The Volcano That Changed The World (10 page)

“I do, but usually to solve, not to read.”

She slowly added, “I fell asleep sometime around eleven and can’t tell you if or when my husband returned that night.”

“How do you know you were out
that particular evening?” Carter asked as he jotted down some notes.

“I read about Dr. Malloy’s ordeal in the paper the next day. That’s n
ot an everyday occurrence at our Geology Department. It stuck in my memory and I easily recall what I was doing that night. I’ve thought about it ever since your call earlier today.” She said this with considerable conviction.

             
“Is it normal for your husband to come home late?” Carter continued to probe.

             
“In the last several months, he’s been routinely coming home fairly late.”

             
“Is that because of work?” he asked, still taking notes.

             
She hesitated, finding the question difficult to answer. “It’s hard to say. Some aspects of his work cause him to be late. When I ask about his schedule, he’s not very forthcoming. Actually,” she corrected herself, “he tells me it’s none of my business. If I persist in asking him, he calls me names that I will not repeat. I’ve reached the point where I no longer ask.” Taking a moment, she seemed to summarize her situation, “He leads his life and I lead mine.”

She
again paused, adding, “You might say we are like ships passing in the night.”

             
With this newfound insight into Priscilla’s life, Carter was feeling more comfortable being around her. She was in an unhappy relationship, just looking for a little companionship. He concluded, however, that he would not be able to obtain additional useful information from her. Sadly enough, she simply didn’t know much about her husband’s activities. Yet, he found it difficult to leave.

He finished
the last cookie on his saucer and drained his coffee cup, setting it down. He wondered if she was telling him the whole truth and if so, why she remained in what seemed to be a loveless and abusive marriage. When he interviewed Bolton, problems with the marriage never came up in the conversation.

             
“Would you like more coffee, Matt?” she asked sweetly.

             
“Oh no…no thank you. I really should get going. I appreciate your help, uh…Priscilla.”

He then
stood and she did so as well. He handed her his card. “If you can think of anything else that may be helpful, you can reach me day or night at the listed numbers on this card.” There was a part of him that hoped she would call, even if she had no new information.

             
Standing close in front of him, she looked at his card and then looked up. She repeated, “Day or night?” She smiled slyly. “If I may ask, are you married, Matt?”

             
“Uh, no. I’m pretty much married to my job.” He had been involved with several women in his life, but it had never worked out.

             
Priscilla’s smile grew. As if sensing his thought, she said, “Perhaps you haven’t met the right woman.”

“Perhaps.”
He smiled back. A feeling of intense solidarity fell over him and compelled him to ask her, “Do you mind if I may ask a personal question, and feel free to tell me if it’s none of my business, but why do you stay married?”

She looked down
and at the same time played idly with her necklace. Finally, she said, “I’ve asked for a divorce but Sam will not give me one.”

She was almost in tears
as she continued, the clever woman suddenly gone again. “He claims a divorce would look bad for him and could jeopardize his advancement at the university. He threatens to leave me penniless if I try to pursue a divorce. He’s always doing everything he can to make me feel small if I don’t do exactly what he wants, stripping me of all my own dignity. Even though I know his treatment of me is a controlling mechanism, I still have a hard time fighting it.”

Sha
king her head slightly, she added, “On the bright side, being a professor’s wife does have its perks. My existence isn’t totally intolerable.” She tried to smile, but even that failed plausibility.

Looking directly at Carter, she said, “I
’ve only shared this information with my closest friends, yet, for some unknown reason, I feel comfortable discussing it with you, Matt.”

Carter wasn’t sure what to say.
Bolton was clearly an abuser and bully, he thought, both emotionally and verbally. That seemed clear from the way Bolton treated both Priscilla and Mark Malloy. Whether or not he was the killer in this case was uncertain, but undoubtedly he was an unpleasant person, and instinctually Carter wanted to protect Priscilla from him.

He felt compelled
to ask, “Priscilla, I don’t know an easy way to ask this. Does Sam abuse you physically?”

Taking a moment, she
shook her head, “No. He hasn’t done so yet. I guess he hasn’t needed to. He makes me fall in line by other means.”

“If he ever escalates to physical abuse, you have my number. Don’t hesitate to call.” As he said this, he touched her arm, trying to reassure her.

“Thank you, Matt. That means a great deal to me, knowing I have a safety net.” She immediately gave him a hug, one that lasted awhile. They slowly separated, awkwardly looking at each other.

Carter turned and
they walked slowly to the front door, prolonging their time together. Reaching the portico, Priscilla opened the door and Carter again heard the beeping noise coming from the back of the house. Again, it stopped.

“What is that beeping
? Is it a home alarm system?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” she said, somewhat taken aback.

“How does it work? I mean, how do you have it set up?”

She looked slightly puzzled. “All the doors and windows in the house are wired so if someone opens a door or window, the alarm is initiated. Even if the alarm system is not engaged, when one opens or closes the wired doors, you hear a beep like you just heard. Why do you ask?”

As was his habit during an interview, especially when he thought he was on to something, he ignored her question and asked,
“What about the evening of the attempted murder, did you set the alarm before you went to bed?”

Priscilla considered the question
carefully. “Yes,” she said slowly, recalling that night, “I did set the alarm. I try to engage it every evening when I’m home alone.”

“Did it go off
that night?” Carter asked rapidly.

Staring at the door, she responded,
“I think it did, but because it was probably immediately turned off, I just rolled over and fell back to sleep. I assumed my husband came home and disarmed it.”

“What time was that?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t look at the clock,” she said softly, disappointed not knowing the answer.

“Is there any way to obtain
that information?” Carter sensed a breakthrough in the case.

“May
be the security company keeps those records. I could call them,” she offered. Then added, “I feel like I’m in one of the mysteries I read. This is exhilarating. I can see why you must enjoy your work!”

“Do you have their phone number? Can we call them
now?” he asked excitedly.

“Yes, I have that information in the kitchen.
Follow me.”

Closing
the door, they immediately headed to the kitchen, found the phone number of the security company, and made the call. Priscilla explained the information she wanted, gave the date of May 21, and asked about the alarm being set off.

Priscilla had the phone on speaker and Carter could
hear tapping on a computer at the other end of the line. After a moment, the woman at the other end replied, “Our records indicate that your alarm was triggered that night at three a.m. and was subsequently disengaged.”

Priscilla’s and Matt’s eyes met
in silence.

“Is there anything else?” came over the speaker.

Carter shook his head.

“
No. No thank you. Bye,” Priscilla said and hung up.

“So your husband did not com
e home that night until three a.m.,” stated Carter. It wasn’t a question.

“So it would seem.”
Priscilla’s voice trailed off. “What time was the attempted murder?”

“Around two
a.m.,” Carter said, watching her reaction.

There was none. She simply asked,
“Does this mean my husband has no alibi?”

“That
’s exactly what it means.” Now I have something, Carter thought.

This time as
she escorted Matt to the front door, she held his arm. Carter wasn’t sure if it was because she was anxious or because of the growing connection she felt between them.

It was difficult to say goodbye, as both stood silently in the open doorway. Finally, Carter said, “Well, you have my phone number, if you need me, please call.” Oddly, it sounded like he was begging.
Maybe he was, he thought.

With a coy smile, she said, “And you have my phone number,
Detective. Feel free to call me as well.”

He shook her hand, thanked her, slowly turned, and rushed to his car to avoid the mocking bird.

Driving away, he felt very upbeat, thinking about Priscilla and planning his next steps in the investigation.

Chapter Seven

Human beings are now carrying out a large scale geophysical experiment of a kind that could not have happened in the past nor be reproduced in the future. Within a few centuries, we are returning to the atmosphere and oceans the concentrated organic carbon stored in sedimentary rocks over hundreds of millions of years.

—
Roger Revelle and Hans Suess

Santorini, June 1998

The Thera eruption had been centered just north of what was now the small, nearly round, uninhabited island of Nea Kameni, located near the middle of the caldera off the west coast of Santorini. Built up by lava from volcanic activities subsequent to the major eruption that destroyed Thera, Nea Kameni could only be accessed by boat. Mark wanted to visit the island and collect recent ash samples deposited during the last one hundred years to see if and how the ash chemical signature had changed over time. He hoped this information would shed light on the subsurface magma chamber and help predict future events.

The last eruption
of Nea Kameni, a minor one, occurred in 1950. The Greek Institute of Geology and Mineral Exploration routinely monitored the small island using an array of tilt meters to indicate when the magma chamber below was filling, causing a rise at the surface. Based on an email exchange he had had with the IGME, the tilt meters had not indicated any unusually changes in the land surface. Consequently, Mark believed the area was safe to visit.

Mark had spent the last several days exploring and studying Santorini. His routine was to have breakfast with Alexia. Afterwards, they would part ways, she heading to Akrotiri while he traveled around the island mapping ash thickness and taking samples. Returning each evening, they shared the day’s events over dinner on the beach, with Elektra always joining them.

He enjoyed the company of both women and soon realized that Alexia and Elektra
seemed to have a special bond. When he paid too much attention to Elektra, Alexia would direct the conversation away from her. Whether she was being protective of Elektra or vying for his attention, he wasn’t sure. Whatever the reason, he was careful not to focus solely on Elektra.

After his
perceived rocky first dinner with Alexia, their relationship improved. In fact, they had developed a repartee that Mark enjoyed. Professionally, they worked well together, feeding off each other’s ideas on the interplay of geology and archeology. Today, they would spend time working together on the small island of Nea Kameni, where the focus would be geology.

Alexia
chartered a small fishing craft, the
Isabella
, operated by Captain Baros, a crusty, grey-bearded man whose leathery skin evidenced the effects of too much sun exposure. Though he wore a captain’s hat, long-sleeved shirt, and long pants, his skin texture reminded Mark of a Florida alligator.

The
Isabella
’s mooring was in Santorini’s new port of Athinios. Although the adjacent town, the island capital of Fira, was ancient, the port itself was modern, having been rebuilt after the 1956 earthquake that destroyed the old port. Locals frequently used the recent earthquake as a bright line in time to demarcate events, which happened either before or after the day the ground shook.

Athinios
was located one thousand feet below Fira. A narrow, windy, mostly paved road snaked along the steep cliff from the capital in an unrelenting series of tight hairpin curves. Alexia had raced down the cliff, expertly navigating the switchbacks. Mark had looked out the window, over the side of the road and straight down, watching loose gravel being kicked up by the jeep falling downward toward the port. He couldn’t help but think that would be their trajectory if Alexia missed a turn. Now on board, the gentle rocking of the
Isabella
was tame compared to Alexia’s driving.

Like its captain, t
he wooden boat had seen better days. It was thirty-three feet long, had only a small wheelhouse for protection against the elements, and both looked and smelled like the inefficient diesel-burning vessel it was. Mixed in with the diesel odor, the blackened hull emitted the stench of rotting fish, replaced occasionally by the sweet aroma of tobacco from the captain’s pipe, which he puffed continuously.

The
other boats in the port were quite different—modern sail boats and powerboats. A large cruise ship was anchored offshore and tenders ferried passengers back and forth from the cruise ship to the port. People on the tenders pointed, stared, and waved, laughing as they passed the
Isabella
. It stood out like a sore thumb. Mark enthusiastically waved back, adding to the passengers’ enjoyment. Alexia simply shook her head at his antics.

He
was perfectly content to be on board; they were going to visit the caldera—and he was no longer in Alexia’s jeep. Waving was an expression of his happiness, and a way to poke fun at the cruise ship passengers.

Having grown up in Florida, Mark knew his way around a boat. He
had taken naturally to the role of first mate, following Captain Baros’ orders as they had prepared to cast off. Alexia served as translator as Mark expertly untied the mooring lines and pushed the
Isabella
away from the dock. The engine labored and knocked, leaving a trail of black smoke as they pulled away from port heading southwest across the lagoon for the thirty-minute trip.

As
they got underway, Alexia studied Mark’s tee shirt and asked, “What does that mean?”

On the front of his shirt were the words,
“Geology—where subduction leads to orogeny.” “It has to do with continental drift. Subduction zones are where the earth’s crust is being pulled down into earth’s interior. Orogeny occurs where the crust is pushed together, forming mountains.”

“Sounds erotic.
I didn’t know geology was so sexy,” Alexia said with a sly smile.

“
Working with rocks and soil, geologists like to talk dirty. It gets even better,” Mark said, “mountains are found in ‘erogenous zones.’”

“I’m very familiar with
those zones and I’ve never studied geology.” Alexia grinned in anticipation of Mark’s reply.

“I’m sure you are
,” Mark said, shaking his head. He decided to end the conversation before he got into trouble. “I should probably go check the stern.”

Laughing,
Alexia asked, “You are talking about the boat, right?”

He
smiled, walked to the back of the boat, and looked around.

It was a
nother sunny day without a cloud in the sky. The water of the lagoon was dark blue. Mark surveyed the roughly circular seawater-filled caldera.

Alexia
yelled over the roar of the engine. “The water is very deep here, deeper than the height of the cliffs where we just were.”

Turning
toward her as she spoke, Mark was pleasantly surprised to see that Alexia had shed her shirt to reveal a dark green bikini top and a shapely, well-tanned body. He forced himself to make eye contact but immediately made the same connection as the lascivious French explorers who named the Grand Teton Mountains in Wyoming. His mind made the link between Alexia’s curves and the surrounding cliffs to which she had just referenced.

Moving closer to her
in order to be heard, he pointed around the lagoon, “We are over the exact location of the former Mount Thera. Can you imagine what it must have looked like? The cliffs of Santorini are twelve hundred feet tall and the backsides are still sloping upward. That means Mount Thera was even higher, probably close to twenty-five hundred feet, jutting right out of the water.”

He
looked around in awe and explained what they couldn’t see beneath the water. “Maybe you already know this, but bear with me. The ancient Mount Thera produced vast amounts of magma and ash, eventually emptying the magma chamber beneath it. Unable to support itself, the remaining mountain crashed into the empty chamber, leaving the caldera, which is mostly submerged.”

Her lon
g hair flew out behind her as the
Isabella
gained speed. “I do know a little about the geology of this area.” Smiling, she asked loudly, “Isn’t caldera a Spanish word?”

Bouncing as they hit a wave,
Alexia fell roughly against Mark. Catching her, he momentarily held on until she regained her balance. “Uh, yes, it means ‘caldron,’” was all he could manage. He couldn’t believe it; he had become aroused. Fortunately, he still had his khaki shorts on over his bathing suit so it wasn’t obvious. Still, he was embarrassed, and he turned away, trying not to think about the Grand Tetons.

“Thank
you,” she said smiling. “What’s amazing is its size.” She paused, adding, “The caldera is eight miles across in one direction and four miles in the other.”

He hoped she was talking about the caldera when referring to “size.”
Turning back towards her, he responded, “It must have been an impressive eruption.” As soon as the words came out, he regretted saying them.

Surely,
her mind, unlike his, didn’t think of the possible sexual interpretation of this phrase given their earlier conversation. Again turning away to hide his embarrassment, he looked back at the Santorini lagoon. He noticed two openings where the lagoon was connected to the Mediterranean Sea.

Following his stare,
a smiling Alexia said, “Those waterways are our connections to the outside world and how the large cruise ships reach our port. Santorini is an extremely popular stop for almost every cruise ship that travels the Mediterranean.”

As she said this, they passed
very near the mammoth cruise ship currently in port. In the background behind the ship loomed the jagged cliffs of rusty-red rocks of Santorini and in the foreground, tenders continued to ferry tourists to the island and to waiting buses that would shuttle them to various sites on the island, including Akrotiri.

There was a pattern on the cruise ship that triggered Alexia’s memory. “
Oh, I have been meaning to tell you, I checked out some Native American pottery and you are right. The colors, styles, and geometric patterns are similar to early Minoan pottery. Not sure exactly what that means, but the similarities are undeniable.”

“Could it mean there is a connection between the two cultures?”

“Possibly, but much more work would be required to establish that.”

“Thanks for checking,” Mark said, pleased with
himself.

“You’re welcome.”

After about thirty minutes of travel, they approached a small inlet and Mark noticed the water became a lighter hue of blue. The
Isabella
slowed as she entered shallow waters. Suddenly Mark could smell sulfur dioxide—the stench of rotten egg. He associated the smell with thermal springs.

Alexia
could see by his wrinkled nose that he had noticed the odor. “Most of island of Nea Kameni reeks of sulfur, but here it is especially pungent because of the hot springs. This is a popular swimming area and many people believe the hot springs are good for what ails you. If you want, when we return from the summit, we can test the water.”

“S
ounds like a great idea.” The water did look inviting, thought Mark, and seeing the rest of Alexia’s bikini was further motivation to take the plunge.

Captain
Baros anchored the boat and together they headed to shore on a small dinghy. Alexia told Mark that the captain wanted to join them on their walk to the crater. “It should take less than thirty minutes to get there. Although it’s only about five hundred feet, it’s a steep and rugged walk.”

Reaching a small beach,
Mark helped the captain pull the dinghy onto the black sand. They had landed on an uninviting, desolate landscape without any vegetation. As evidence of the trek’s popularity, a well-worn path wound its way up the low rise.

Alexia
said, “This trail leads to the rim of a small crater at the peak’s summit.” From where they stood, they couldn’t see the summit.

As they began walking,
Alexia led the way with her shirt tied around her thin waist. “The crater here last erupted in 1950. It wasn’t much of an eruption, but did cause quite a bit of excitement.” She looked back at Mark and smiled in a knowing way as she lingered on the word eruption.

Mark sheepishly smiled back, blushing, saying
nothing. He was certain she was aware of the sexual innuendo she had just made, meaning she had picked up on his earlier statement about the eruption.

Their climb followed a
grey, dusty trail of volcanic ash surrounded by reddish lava formations. The views of the cliff-top villages on Santorini in the distance were spectacular. As they reached the summit, the smell of sulfur intensified and they started seeing yellow deposits in the soil around them. The ground was warm, heating the surrounding air, and releasing hot toxic fumes that spurted out in several locations, vapors rising briefly before disappearing. At other places, steam rose higher, twisting in the wind as white wisps spun out and vanished. Standing on top of the small rise and watching the land breathe; it was as if the volcano was alive. Mark felt elated. This is why I majored in geology, he thought.