The Unforgiving Stone (Nick Fisher Novels Book 1), page 1
THE UNFORGIVING STONE
A NICK FISHER NOVEL
THE UNFORGIVING STONE
Copyright © 2020 Alex Dunlevy
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
www.alexdunlevy.com
All rights reserved. Except as permitted by copyright law, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author, nor (in the case of the paperback version) be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the purchaser.
All characters and events in this book, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Map drawing by the author
Cover photograph by Adrianna Calvo
eBook formatting and cover design by Formatting Experts
Published by Volker-Larwin Publishing
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1: NICK IS WOKEN
CHAPTER 2: SÍVA
CHAPTER 3: FROM HOPE TO DREAD
CHAPTER 4: THE MEDICAL EXAMINER
CHAPTER 5: WHERE’S MY SON?
CHAPTER 6: SEARCHING THE BEACH
CHAPTER 7: IN GIÁNNI’S BAR
CHAPTER 8: JASON
CHAPTER 9: ONE STEP BEHIND
CHAPTER 10: PRIME SUSPECT
CHAPTER 11: PARENTS
CHAPTER 12: A VISIT FROM THE POLICE
CHAPTER 13: AN UNCOMFORTABLE ALLIANCE
CHAPTER 14: ON THE CASE
CHAPTER 15: MAKING A START
CHAPTER 16: DIGGING DEEPER
CHAPTER 17: KNUCKLES RAPPED
CHAPTER 18: VILLA ERATÓ
CHAPTER 19: TAKING A LOOK
CHAPTER 20: THE TEMPLE OF AKESÓ
CHAPTER 21: TRUCE
CHAPTER 22: PETER AND LINDA
CHAPTER 23: LINDA REACTS
CHAPTER 24: THE TEMPLE REVISITED
CHAPTER 25: CHURCH
CHAPTER 26: LINDA
CHAPTER 27: SEARCH
CHAPTER 28: INTERROGATION
CHAPTER 29: BACK TO THE BEACH
CHAPTER 30: MANÓLIS
CHAPTER 31: FRUSTRATION
CHAPTER 32: TRACED
CHAPTER 33: COMPROMISE
CHAPTER 34: JOB DONE
CHAPTER 35: HOME
LEAVING A REVIEW
THANKS TO EVERYONE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
THE UNFORGIVING STONE
A NICK FISHER NOVEL
ALEX DUNLEVY
NAMED CHARACTERS
Alise Ozola – Kristīne’s sister
Andie Fessler – American girl at Síva
Andrew – Jason’s cousin
Antónis Staréniou – Greek lawyer to the Westons
Babis – Waiter at Polifímos taverna
Beth – Canadian folk singer at Giánni’s
Bill – B&B host in Panórmos and grandfather of Chris
Birgit or Bridget – Bar manager in Síva
Carla – Animal rescue lady in Selliá
Chris – Friend of Jason and grandson of Bill & Sandy
Connor McHugh – Gardener from New Zealand working at The Temple of Akesó
Dimítris – Bright constable from Chaniá
Doctor Pánagou – Medical Examiner
Eléni Makrydáki – Jason’s Greek lawyer
Erik – German hippy at Síva
Father Michális – Priest at Catholic church in Chaniá
Gina Moretti – Tourist Jason met at Lissus
Helen Martin – Sam’s mother
Inga Petersone – Kristīne’s lawyer
Ioánna – Thaní’s baby daughter
Jake – Long-haired young man Nick met at Giánni’s
Jason Buckingham – Nick’s estranged son and fiancé of Sam
Jennifer Buckingham (Jen) – Nick’s ex-wife and mother of Jason and Lauren
Jon Kitchen – Villain that Nick took down in London
Jonathan Beeson – British Vice Consulate representative
Karl Schröder – General Manager at The Temple of Akesó
Kenny – Irish philosopher-type at Moondance
Kóstas (Kostí) – Kafenío owner in Saktoúria
Kristīne Ozola – Latvian woman partnered with Spíros
Lauren Fisher – Nick’s daughter
Lena – Swedish artist and sculptress in Saktoúria
Leonídas Christodoulákis (Leo) – Second Lieutenant with the Cretan police
Linda Weston – Joint-owner of Villa Erató and wife of Peter
Magda – Polish girl, drunk at Moondance
Manólis Alexandrákis – Owner of Moondance beach bar, Síva
María – B&B host in Anógia
Martin McConnell – Retired dentist from Northern Ireland living in Néa Roúmata
Martina – Attendant at The Temple of Akesó
Matthias – German hippy at Síva
Michael Martin – Sam’s father
Michális Kasotákis (Mikey) – Young Greek from Thessalonikí staying in Síva
Nick Fisher – Former DCI in The Met now living in Saktoúria
Níkos – Constable from Palaióchora
Panagiótis – Provider of grapes for the kazáni in Saktoúria
Pandelís – Constable from Chaniá
Paul Fisher – Nick’s late father
Peter Weston – Joint-owner of Villa Erató and husband of Linda
Samantha Martin (Sam) – Fiancée of Jason Buckingham
Sandy – B&B host in Panórmos and grandmother of Chris
Sean – Irishman on holiday in Síva with Siobhan
Sergeant Jansons – Latvian policeman
Shirley Fisher – Nick’s mother
Siobhan – Irish woman on holiday in Síva with Sean
Sofía – Nick’s housekeeper/cleaner
Spíros Tavouláris – Greek partner of Kristīne and assistant at Moondance
Stávros – Garage owner in Langós
Stefan – Swedish dopehead at Moondance
Stélios – Owner of Sorókos Café in Síva
Stephen Buckingham – Jen’s husband (after Nick)
Sylvie Deschamps – French camper at Síva
Tásos – Foolish constable from Paleóchora
Thanásis Konstantópoulos (Thaní) – Investigations Sergeant with the Cretan police
Uldis – Kristīne’s former partner
Ulrich – German hippy at Síva
Valádis – Constable from Chaniá
Vangélis – Constable from Chaniá
Vassily – Russian guy with French girlfriend at Moondance
Xará – Kósti’s teenage daughter in Saktoúria
Yiórgos – Fisherman/philosopher in Saktoúria
Zoë – Nick and Jenny’s former babysitter in England
CHAPTER 1
NICK IS WOKEN
Nick Fisher emerged from under the pillow and jettisoned the sweaty sheet. One by one his eyes unglued themselves, only to recoil from the blaze of light. He explored his mouth and, unsurprised, found an alien, leathery creature floundering in a sandpaper cave. The room no longer yawed, at least. He was thanking the gods for that when a pulse like a steam hammer kicked in at the back of his head.
He was in no condition, he concluded. Not yet. Instead, he lay simmering, brooding. What dared tear him from those healing arms of Morpheus?
Was it that relentless sun? Even now, in mid-September, it pierced the curtains like a halogen searchlight, blinding its way across his face.
Was it the village wildlife? The blasted cockerel was always a contender. But so were the damned dogs with their tiresome yapping. Sofía’s donkey was a less likely culprit. True, its bray was monstrous, but it was seldom heard. Mostly it spent its time standing. Sad-eyed. Waiting. For work. Or food. Or maybe for love …
Was it simply one of the noisier Greeks, perhaps that lugubrious fishmonger? Nick could hear the man’s van, graunching its way up the narrow streets, sinister growls of “Psária frésca” coming from the crackly, roof-mounted speakers, alternating with blasts of tragic lyra music. Sounds like he wants us to bring out our dead rather than buy fresh fish, he mused, as he drifted back to sleep.
Moments later, Nick’s subconscious was struggling to fit the mobile phone’s ringtone into his medieval plague nightmare. As a passing-bell, it failed to convince and Nick came awake in a rush and lunged for the bedside table, knocking over his water glass.
“Shit! Oh, bugger it! Hello?”
“Are you all right, Dad?”
“More or less.”
“Only I’ve been ringing the landline for ages. Didn’t you hear? You’re not still in bed, are you?”
“Might be.”
“It must be well after ten there. Are you ill?”
“I’m fine. Just a drop too much rakí at the kafenío, perhaps.”
“A-ha.”
He sat up, rubbed his face with a wet hand for a moment.
“So, Hun Bun. How are things with you?”
“Oh, the usual stuff. Working hard, going to the gym, trying to get on with my boring flatmates.”
“Playing hard too, no doubt.”
“Who, me? I’m in bed by eleven with a good book.”
“Not the Good Book?”
“No. I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Seen your Mum at all?”
“I was there last night, for dinner. The Creep was there too, unfortunately, but Mum was looking good.”
The Creep was her polite name for her stepfather. There were many less charitable. A trained psychotherapist, Stephen Buckingham was an intelligent, caring man in his late forties. He was always Stephen, never Steve, and had absolutely no sense of humour that Nick had been able to detect.
“That’s why I called, Dad. While I was there, Mum told me that Jason’s in Crete. Right now. I had no idea.”
“He is? Well, well. He didn’t tell me either. I’m just his Dad who lives here.”
“He’s there with Sam until the twenty-fifth and I know where they’re staying.”
Her words hung in the ether. Nick could see where this was going.
“Look, Lauren, I know you mean well …”
“Dad – they’re camping at Síva, right now. That’s just along the coast from you, isn’t it?”
Lauren always thought of Crete as a tiny island, he noticed.
“It would be two and a half hours’ drive away, probably. You can’t just go straight across from here. There are mountains in the way; bloody big ones.”
“Well, that’s not so far, is it? What else have you got to do, Dad? And don’t you think it’s high time you two patched things up? You haven’t got to know Sam at all and it’s only six months till the wedding.”
“I won’t be invited to their wedding, Lauren. He’s travelled seventeen hundred miles to my island and hasn’t bothered to mention it. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“It tells me that you’re both pig-headed, stubborn idiots.”
“Don’t be so damned cheeky. And your brother is not an idiot. He just hasn’t forgiven me. And he has a point.”
“So, tell him how sorry you are. At least try to heal the wounds, Dad. Or what? Are you going to let this go on for the rest of our lives? This might be a last chance to sort things out. They won’t be in Síva for long.”
“What’s she like, Sam?”
“Don’t you remember her?”
“We’ve never met.”
“You have, actually. Just the once, at Andrew’s wedding, way before they were engaged or anything.”
Andrew was Jen’s brother’s boy and Nick remembered that awful wedding. Jenny was diagnosed just a few days before and she had decided they must keep it to themselves. It was no surprise he had forgotten about meeting Sam. He did remember drinking far too much cheap champagne and feeling crushed by the weight of their terrible secret.
“I don’t remember,” he said.
“Well, you must have seen pictures, Dad. She’s a gorgeous, little blonde. You’re bound to like her. I’m sure all men do.”
“Miaow! But what’s she like as a person, I meant?”
“I can’t say I know her well. We only met a couple of times. Enough to see that Jason’s besotted.”
“And Sam?”
“I hope so, Dad.”
“Look, it’s a beautiful idea, Lauren, and it’s sweet of you to call, but it isn’t going to work. I think it’s better if I stay here quietly. He knows where to find me.”
“Oh, Da-ad …”
“I’m sorry, darling, but Jason will let me know if and when he wants to work things out between us.”
“You’d let him marry someone you’ve barely met?”
“He’s a sensible lad. I’m sure he’s chosen well.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Dad …”
“I need to go now, Lauren. My housekeeper’s here.”
There were sounds of heavy banging on the front door, which was then opened. Nick placed the phone on a dry part of the bedside table and stared at it for a long moment.
“Yeiá sou, Níko. Kalá eísai?”
It was the usual conversational shriek from Sofía, and right away she started clattering around the kitchen, talking to herself and admonishing him with squeals of Greek for the mess in which he lived. Nick stood up too quickly and his head swam but he managed to grasp the doorknob. After a quick shower, he threw on shorts and a tee-shirt and made his way downstairs. Sofía was attacking the wine-stained table-top with vigour.
“I bring froúta,” she said, jerking her head towards the sideboard and grinning. Nick saw grapes, plums and peaches in a cracked, yellow bowl. “For me.”
“From you, you mean, from your garden? How kind you are, Sofía. Will you have some coffee?”
She pulled a face. “Ness? Óchi!”
“Ah yes, you prefer that Greek sludge of yours. Sorry. Signómi!”
Sofía shot him a fierce, wide-eyed look before the infectious smile re-surfaced. Nick chuckled and took his mug of strong, filter coffee out on to the terrace with a bowl of sheep’s yoghurt, then came back for the fruit.
“These peaches look great,” he said, holding one up and smiling. “Thank you. Efcharistó polí.” She beamed as she always did when he attempted some Greek.
It was already quite hot, the sky cloudless. The sleepy, turquoise sea darkened about fifty metres off the beach. In the tiny harbour, men were hosing down brightly coloured fishing boats. Away to the west, the shingle beach was backed by cliffs and, in the far distance, the White Mountains glowed dusty pink in the morning sun.
*
The water was always refreshing here but today it felt like holy water. Miraculous. An instant hangover cure. Nick ducked his head under and struck out with a vigorous crawl until he was two hundred metres out. Then it was breaststroke, parallel to the beach and looking down through water so deep and clear that he had to shrug off a touch of vertigo. Sea bass flashed silver from one of the larger rocks. He rolled onto his back and felt the healing warmth of the sun. His head was clear now, eyes washed bright.
As he made his way back to the shore, he spotted a red and yellow bobble hat capping a laughing, bearded face.
“Yeiá sou, Óchi Psári. Ti káneis?” Yiórgos called.
Nick waved. Óchi Psári or No Fish was a standing joke now. On Nick’s first fishing trip, he caught nothing. Zilch. He was persuaded that it was just bad luck. Maybe the fish were not biting that day. Or the bait was wrong. He went out again, just a few days later, determined to do better. But again, he caught nothing at all, though the others landed almost twenty fish between them.
In the bar that night they teased him: “Nick Fisher? You no fisher-man, Níko. You No Fish!” Then they started calling him Óchi Psári, falling about laughing, holding their sides. And then, seeing his sad clown face, laughing louder still, slapping and kissing him exuberantly on both cheeks. After that, Nick excused himself from fishing trips, but the name stuck.
He stood in the shallows, took a few tentative steps onto the shingle beach.
“Phewee, that was wonderful,” he said, grabbing the towel. Then he grasped the gnarled, bear paw that Yiórgos proffered.
“Good to see you, Yiórgo. How were the fish today?”
“Lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“Yes, I don’t find them.”
“Ah. That’s tough for you, then.”
“It happens sometimes, Níko. Don’t worry. Tomorrow they will be back, and they will be a little more big.”
“And they need to be, don’t they, if we’re honest?”
Yiórgos gave him a glum stare, then raised his eyebrows and tilted his head by way of confirmation. Catches were smaller now; the Libyan Sea almost fished out.
A strengthening breeze swept a chilly gust down the mountain.
“What say I nip home to change and then buy you a beer at Kostí’s?”
The smile lit up his bearded face like the sun escaping from a cloud.
“What say … yes, my friend!”
The wind was ruffling the surface of the sea. Some cloud had gathered around the summit of Mount Kédros, but there should be plenty of good weather yet. Nick jumped into his old US Army Jeep. There were dents and scrapes on the dusty, olive paintwork, the seat leather was torn and only the frame of the hood remained, but Nick would have nothing else for these rock-strewn roads and precipitous tracks. The engine roared into life, the gears crunched, and he sped up the steep and pitted road, tooting a Greek farewell and leaving a dust cloud to swirl in the wind.
*
Later, in the kafenío, they had the place to themselves apart from an older couple, lunching on the terrace.
“Oríste!” Kóstas brought two bottles of the local brew, Fix, a bowl of peanuts and some iced coffee for himself. He lit a cigarette.
“It’s okay. They are from Oslo,” he said in a sotto voce growl. Nick understood; they were not Germans. Even now, the older villagers bore wartime wounds that refused to heal.
