THE CHURCH MURDERS (GREEK ISLAND MYSTERY)

THE CHURCH MURDERS (CHAPTERS 1-3)

Chapter 1

The winter sun vanished behind the verdant hills that bordered the outskirts of the Megalopolis of Athens and light surrendered its place to darkness.

The same dilemma every December. Did I hate that it got dark from 5 pm more than I hated the suffocating heat of the summer? Spring. Now, there is a perfect season. Maybe I was just getting grumpier as I unwillingly approached the threshold of my life's fifth decade.

I turned on my Audi's headlights and smiled upon hearing the sound of the skies rumbling above. I loved driving in the rain and my black car needed to shed off gathered dust.

Route 56 is a bore. One long, straight line of a road, always loaded with traffic and with a view of endless, grey, dull apartment blocks. Others would have taken the Metro to Piraeus, but I never did have much so-called common sense.  I was in no rush to see the department's shrink and my empty apartment did not mind if I returned home early or late. I turned off the motorway and headed down to Akti Miaouli. Outside, the wind was busy playing around with dried up leaves and the clouds above shot down fat drops of rain.

I parked opposite the modern, glass building that housed Dr. Ariadne Metaxa's private office. She worked office hours, every Tuesday and Thursday, at police headquarters, but I preferred to attend her private practice. It gave me time to unwind from work and put on my fake, friendly and joyful mask before visiting her. I did not need a psychologist meddling inside my brain. I needed her clearance to get back to active duty.

I exited my car and stood for a moment in the pouring rain, enjoying every drop that ran down my face, before running across the bustling  road. Everyone, without an umbrella, was running to cover themselves from the menacing drops. Some get cleansed by the rain, some just get wet. I pushed the buzzer-bell that bore her name and waited for her assistant's annoying voice to be heard. I do not mean to be harsh, but if you are going to hire someone to answer the phone and the door, at least avoid a girl with a grating voice.

'Doctor Ariadne Metaxa's office. How may I be of assistance?'

Lower your voice.

'Captain Papacosta. I have an appointment.'

'Come right up, Captain. The doctor is waiting for you.'

Of course she is. I have an appointment.

I pushed open the heavy, metal door and walked towards the elevator. Dr. Ariadne's office was located on the 14th floor. An entire side of her office was made of glass, offering an incredible view of the busy port of Piraeus; one of the few perks of visiting her here. That and the much more comfortable chair.

Her lanky assistant was already standing and had her hand, palm up, indicating the office's wooden door.

'Go right in, Captain,' her words came out from behind crooked teeth, accompanied by a warm, inviting smile. Good hearts can always make up for shrill voices and bad dental hygiene.

'Thank you,' I exhaled the words and smiled back as warmly as I could. As I walked into the dimly lit room, the door closed behind me. Dr. Ariadne rose from behind her huge, mahogany desk where she had been preoccupied, reading a medical journal. She walked towards me slowly with an air of confidence that lived with her permanently; her red hair stroking her bare shoulders and her emerald eyes glowing as they focused on my pitiful appearance. I stood there with soaked brown hair, drops of rain combined with mild sweat running down my face, wearing a plain, old pair of jeans and a white T-shirt under my black, leather jacket. In contrast, from her cleavage to her knees, a red, tight dress draped Dr. Ariadne's body, silver high heels graced her feet and she looked as if she had just walked out of the hairdressers. She wore red well. Like fire, it shined upon her white, pale complexion. She must be one of the whitest women in Greece. She surely avoided the Greek, wrinkle-inducing sun. A highly intelligent woman, just a step away from forty, with a Mensa membership to prove it.