The Devil Takes Half by Leta Serafim Read Free Book Online

Patronas motioned for his men to wall off the entire cove with crime scene tape. “Did you get a good look at the man in the Zodiac? Could you describe him for us?”
    The fisherman shook his head. “It was too dark.”
    â€œ If you saw him again, would you recognize him? Was he one of us?” he asked, meaning Greek.
    â€œ I don’t know, Chief Officer. I swear. He was dressed all in black and had something over his head. A drakos , he was. A monster. That’s all I can tell you.”

Chapter 6
    Outside a doll. Inside the plague.
    â€” Greek proverb

    C hildren were selling pottery along the road on the way to Campos. A farmer threshing wheat in his stone aloni waved to Patronas , the chaff making a golden cloud in the air around him. Patronas wondered how much longer the man would continue to do it that way, using a donkey and a millstone , how much longer the Greece of his youth could withstand the pressures of the modern age.
    The Citroen, an elderly 2CV, protested as Patronas turned onto the cobbled road. He’d heard from Tembelos that there was a cartoon in which a Citroen such as his transforms itself into a giant robot and performs a dance routine. Personally, he’d settle for a little more horsepower. The Germans called the Citroen 2CV Ente or duck, and he’d always wondered if it might do better in water. It was virtually powerless on dry land.
    He wanted to speak to Titina Argentis, Eleni Argentis’ stepmother, before she learned of the discovery at the beach, to gauge her reaction. She lived in Campos, a verdant, well-watered valley behind the airport. The Genovese had used the area as a summer resort during the Middle Ages and their decaying villas still dotted the landscape. A few had been restored by wealthy ship owners but most remained abandoned, their grounds overtaken by vines, their windowless structures in ruins. Open to the sky, the old houses had a stark grandeur, their crumbling limestone walls blending into the landscape.
    The restoration of the Argentis estate had taken four years, and the family had been widely criticized for its extravagance. An iron gate decorated with bronze griffins marked the entrance. The gate stood open and Patronas drove his Citroen in and parked. Gaslight lanterns on gilded poles lined the driveway, and he could hear water splashing somewhere.
    A maid answered the door. Standing beyond her was a man of about thirty.
    â€œ I’m here about Eleni Argentis,” Patronas said, introducing himself. “Chief Officer of the Chios Police.”
    â€œ Mother,” the man called over his shoulder. “Some policeman is here about Eleni.”
    Stifling a yawn, he led Patronas through the house. Although it was early afternoon, his unshaven face was still puffy with sleep. He had a heavy gold chain around his neck, but unlike the one Petros Athanassiou wore, there was no cross attached. It was purely ornamental, an indication of wealth rather than a declaration of faith. His face was handsome, yet it had an unfinished quality about it, a lack of sharpness in the nose and chin, softness like a baby’s. Patronas recognized the type. Many of the Greek ship owners had sons like this, sons who went from youth to old age without ever achieving manhood. He had a glass in his hand, and Patronas could already smell liquor on his breath.
    In contrast, his mother, Titina Argentis, was meticulously dressed, her black hair pinned back severely and held in place with a small bow at the nape of her neck. A gold coin belt accentuated her thinness. Her sandals were equally fancy with little heels and more gold coins along the instep. She looked a little like the Duchess of Windsor, Patronas thought, with her dark hair and narrow face. She had the same cold and precise elegance.
    He introduced himself again. “Is there someplace we could talk?”
    The house was expensively furnished, every surface covered with silver knickknacks