Murder On Display_A riveting, stand-alone murder / mystery that keeps you guessing until the shocking end Read online

  Greek Island Mystery # 4

  (Stand-alone thriller)

  Murder

  On Display

  By Luke Christodoulou

  Copyrighted Material

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  The right of Luke Christodoulou to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblances to persons (living or dead) or events is purely coincidental.

  Published by: GreekIslandMysteries

  Edited by: Carol Tietsworth

  https://writerreadr.wordpress.com/

  Cover design: Maria Nicolaou (Mj.Vass)

  http://99designs.com/users/1158351

  Copyright © 2017 by Luke Christodoulou

  Dedicated to my son, Iasona.

  Also, a massive thank you to my editor and proofreading team!

  Books by Luke Christodoulou:

  The Olympus Killer (Greek Island Mystery #1) - 2014

  The Church Murders (Greek Island Mystery #2) - 2015

  Death Of A Bride (Greek Island Mystery #3) - 2016

  Murder On Display (Greek Island Mystery #4) - 2017

  Hotel Murder (Greek Island Mystery #5) - 2018

  24 Modernized Aesop Fables – 2015

  Praise for the Greek Island Mysteries (Book Series):

  All books in the series are rated 4-plus stars on Amazon, Goodreads and Book Reviewing Blogs.

  'The Church Murders would appeal to any reader who enjoys murder mysteries, suspenseful reads, or action adventure novels. I am pleased to recommend this book and hope that author Christodoulou is working on his next book in this promising series.'

  - Chris Fischer for Readers' Favorite

  ‘The Greek James Patterson strikes again’

  - Greek Media

  '... does a masterful job writing a twisted murder story set under the Greek sun.'

  - Ruth Rowley

  ‘Greece is proud to have such a masterful writer. Death of A Bride is his best offering by far.’

  - Athens Review Of Books

  ‘Death Of A Bride is a superb murder/mystery. An Agatha Christie tale set in the 21st century.’

  - National Society of the Greek Authors

  ‘A spellbinding tale... shrouded in mystery and inflamed with revenger.’

  - Elaine Bertolotti (Author)

  ‘Great entertainment that begs to be made into a movie (...) a wealth of great stories here, well-paced and filled with believable characters, beautiful Greek imagery, fascinating insights into Greek culture and some wonderful, humorous touches. Excellent plot twists too - I really didn't see those coming. These stories can rival the bestsellers and - to be honest - the book knocks many of the famous names out of the park - an easy style, intense plot-lines, superbly lifelike characters and all this against the backdrop of gorgeous Greece and its fascinating history and culture.’

  - Meandthemutts Book Reviewer

  ‘The Church Murders is a juxtaposition of the beautiful (and gorgeously described) Greek Isles and the brutal, horrific murders that take place there’.

  - Michael Young History

  ‘Another one I could not put down’. – Jan Felton

  ‘... meticulously crafted work. The author delivers another unique, powerful and provocative story’.

  - Alex (Amazon Reviewer)

  ‘Anxiously waiting for the next instalment!’ - Jimmy Andrea (Amazon Reviewer)

  ‘A spell-bounding thriller’. - Daniel T.A. (Author)

  ‘As seductive as a Sudoku puzzle, the writer has crafted an ingenious plot with nothing less than stunning revelations at the conclusion.’

  - Julius Salisbury (Author)

  ‘If you like murder mysteries with great characters, atmospheric locations and a suspenseful, interesting plot to keep you turning the pages, then this book has been written for you’. –Ben (Amazon Reviewer)

  ‘An engrossing murder mystery about a series of murders taking place on Greek islands.’

  - Saritha S (Goodreads Book Reviewer)

  ‘A tale of Terror! A page turning murder mystery’.

  - Sheri A. Wilkinson (Book Reviewer)

  ‘The author builds the main characters weaving them seamlessly with the plotting of a great story; even when he steps away from the present day mayhem. It's art in words at the highest pinnacle of a writer's work’.

  - Rose Margaret Phillips (Book Blog Reviewer)

  Chapter 1

  Midnight arrived on the exotic island of Folegandros, a small island shaped like a tilting eight; falling into the clear, pure waters of the Aegean. Away from the town center and the tanned-from-the-Greek-sun tourists, lay silent, dark neighborhoods. The locals had long gone to sleep.

  A blue wooden door stood slightly ajar and warm light from inside crept out into the darkness and the cool summer breeze that roamed through the snakelike roads of Chora. Whispering words of love and the exchange of passionate kisses broke the silence.

  ‘Shh, I’ve got to go. My mother has been calling me for the last hour. You know how she can get. If I don’t get home soon, she will send out a search party,’ eighteen-year old Natalie said softly, her auburn hair gently caressing her bare shoulders.

  ‘Stay, my love. How many opportunities do you think we are going to get? My wife will be back on Thursday,’ her older lover complained, holding on to her hand.

  ‘I can’t,’ she replied, failing at hiding her annoyance. Nothing irritated her more than a man that begged. She pulled her slender hand out of his strong hold.

  ‘Good night,’ she said and forced a smile. He was a good lover after all.

  She dashed down the paved street, along picturesque, classic Cyclades homes. All were painted blue and white, some out of choice, some forced by the local council in the name of beauty and attracting tourists. Dim light fought to escape its glass lamp post prison and reach the rock-laid road. Natalie called her mother, apologizing for not answering her cell phone and in her tender, sweet voice –the fake voice that she used often- informed her mother that she was on her way home. She looked down on her phone’s screen as she ended the call, unaware of the shadowy figure approaching from outside her periphery.

  A faint scream escaped her red, lipsticked mouth when she lifted her head, and came face to face with the boy limping towards her.

  ‘For fuck’s sake! You scared the shit out of me.’

  ‘You... You... should... not swear, Natalie. It is not... nice for a lady... to talk like that,’ he replied, in his slow manner of speaking, well-known in his small town. He struggled with breathing, pausing nearly after every other word.

  ‘Really, retard? You’re giving me advice?’

  Just by uttering the word, she felt bad. Her consciousness kicked in after she saw the sorrow spreading across his baby blue eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she rushed to add and maneuvered to pass her wobbling, chubby former classmate.

  Adonis stepped in front of her. ‘Why the hurry?’ Pause. ‘Stay, talk with me.’ Another pause, longer this time. Cold sweat formed across his wide forehead, below his blond hair that blew around carelessly in the windy, dark alley. ‘You talk to all the boys,’ he added, struggling with his hectic breathing.

  Remorse quickly died inside her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she asked, ra
ising her voice. ‘Besides, I only talk to the good-looking boys. Have you seen yourself in the mirror, freak?’

  Natalie pushed past him and quickened her pace.

  Just a few miles away, her mother, Electra, sat in her hand-made rocking chair by the large, kitchen window that overlooked the precipice of Chora. Her greyish hair was tied up high in a bun, shining in the moonlight that got lost in the deep wrinkles across her face. At only fifty-nine, Electra looked at least a decade older. A farm girl, raised in the fields, worked for years under the cruel, midday sun, bore and lost six children during her thirties before finally giving birth to twins at the not-so-youthful age of forty-one. Her joy was short lived as her husband died of a heart-attack two years later. Forced back to work as a cleaning lady at Chora Resort and Spa and raising two kids on her own, time had not been kind to her tired body.

  With slightly trembling hands, Electra raised her hot, Greek coffee to her chapped lips. Knowing her children were on their way home, she smiled as the hot beverage traveled down, offering comforting bliss to her strained body.

  ‘How you manage to drink hot coffee in this heat, amazes me,’ Gregory’s husky voice made her jump.

  ‘And what would have me drinking, my son? A frappe? A freddo cappuccino? Or maybe a mojito?’

  Gregory’s laughter warmed her better than the strong, steamy coffee.

  ‘How’s working at the bar for the summer coming along?’ she asked, patting the worn-in armchair beside her. Her lanky son approached, kissed her tenderly on her forehead and settled next to her.

  ‘Money’s good...’

  ‘Money isn’t everything...’ his mother interrupted him. ‘You should be having fun on your last summer before Uni.’

  ‘I am, mama. The music’s great, I drink for free, my mates all come round and I meet girls. What more can a guy ask for?’ he replied with a mischievous smile gracing his handsome face.

  ‘I hope local girls and not those slattern, easy European girls on holiday.’

  Gregory placed his hand upon his mother’s. He raised his eyebrows and looked into her beady eyes; the portal to her fiery soul. ‘Now, that’s just bordering racist.’

  ‘I don’t care what it is. I care only for you and your sister.’

  ‘Where is Natalie, by the way?’ Gregory asked, before his mother got too ‘worked-up’; his favorite word to describe her passionate speeches about her children.

  ‘She called, said she was on her way home. She was at Melina’s.’

  ‘I bet she was,’ Gregory muttered and sprang up. Thankfully, his mother’s ears did not catch his words. She was drowsy after a long day of cleaning and serving.

  ‘What’s that, boy?’

  ‘I said, good night. I’m off to bed.’

  ‘Good night, my treasure.’

  Soon, both had drifted away to dream land. Gregory in his single bed, under the posters of pretty girls on big bikes and first league football teams, dreamt of life in the big city. Fall was approaching quickly. Electra dozed-off in her rocking chair, staying there to hear her daughter return to the family nest. Yet, hours later, sun rays attacked through the window, spreading light around the minimal kitchen and Natalie had not yet returned home.

  The bright, Greek sun slowly rose from the oceanic horizon and began illuminating the narrow streets. Old-lady Persephone, a woman of ample proportions, was first to open her blue, wooden door, releasing the tantalizing aroma of freshly-baked bread. Her black-clothed figure ambled across her long yard and picked up the garden hose by the gate that had grown golden with the sunrise. Her flower-filled garden offered her much pride and Persephone struggled hard to maintain her flowers during summer’s scorching heat waves. Her trick was to water them early in the morning before the flaming sun dried up the earth. As the perfumed scent of her red roses surrounded her, she looked around.

  Her fragile throat grappled to voice her strident screams. The green, garden hose fell from her shaking hands and Persephone stumbled backwards before falling to the wet grass. At eighty-two, and after witnessing a World War as a child, eras of depression, eras of oppression, the violence in the world from her television, her husband’s body after his fatal car crash, Persephone had thought nothing could shock her anymore.

  She thought wrong.

  The sight on the rooftop of the abandoned house opposite her garden brought her to her knees. A mutilated, headless, nude body had been speared through the house’s cut, rusty antenna pole. The woman’s breasts had both been sliced off, leaving behind two round, bloody patches. Her stomach had been cut open and her insides were dangling out, dripping blood upon the grubby roof tiles. Persephone closed her eyes, prayed for strength and placed her hands on the moist ground, pushing herself up. As much as her elderly body allowed, she rushed towards her house. Screams from the town square echoed around and followed her into her home, letting her know she would not be the only one calling the police.

  Soon, people had gathered by the closed coffee shops and tavernas of the ‘middle’ town square –the town boasted three in total- and, sighting the brutal crime, stood motionless in complete shock. Never before, had a murder taken place on their tranquil island. Even the island’s lone police officer had frozen below the gruesome display. At the youthful age of twenty-six, Valentina had only two years of service under her gun-carrying belt. In those two years, she had dealt with a couple of bar fights, a case of domestic abuse and a few cases of stolen wallets. Mostly, she kept the one-room police station clean and presentable, and brewed coffee, which she enjoyed while checking her Facebook page. Totally unprepared, she sealed off the area around the deteriorating, dilapidated cottage and called the mainland headquarters.

  Chapter 2

  City of Athens

  Ioli pulled off her silver hair tie and unleashed her silky, black hair. She rubbed her lower back using considerable force as she leaned forward in her milky-colored, office chair that lately housed a special, expensive cushion ideal for pregnant women. She lifted her head up slowly and exhaled deeply. Staring down at her enormous –according to her- baby bump, a smile grew across her face. She could not believe how quickly six months had flown by. She still could not believe she was pregnant. Quite often, she would end up feeling guilty when caught up at work, she would forget she was carrying. Now, there was no forgetting. She moved slowly, had to use the police headquarter elevator to reach her office on the third floor and lost her breath more often than her grandmother lost her glasses.

  She glanced through the glass wall in front of her desk and observed her useless –again, according to her- rookie of a partner, Alexandro. A rather short, humorous, handsome guy with too many muscles to count, a desire to help and please, and a permanent grin across his youthful face, Alexandro had quickly become Homicide’s new favorite addition. He spent most of his coffee breaks outside, enjoying his Greek, Assos cigarettes, discussing football, politics and women with fellow smokers from the police force.

  Ioli sighed as she witnessed him delivering coffees to fellow homicide detectives while retelling the same joke as he went. She twirled her chair around and her eyes saddened at the sight of my empty desk behind her. Her former partner, mentor and best friend, I had been on leave for the last year.

  ‘Fucking pancreatic cancer,’ she whispered and reached for her cell phone. Her fingers scrolled down to ‘C’ and she pressed the call button.

  ‘Hey, boss,’ she said as soon as the call connected.

  ‘Please tell me you need my help on a case. Tracy has been off work since yesterday and she is driving me mad,’ my rough voice boomed through the receiver.

  ‘Shut up, grumpy. Your wife is perfect and you know it!’

  ‘She is trying to persuade me to go on a cruise. Me! On a ship, imprisoned and forced to relax.’

  Ioli could not help, but laugh. ‘You do realize you sound ridiculous, right?’ She paused and found the strength to ask. ‘Can you go? I mean, with chemo and all...’

  ‘That’s the thing
. I have finished with this round of therapies and my doctor wants to stop me for a while...’

  ‘Stop you?’ Ioli interrupted, fear coloring her trembling voice.

  Now, it was my turn to laugh. I threw my hairless head back and let out my uproarious laugh. ‘My God, your mind always goes to the worst scenario. I’m fine. She just wants to take a step back to see what the chemo has managed. I’ll tell you more when we meet. Now, concentrate on my nightmare. Because I have a month free of chemo, Tracy took time off work and wants us to go on a cruise across the Aegean. Your job is to talk her out of it!’

  ‘I will do no such thing. If my girlfriend thinks it will do you good, I’m behind her.’

  ‘Women,’ I grunted.

  Ioli stood up and watched as Alexandro, ‘the rookie’, followed two older police captains into the chief’s corner office.

  ‘Costa, I got to go. My kisses to Tracy,’ she said quickly and hung up the phone. With her deep set eyes focused on the group of men entering the scariest place of homicide HQ, Ioli approached the glass door of her office. It was only when her hand grabbed hold of the aluminium handle that she realized how sweaty her palms were. Ioli never did sweat. She guessed she could add this to a long list of changes going on with her body. Ignoring fellow co-workers’ stares, she dashed down the long hall and rushed to the only wooden door on the floor. The chief was old-fashioned in all areas of his life and his office door had survived through various renovations for the last fifteen years or so. The chief’s deep bass, croaky voice carried outside. It helped that Ioli’s ear lingered only inches from the door. The random clear words did not form a sentence in her head. Bravely, she knocked and entered without waiting to hear the chief’s signature yelling of ‘come in’; always shouted, always colored with tones of annoyance. The chilly conditioner-produced air attacked her sweaty pores. Of the chief’s long list of things that irritated him, the heat would easily crack the top five.