About the BookIn the Book of Revelation, written by St. John on the Greek island of Patmos, it was said a pale horse would appear whose rider was death, others would cry out for vengeance, and the stars of heaven would fall to the earth. Death does indeed come to Patmos when a German tourist is found murdered in the garden of one of the island’s fabled estates. Yiannis Patronas, Chief Officer of the Chios police, is called in to investigate. He summons his top detective, Giorgos Tembelos, and his friend and amateur sleuth, Papa Michalis, to assist him. What the policemen discover will disturb them long after the conclusion of the case. Only six people were at the house at the time of the murder—the gardener and housekeeper, the victim’s son and his wife and their two children, a boy of seven and a teenage girl of sixteen. All appear to be innocent. But access to the isolated estate is severely restricted. Surrounded by high walls, it has only one entrance: a metal gate that was bolted at the time of the crime. Patronas can only conclude that one of the six is a killer. He continues to probe, uncovering the family’s many secrets. Some are very old, others more recent. All are horrifying. But which of these secrets led to murder? Book 2 of the Greek Islands Mystery series, which began with The Devil Takes Half.
My Review
"The Bible was the first murder book. Cain and Abel. Humanity hasn't changed much since it was written."
God and man, the relationship between the two is always a source of conflict. And in Leta Serafim's mystery series, she explores how the Greek Orthodox Church is as much an institution of the economically-challenged nation as Socrates and Plato. It's what makes Greek culture an interesting blend of the old and the new, whereby tourists, migrants and the youth of today are quickly wiping away centuries of pride and tradition, the very cradle of Western civilization.
But Papa Michalis sees things differently. He's an old priest who likes to tag along on police business. An ardent watcher of American crime shows, he's able to quote Sir Arthur Conan Doyle at will. While he's a lover of fiction, he hasn't given up on humanity just yet. To him, even a man murdered for the heinous acts he committed over the course of a lifetime "is still a child of God."
Some on the detectives on the police force think that Papa Michalis is blissfully naive to the pervasive nature of the evil that lurks all around him. They feel he preaches about a just world that really doesn't exist.
"Holy fool that he was, he believed everyone was good simply because he was."
Yet Papa Michalis brings a voice of wisdom to the story, always taking a more compassionate approach toward the victim's family as well as any possible suspect. He doesn't jump to conclusions. He sees the big picture, and urges the officers he's advising to tread carefully because everything is not always as it seems.
"So our troubles are caused by fallen angels?"
Papa Michalis shakes his head at such questions. He knows better than to try to have a discussion on theology with a bunch of hardened cops. Yet he provides them with a ray of hope, hope that there's a point to the work that they do, even when they're not able to claim victory in justice.
***
When the Devil's Idle can be purchased at:
Amazon
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Formats: $6.95 ebook, $13.95 paperback
Genre: Mystery Suspense Thriller
Pages: 192
Release: September 1, 2015
Publisher: Coffeetown Press
ISBN: 9781603819985
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Excerpt
The police cruiser arrived later that day and Giorgos Tembelos and Papa Michalis disembarked, the priest inching down the ramp like a tortoise.
“I think the identity of the old man is the key,” Papa Michalis announced when they’d all gathered in a taverna to review the case. “I analyzed it and that is my conclusion. It simply cannot be anything else. It has elements of an Agatha Christie story, one of her locked-room mysteries like And Then There Was None. Nobody else had access; ergo, one of the people inside the estate, a family member or a servant, must be the guilty party.”
“Anyone could have gained access,” Patronas pointed out. “The Bechtels were careless. They didn’t keep the door locked and there were keys lying around everywhere.”
“No matter. It’s got to be one of them. We can interview other people forever, but it will eventually come back to them. Them and them alone.”
“I think Father is right,” Tembelos said. “The identity of the victim is the important thing here. There was nothing about him in any of the European databases I checked. I called our counterparts in Germany and asked them to run him through their system, but I doubt they’ll find anything. It’s like he never existed. We need to establish who he was. Could be he changed his name.”
“Why would he change his name?” Patronas wondered.
“I don’t know.“
The four of them were sitting outside by the water, it being too hot to venture inside. A haze hung over the sea, and the air was very still. Suddenly, a soft breeze rose up and stirred the tamarisk trees that lined the shore, setting their feathery branches in motion. Patronas liked the rustling sound the trees made, the relief the wind brought. It was almost as if he could hear the earth breathe.
I’ll go swimming tonight, he told himself, looking out at the harbor. Float on my back and look up at the stars. Frolic like a dolphin.
Maybe he’d ask Antigone Balis to join him. He pictured her dripping wet, that long hair of hers hanging down over one shoulder like Botticelli’s Venus. Adrift in his vision, he subsequently lost track of the conversation.
“Hey, boss, you with us?” Tembelos nudged him with his elbow.
Patronas made a show of straightening his back, stretching. “Sorry, it’s the heat. Always makes me sleepy.”
“You were grinning.”
“So what if I was? A man’s allowed to grin.”
“I don’t know, Yiannis,” the priest said. “I think when one is discussing a homicide, it might be better if one dispensed with grinning. At such a time, such behavior is unseemly. It makes one appear insensitive at the very least.”
“Thank you for that, Father. In the future, I will dispense with grinning.” He tapped his pencil on his notebook. “So, to sum up, we have nothing concrete in the case, no witnesses or physical evidence, nothing that will lead us to the killer.”
“Gardener’s clean,” Tembelos reported. “I ran his fingerprints and there was nothing. There was a match on the shoes, too, exactly like he told us.”
“What about the housekeeper, Maria Georgiou?”
“Same thing. The case is heating up. If we don’t catch the killer, it could get ugly. Ministry’s already clamoring for action.”
“We need to turn the housekeeper, Maria Georgiou, inside out, also the members of the family,” Patronas said. “Check their history. Something’s going on here, but as of yet, I haven’t established what it is.”
“You can’t rule out a random act of violence,” the priest said, “directed at them because of their nationality.”
“Worse would be if it were a case of mistaken identity,” Patronas said, “the killer targeting the owners—the Bauers—and killing one of their guests by mistake.”
He was thinking of Charlie Manson, who along with his disciples had wiped out six people without blinking an eye, not realizing his intended victim was a subletter. “Personally, I think someone targeted the family for reasons we don’t know. The cat, the old man. It stands to reason.”
“I’d start with the housekeeper,” Tembelos said. “What she said doesn’t add up. That bit about coming to Patmos on holiday and staying on as a maid.”
“Unlikely, Giorgos. She’s in her seventies.”
Papa Michalis continued to promote the locked room concept. Citing a case in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, he described how the killer had released a cobra through a fake vent and activated its poisonous energy by whistling. “ ‘Oh, my God, it was the band,’ the victim shouted, ‘the speckled band.’”
“Fiction, Father, fiction,” Patronas said impatiently. “Remember? We discussed it.”
“My point is if you are determined to kill someone, a lock is no deterrent. Sometimes murderers are ingenious. Using a cobra as a murder weapon is brilliant when you think about it. Absolutely brilliant. No fingerprints involved, no way to trace it back to you. The snake does all the work.”
“I repeat, Father, there is no snake involved here. A stone maybe, but no snake.”
“A stone? What makes you think that?”
And around they went again, weighing the possibilities. The victim had been hit on the head, but with what? A hammer or a rock? A shovel or pickax? Rock, scissors, paper.
Forget swimming, Patronas told himself. I might as well drown myself.
“I think the identity of the old man is the key,” Papa Michalis announced when they’d all gathered in a taverna to review the case. “I analyzed it and that is my conclusion. It simply cannot be anything else. It has elements of an Agatha Christie story, one of her locked-room mysteries like And Then There Was None. Nobody else had access; ergo, one of the people inside the estate, a family member or a servant, must be the guilty party.”
“Anyone could have gained access,” Patronas pointed out. “The Bechtels were careless. They didn’t keep the door locked and there were keys lying around everywhere.”
“No matter. It’s got to be one of them. We can interview other people forever, but it will eventually come back to them. Them and them alone.”
“I think Father is right,” Tembelos said. “The identity of the victim is the important thing here. There was nothing about him in any of the European databases I checked. I called our counterparts in Germany and asked them to run him through their system, but I doubt they’ll find anything. It’s like he never existed. We need to establish who he was. Could be he changed his name.”
“Why would he change his name?” Patronas wondered.
“I don’t know.“
The four of them were sitting outside by the water, it being too hot to venture inside. A haze hung over the sea, and the air was very still. Suddenly, a soft breeze rose up and stirred the tamarisk trees that lined the shore, setting their feathery branches in motion. Patronas liked the rustling sound the trees made, the relief the wind brought. It was almost as if he could hear the earth breathe.
I’ll go swimming tonight, he told himself, looking out at the harbor. Float on my back and look up at the stars. Frolic like a dolphin.
Maybe he’d ask Antigone Balis to join him. He pictured her dripping wet, that long hair of hers hanging down over one shoulder like Botticelli’s Venus. Adrift in his vision, he subsequently lost track of the conversation.
“Hey, boss, you with us?” Tembelos nudged him with his elbow.
Patronas made a show of straightening his back, stretching. “Sorry, it’s the heat. Always makes me sleepy.”
“You were grinning.”
“So what if I was? A man’s allowed to grin.”
“I don’t know, Yiannis,” the priest said. “I think when one is discussing a homicide, it might be better if one dispensed with grinning. At such a time, such behavior is unseemly. It makes one appear insensitive at the very least.”
“Thank you for that, Father. In the future, I will dispense with grinning.” He tapped his pencil on his notebook. “So, to sum up, we have nothing concrete in the case, no witnesses or physical evidence, nothing that will lead us to the killer.”
“Gardener’s clean,” Tembelos reported. “I ran his fingerprints and there was nothing. There was a match on the shoes, too, exactly like he told us.”
“What about the housekeeper, Maria Georgiou?”
“Same thing. The case is heating up. If we don’t catch the killer, it could get ugly. Ministry’s already clamoring for action.”
“We need to turn the housekeeper, Maria Georgiou, inside out, also the members of the family,” Patronas said. “Check their history. Something’s going on here, but as of yet, I haven’t established what it is.”
“You can’t rule out a random act of violence,” the priest said, “directed at them because of their nationality.”
“Worse would be if it were a case of mistaken identity,” Patronas said, “the killer targeting the owners—the Bauers—and killing one of their guests by mistake.”
He was thinking of Charlie Manson, who along with his disciples had wiped out six people without blinking an eye, not realizing his intended victim was a subletter. “Personally, I think someone targeted the family for reasons we don’t know. The cat, the old man. It stands to reason.”
“I’d start with the housekeeper,” Tembelos said. “What she said doesn’t add up. That bit about coming to Patmos on holiday and staying on as a maid.”
“Unlikely, Giorgos. She’s in her seventies.”
Papa Michalis continued to promote the locked room concept. Citing a case in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, he described how the killer had released a cobra through a fake vent and activated its poisonous energy by whistling. “ ‘Oh, my God, it was the band,’ the victim shouted, ‘the speckled band.’”
“Fiction, Father, fiction,” Patronas said impatiently. “Remember? We discussed it.”
“My point is if you are determined to kill someone, a lock is no deterrent. Sometimes murderers are ingenious. Using a cobra as a murder weapon is brilliant when you think about it. Absolutely brilliant. No fingerprints involved, no way to trace it back to you. The snake does all the work.”
“I repeat, Father, there is no snake involved here. A stone maybe, but no snake.”
“A stone? What makes you think that?”
And around they went again, weighing the possibilities. The victim had been hit on the head, but with what? A hammer or a rock? A shovel or pickax? Rock, scissors, paper.
Forget swimming, Patronas told himself. I might as well drown myself.
About the AuthorLeta Serafim is the author of the Greek Islands Mystery series, published by the Coffeetown Press, as well as the historical novel, To Look on Death No More. She has visited over twenty-five islands in Greece and continues to divide her time between Boston and Greece.
Links to connect with Leta:
Web Site
Goodreads
Blog Tour Site
About the Giveaway
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Thanks for the review! :)
ReplyDeleteThe title of the book itself captured my attention!
ReplyDeleteWhy else does a moth fly FROM the night
ReplyDeletethan to a bold, attractive candle Light??
Don’t let His extravagant Brilliance be extinguished.
You’re creative, yes?
Then, fly-away with U.S. to the antidote…
Whether you obtain moralityB4mortality to wiseabove
or just glean tantalizing specimens for thy next best seller,
you shall find in our blogs a lotta (subliminal) moxie
which has taken this sinfull mortal yeeeeers to compile!
I lay it ALL out for you, dear, with All-Star-Oxygems:
Wouldn’t ya love an endless eternity
of aplomBombs falling on thy indelible cranium?
An XtraXcitinXpose with no zooillogical-expiration-date?
An IQ much higher than K2?
An anti-establishment, savvy victory +
avant-guarde-humility =
withe extraordinarily explosion of maelstrom mellowdramatic??
Here’s what the exquisite, prolific GODy sed
(with a most-excellent-detector of bull§ht):
“Faith, hope, and love,
the greatest of these is love –
jump into faith…
and you’ll VitSee with love”
Doesn’t matter if you don’t believe (what I write);
God believes in you.
Meet me Upstairs, girl, where the Son never goes down
from a super-passionate, lucrative iconoclasm where you’ll find
nonillionsXnonillionsXnonillionsXnonillionsXnonillionsX…
of deluxe-HTTP [<- pi] opportunities for excitement BTW.
Do it. Do the deed, dude. Sign into the Big-Zaftig-House.
PS “It is impossible that anyone should NOT receive all that they have believed and hoped to obtain; it gives Me great pleasure when they hope great things from Me and I will always give them more than they expect”
-our Lord Jesus to Saint Gertrude
…think about it, girl…
1-outta-1 perishes in 88ish years;
1-outta-1 shall be Divinely Judged;
1-outta-1 goes in either direction then,
depending how WE sinfull mortals
have lived, is where WE go for eternity:
Seventh-Heaven -or- the Abyss o'Misery.
Yes, dear, life’s extremely tough now;
yet, life’s extremely short now:
then, WE have the length and breadth of eternity
to consider where our decisions have placed U.S.
And Satan’s working overtime to steal your indestructible soul.
Don’t let that sly, smooth, sinfull Liar.
I choose Seventh-Heaven.
Choose.
Why else does a moth fly FROM the night
ReplyDeletethan to a bold, attractive candle Light??
Don’t let His extravagant Brilliance be extinguished.
You’re creative, yes?
Then, fly-away with U.S. to the antidote…
Whether you obtain moralityB4mortality to wiseabove
or just glean tantalizing specimens for thy next best seller,
you shall find in our blogs a lotta (subliminal) moxie
which has taken this sinfull mortal yeeeeers to compile!
I lay it ALL out for you, dear, with All-Star-Oxygems:
Wouldn’t ya love an endless eternity
of aplomBombs falling on thy indelible cranium?
An XtraXcitinXpose with no zooillogical-expiration-date?
An IQ much higher than K2?
An anti-establishment, savvy victory +
avant-guarde-humility =
withe extraordinarily explosion of maelstrom mellowdramatic??
Here’s what the exquisite, prolific GODy sed
(with a most-excellent-detector of bull§ht):
“Faith, hope, and love,
the greatest of these is love –
jump into faith…
and you’ll VitSee with love”
Doesn’t matter if you don’t believe (what I write);
God believes in you.
Meet me Upstairs, girl, where the Son never goes down
from a super-passionate, lucrative iconoclasm where you’ll find
nonillionsXnonillionsXnonillionsXnonillionsXnonillionsX…
of deluxe-HTTP [<- pi] opportunities for excitement BTW.
Do it. Do the deed, dude. Sign into the Big-Zaftig-House.
PS “It is impossible that anyone should NOT receive all that they have believed and hoped to obtain; it gives Me great pleasure when they hope great things from Me and I will always give them more than they expect”
-our Lord Jesus to Saint Gertrude
…think about it, girl…
1-outta-1 perishes in 88ish years;
1-outta-1 shall be Divinely Judged;
1-outta-1 goes in either direction then,
depending how WE sinfull mortals
have lived, is where WE go for eternity:
Seventh-Heaven -or- the Abyss o'Misery.
Yes, dear, life’s extremely tough now;
yet, life’s extremely short now:
then, WE have the length and breadth of eternity
to consider where our decisions have placed U.S.
And Satan’s working overtime to steal your indestructible soul.
Don’t let that sly, smooth, sinfull Liar.
I choose Seventh-Heaven.
Choose.