Then Muyia’s studio, dark, no one in there, his sculptures covered in white cloth. It had been a while since I’d spoken to Muyia. Could he have been there that night?
And there, at the end of the street, Christos lived in his old shack – might he have seen her? Could he have been outside? Would she have waved or stopped? The windows were dark now. I knocked. Nothing. I knocked again. Then footsteps, shuffling around. ‘Who is it?’
‘Yiannis!’
He didn’t hear. ‘I said who is it?’ The door opened and he stood there in boxer shorts, pointing a hunting rifle at me. When he saw my face, he lowered it. ‘What the fuck are you doing? Fuck you!’ The few hairs he had stuck up on his tanned head.
‘I’m sorry, Christos. I know it’s late, very late.’
He narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Come in,’ he said.
The living room and kitchen were one room. There were doilies everywhere – on the coffee table, the mantlepiece, the back of the sofa. People in black and white photos stared out at me from all directions. We’d spoken many times in the front yard, but I’d never been inside.
‘Take a seat.’ He pointed at an armchair next to the unlit fireplace. It was cold in there, but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘I’m sorry I woke you.’
‘I’d just gone to bed. No big deal. Can I offer you a drink and a sweet?’
‘Just some water,’ I said. I was parched after the whisky.
‘When did you take up smoking?’ he asked, filling up a glass from the tap. ‘You fucking reek.’
‘I was at Maria’s.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ He raised his eyebrows, placing the glass on a doily on the coffee table.
I gulped it down.
‘Still poaching?’
I nodded. Christos was a hunter, not a poacher. He followed the rules of the hunting seasons, was respectful of regulations, and made a measly living.
‘I need to ask you a question,’ I said.
‘Go ahead. Figuring it’s as important as fuck for you to knock after midnight.’
‘Can you think back to three Sundays ago. Were you home?’
‘Well, let me see.’ He rested his glass of water on his huge hairy gut. ‘Last Sunday I was in Larnaca, I know that. The Sunday before I was cleaning the car.’ He leaned forward, placed the glass on the table and picked up his phone. He scrolled through. ‘So the one before that would have been the thirtieth?’
‘Yes.’
‘I was home that day.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. I have here: Loula visiting with lunatic kids. Yes. My sister came to visit with her crazy grandkids. I made us all lunch. She left around eight o’clock that evening.’
‘After that?’
‘I sat outside with Pavlo from down the road. I remember it well because it was the night he’d got the all clear. He had cancer, poor chap. We played backgammon for a couple of hours.’
‘Did you see Nisha that night?’
‘Who?’ Christos asked.
‘Oh, um, Petra’s girl. Her name is Nisha.’
‘Well, let me see . . .’ He glanced up at the ceiling. ‘I’m pretty sure I saw Spyros with that stupid dog of his, because he stopped to ask Pavlo about his results. It was a quiet night, not much going on. Then there was the maid. Yes, it was Petra’s girl, I think. She was rushing past here like she’d missed an appointment.’
‘Before or after Spyros?’
‘Actually, just before. By a couple of minutes. Pavlo commented, I remember – he called out, “Come here, my little girl! You’re a stunner! I’ll do you when my dick works again.” He’d had too much to drink. Way too much.’ He laughed, his belly shaking under his T-shirt.
I paused for a moment and tried to empty my head of those words, but they’d already gotten under my skin and I could feel my palms sweating.
‘Did she say anything?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Do you remember what she was wearing?’
‘I seem to recall black . . . Yes, a black dress. When she left, Pavlo said he wanted to get under it. Unzip it like the night, see the light underneath – those were his exact drunken words.’ I flinched. Christos laughed even more now, rubbing his stomach, a throaty phlegmy laugh.
‘Was her hair up or down?’
‘Down. Ahhh, that thick, long hair. Who could not notice that? Imagine rubbing your face in it. I bet it smells like apples.’
I felt the anger again. I got up, apologised for getting him out of bed and quickly took my leave.