1 The Assassins' Village (26 page)

‘What’s that?’

‘I can’t get the idea of Kristiakis’ innocence out of my head. He was there in the vicinity; he has a police record, a motive and so forth.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well as we’ve already said, it may be difficult to prove this now he’s dead.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘But what if he didn’t hang himself? He was drunk, or rather he stank of drink. I don’t suppose the police checked his blood alcohol level, and why would they?  Anyway, wouldn’t it be easy, to put a noose on someone as drunk as a skunk and then hang them? As far as we know he left no suicide note. In all the best murder books, most suicides take a certain care when they want to kill themselves. You know, like locking doors so no one like a child can find them. Or even tidying up; little silly things that might matter to them. Kristiakis chose an old building that wasn’t only unlocked, it was wide open to all and sundry, hardly secretive. So, if that was the case and he was murdered too, it leaves two obvious questions. Just who did it and why? We need to know what the police have decided on this one before we go any further.’

Steve said nothing. After a pause Di sat upright in his lap and peered closely at him.

‘Well? What do you think?’

Giving a heart-felt groan, Steve leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. ‘I can think of no way in which I’m going to be able to stop your sleuthing. And that undeniably, will have to include me.’

Chapter 37. Yanoulla

I am in blood stepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more,

returning were as tedious as go o’er.

Macbeth. Act 3 Scene 4

It was not for the first time, that Yanoulla had to review her past life. She’d never been very happy for long, and this past month or so found her world spiralling down into new depths of misery. Looking back over the years, she realised the only truly happy events she could count on the fingers of one hand.

For years she’d watched Kristiakis grow from a skinny, gangling boy to a young man, with dark smouldering blue eyes, a divinely muscled body and long legs. Despite being nearly ten years older than he, she yearned for him to notice her. Her yearning had bordered on undeniable lust. She was aware that she was no beauty. Her nose was too big and dominated her face. But she considered she possessed other worthwhile features that worked in her favour. She’d always kept her body trim and her long hair was silky and glossy. But, despite all her endeavours Kristiakis never had eyes for her.

When they were younger she’d particularly suffered. During the Annual Summer festival the young men slipped, lean and slim-hipped onto the dance floor as soon as the band struck up
vkiolarides
. The excited girls broke off from their chattering groups, forming a ring inside that of the boys. Thus, the
Syrtos
folk dance began, symbolizing the harmony between male and female rôles in Cypriot society. When heart beats were raised and the young faces flushed, the band upped the tempo to the very lively
Sousta,
and the boys and girls made another large circle portraying the spirit of their community.

During this dance, men would break off and dance alone. Yanoulla watched the boy, Kristiakis now a man, demonstrate the virtue of his sex that was appreciated and respected by the gathering; namely his strength.

Yanoulla’s heart pounded, as she flashed a broad smile at the dazzling handsome Kristiakis as he stamped his boot-shod feet and dipped at the waist before whirling away to the music that had them all mesmerised. The music was fast; the melody produced by violin, accompanied by the
laouto
and the steady rhythm of the
tempoutsia
. There was also backing from the accordion,
bouzouki
and guitar to enliven the dancers. Yanoulla held her breath watching Kristiakis perform the men’s dance namely the
kartzilamas,
accompanied by a lifelong friend. Their virility and agility was only too apparent in their dynamic moves. Altogether it was a dazzling display, with a breathless energy right to the very end. The young women knew that the performance was for them as they watched from their corner of the dance floor. Yanoulla wished with all her heart that Kristiakis danced for her alone as he twirled and stamped before the climax of the finale.

Everyone clapped and cheered when they finished, and the band moved into its next number, the slower
Antikristos
where men and women danced gracefully together as couples and in rows across from each other. With each man choosing his partner, Yanoulla had waited, hoping and praying that this time, this year, he would choose her. As he dragged a laughing, barely protesting voluptuous young beauty onto the floor, Yanoulla knew that once gain she had been bypassed. She stood in the shadows watching; a sour taste of pure envy on her tongue as he took the girl’s hand and placed a possessive arm snugly around her waist. Sensuously, they began the dance that expressed the joy of life and love.

Bitterly disappointed, Yanoulla turned and left the summer festival. As usual she was one of the first to leave.

Over the years, whenever she had the chance, Yanoulla thrust herself in front of Kristiakis, willing him to notice her. When she guessed about the illicit meetings between his sister Antigone and the British officer, Yanoulla drew his attention to it, thereby hoping that her good neighbourly act would put her in his good books. Unfortunately for her it failed. Finally realising she would never get him in a million years, and feeling dejected, she turned to Alexis and his earlier proposal of marriage.

Alexis was older than she. Leaving the island during the troubles between the Turkish and Greek Cypriots in the sixties he’d gone to London. There, he set up a small business making pitta bread. There were enough Cypriot refugees in England to ensure him a good living, and within two years he’d made enough money to return home to his family on a regular basis, bringing with him funds to enlarge the family home and provide his ageing parents with more comfort and luxury than they’d ever dreamed of. Some Cypriots, having done nothing with their lives, looked on with more than a little envy, but Alexis cared little for what they thought. Who were they to judge him? He decided it was better making money, albeit abroad, than remaining in a village full of narrow minds and suffocating thoughts. Pah! What did they know? They could only dream of the riches he was accumulating back in London.

During one of his visits home he noticed Yanoulla. Years ago he had always rather fancied her. Making tentative enquiries to ascertain if she was still single, which she of course was, he set to work on her immediately. Knowing he was long overdue for marriage Yanoulla would do him very nicely.

Alexis was not a good-looking man at all; short, running to fat, and with teeth badly in need of dental treatment. At first Yanoulla had a job keeping his wandering hands from following the path of his rather squinty eyes. After she had almost slapped him for goosing her as she stood waiting to be served in the local shop, she stopped and considered her options.

Here she was, no longer young and fresh and approaching thirty - but still a virgin. The object of her love ignored her, or even worse ridiculed her overtures. And of late, Yanoulla found village life stifling with everyone knowing each other’s business, sometimes even before they knew it themselves. It was hard to bear.

Here was Alexis offering her an outlet, an escape. She didn’t remotely love him, or even care for him. It was hard to envisage kissing his mouth with his protruding misshaped teeth, let alone having his squat, heavy body bouncing up and down on her in the marital bed. She shuddered at the thought.

But, he had money. Even more so, he was
rich,
and would take her away from this place and her long-term misery. She would live in London, in a fine house with three bedrooms and a
complete indoor bathroom
. There would be central heating throughout – that was unheard of in Cyprus despite the cold mountain winters. They’d visit the sights of the city and perhaps the rest of England. She had some friends in London – all Cypriots knew someone there - so she wouldn’t be lonely. And, best of all she would get away from the heartbreak of Kristiakis’ indifference. It would be an adventure, and she would be the envy of all those left behind when she returned to visit; as she would if only to parade her new fashionable clothes and no doubt jewellery. The only drawback was being wed to Alexis but she was sure she could lick him into shape. She must cast her despairing thoughts aside and think of all the wonderful things she would receive.

So, shortly after that year’s Easter celebrations, they were married. Alexis’ family turned up to pin the obligatory money onto her white wedding dress, and the party turned into one long noisy affair as only Cypriot weddings can. It seemed there were hundreds of relatives, from aunts and uncles to second and even third cousins, of all ages, all talking and eating at once. The band played long into the night and most of the men-folk had got rollicking drunk. The whole party was a cacophony of raucous sound that made Yanoulla’s head ring. She hadn’t spent too long wondering why he wasn’t already married; perhaps it would have been better if she had.

Now, sitting in her bedroom and remembering the good things that had happened to her during her marriage, she spread her hand and counted on her fingers. There were the births of her two precious daughters and Alexis’ death. Depressingly that was all.

Alexis turned out to be not so jocular. He was short tempered and loved his own way in all things. Perhaps Yanoulla should have taken more time and considered his age. Older people being set in their ways and accustomed to doing what they want. Too often, Yanoulla found herself giving in to his tantrums for the sake of peace and quiet, her little girls looking on with fear and bewilderment at their parents’ behaviour. For the sake of her children, Yanoulla stuck it out as long as she could, putting up with Alexis’ quick changes of mood, and his occasional lashing with the back of his hand. Alexis was particularly obnoxious when he’d been out with his mates, drinking or after the dog racing in town. She learned that for all his outward witty and light-hearted appearance to friends and family as a modern man, privately he still held the old belief of man being the chief breadwinner, head of the family and therefore his word was paramount.

The years passed, the girls grew, with Yanoulla still harbouring fleeting thoughts for Kristiakis. Quickly realising that Alexis wasn’t mellowing with age, Yanoulla now considered him a complete and utter pig. True, she had a comfortable modern house with all the desirable plumbing she could want. She was proud of her very first washing machine and electric vacuum cleaner. Alexis allowed her an adequate clothing allowance, and adored bringing her home tasteless ‘sexy’ nylon underwear he bought from a market stall in the East end of London. But, apart from that he was as mean as could be. There was very little in the way of extras and she had to account for every penny she spent on housekeeping. The few pieces of jewellery he bought her were pitiful; she wasn’t even sure that the small gemstones set in the silver were real. His personal toiletry habits were suspect and his teeth were now so rotten his breath was permanently foul. When he rolled towards her in their bed she closed her eyes and mouth and tried hard not to take in deep breaths. Their coupling – you couldn’t call it love making – was completely revolting to her. She hated the magazines he brought home and waved under her nose; a ringed podgy finger pointing out to her just what position she was to assume for him that night.

Gritted her teeth and silently bearing it, she had one thought in her mind. If only she could be rid of him…

Alexis was greedy and one day, Yanoulla saw just the chance she was looking for. The local fishmongers were selling oysters at half their usual price. Alexis adored them and she bought a dozen. She hid nine under some vegetables in the bottom of the fridge, and buried the remaining three in the garden for thirty-six hours. She then dug the three up, washed and chilled them, and carefully marking their shells with a tiny black feltip dot, added them to the other nine. Tonight they would make a fine supper.

Alexis returned home, tired and irritable after working a long day in the factory’s office. His gluttonous eyes lit up at the sight of his half dozen oysters. He wolfed his down with a large pint of beer in no time at all, barely pausing to ask Yanoulla what type of day she’d had. Yanoulla ate her share of the oysters slowly; she’d only eaten two when Alexis had begun to eye hers speculatively.

‘Are you going to eat those or just sit and look at them?’ he asked.

‘I’m not very hungry. You have them,’ she’d replied with a smile.

She sat back and watched as he slurped and sucked the cold raw shellfish into that cavernous mouth. Finishing his beer, Alexis belched loudly and then demanded what else they were having that evening. After eating an enormous plateful of oven-baked lamb and roasted potatoes, he wiped his greasy mouth on a cloth and told her that he was going out with his mates.

Yanoulla felt no qualms for what she’d done. Instead, in an almost dream-like state, she calmly cleared away the dishes, washed them well with hot soapy water and sat down to watch her favourite programme:
Coronation Street.
The girls were staying over with school friends for the evening so she didn’t have to worry about them. When Alexis returned, complaining of feeling unwell she knew she wouldn’t have long to wait.

Within hours, Alexis had all the signs of food poisoning. He vomited copiously, followed by violent diarrhoea and abdominal pain. Alexis rolled around their bed in agony; Yanoulla tended to his needs for as long as she could before knowing she’d have to give in and call for assistance. Gasping for breath, and groaning with pain he pleaded with her to call 999 for an ambulance. Dragging out the time, she reluctantly got dressed and then left the house to find a local phone box. Without missing a heartbeat, she lifted the receiver and made the call that would bring the peal of ambulance bells rushing into their street.

The doctors did their best but the bacteria had infected the bloodstream. Alexis’ fever grew, accompanied by chills. His blood pressure dropped shockingly low due to the septic shock and his skin blistered with revolting lesions. Yanoulla played the devoted wife to the letter, staying by his bedside when allowed, and then alternating her time on the hard wooden chair in the outside corridor. She sipped at a cup of tea in the early hours, biding her time. The hands moved slowly around the clock face on the wall opposite where she sat.

Finally, she had the call she had been waiting for. Yanoulla was shown into the sisters’ office on the medical ward and requested to take a seat. The young and pretty Staff Nurse looked grim and unhappy as she prepared to face Yanoulla. In a quiet but firm voice she informed her.