one was young, had been beautiful, not now, bleached white, drained of blood. It was the same pattern; the usual pieces had been taken. Next to him, the young policeman noisily retched up his morning coffee and pastry into the sea.