The Dark Side of the Island

Pavlo ignored the outstretched hand. ‘I remember you, Englishman.’ A muscle twitched at the side of his jaw. ‘How could I forget you? How could anyone on this island forget you?’

Suddenly, his face was suffused with passion. His mouth opened as if he wanted to speak, but the words refused to come and he raised his stick blindly.

Lomax managed to ward the blow off and moved in close, pinning Pavlo’s arms to his sides. Behind him, a chair went over with a crash and Yanni screamed a warning from the door.

As he released Pavlo and started to turn, a brawny arm slid around his neck, half-choking him. He tried to raise his arms, but they were seized and he was dragged backwards.

The four men who had been sitting together held him in a vice half-way across their table. Papademos got to his feet and started for the door, but the man who had been playing the bouzouki shook his head gently and the captain sat down again.

The bouzouki player propped his instrument carefully against the wall and came forward. He looked down at Lomax for a moment, his expression perfectly calm, and then slapped him heavily in the face.

Lomax tried to struggle, but it was no use, and Pavlo pushed the bouzouki player out of the way. ‘No, Dimitri, he is mine. Lift up his head so that I can look at him properly.’

Dimitri grabbed Lomax by the hair, pulling him upright and Pavlo looked into his face and nodded. ‘The years have treated you kindly, Captain Lomax. You look well – very well.’

The little man with the scarred face and eye-patch had come from behind the bar and stood beside Pavlo and looked down at Lomax. Suddenly, he leaned forward and spat on him.

Lomax felt the cold slime on his face and anger boiled inside him. ‘For God’s sake, Alexias. What’s all this about?’

‘It’s really quite simple,’ Pavlo said. ‘It’s about my crippled leg and Nikoli’s face here. If you prefer it, there’s always Dimitri’s father and twenty-three other men and women who died in the concentration camp at Fonchi.’

And then it all began to make some kind of crazy sense. ‘You think I was responsible for that?’ Lomax said incredulously.

‘You were judged and condemned a long time ago,’ Pavlo told him. ‘It only remains for the sentence to be carried out.’

He looked at the bouzouki player, his face like stone. ‘Give me your gutting knife, Dimitri.’

Dimitri took a large clasp-knife from his hip pocket and passed it across. Pavlo pressed a button at one end and a six-inch blade, honed like a razor, sprang into view.

Lomax kicked out wildly, panic rising inside him. He made a last desperate effort and managed to tear one arm free. He swung round, dashing his fist into the nearest face, but in a moment, he was pinioned again.

The hand that held the knife trembled a little, but there was cold purpose in Pavlo’s eyes. He took one pace forward, the knife coming up, and a voice said from the doorway, ‘Drop it, Alexias!’

Everyone turned and Lomax felt the grasp on his arms slacken. Standing just inside the door was a police sergeant in shabby sun-bleached khaki uniform, and Yanni peered under his arm.

‘Stay out of this, Kytros,’ Pavlo said.

‘I believe I told you to drop the knife,’ Kytros replied calmly. ‘I would not like to have to ask you again.’

‘But you don’t understand,’ Pavlo told him. ‘This is the Englishman who was here during the war. The one who betrayed us to the Germans.’

‘So you would murder him now and in cold blood?’ Kytros said.

Little Nikoli made an impassioned gesture with both hands. ‘It is not murder – it is justice.’

‘We obviously have different points of view.’ Kytros looked straight at Lomax. ‘Mr Lomax, please come with me.’

Lomax took a step forward and Dimitri grabbed his arm. ‘No, he stays here!’ he said harshly.

Kytros unbuttoned the flap of his holster and took out his automatic. When he spoke there was iron in his voice. ‘Mr Lomax is leaving with me now. I would be obliged, Alexias, if you would not make it necessary for me to shoot one of your friends.’

Pavlo’s face was contorted in anger and he half turned and drove the blade of the knife into the wooden table in a single violent gesture.

‘All right, Kytros. Have it your way, but make sure he’s on the boat when it leaves at four o’clock. If he isn’t, I can’t be responsible for what might happen.’

Lomax stumbled past the sergeant and climbed the steps into the bright sunlight. For a moment, reaction set in and he leaned against the wall, his chest heaving as he struggled for breath.

Kytros put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you all right? Did they harm you?’

Lomax shook his head. ‘I’m getting a little too old to be playing that kind of game, that’s all.’

‘Aren’t we all, Mr Lomax?’ Kytros said. ‘My office is just around the corner. I’d be pleased if you would accompany me there.’

As they walked along, Yanni tugged at Lomax’s hand anxiously. ‘I got the sergeant for you, Mr Lomax. Did I do right?’

Lomax smiled. ‘You saved my life, son. That’s all.’

Yanni frowned. ‘They say you’re a bad man, Mr Lomax.’

‘What do you think?’ Lomax said.

The boy smiled suddenly. ‘You don’t look like a bad man to me.’

‘Then we’re still friends?’

‘Sure we are.’

They paused outside the police station and Lomax patted him on the head. ‘I’m going to be busy for a while, Yanni. You go back to the hotel and wait for me.’

Yanni turned reluctantly and Lomax added, ‘It’s all right. Sergeant Kytros isn’t going to put me in prison.’

The boy whistled to his dog and ran away along the waterfront and Lomax followed Kytros up the stone steps.

The sergeant led the way into an office furnished with a desk, several wooden chairs and a startlingly new green filing cabinet.

‘The boy seems to have taken quite a fancy to you.’ He took off his cap and sat behind the desk. ‘It’s a pity you won’t be around longer. He could do with an improving influence.’

Lomax pulled a chair forward and sat down. ‘So I’m definitely leaving, am I?’

Kytros spread his hands. ‘Mr Lomax, be sensible. That could have been a nasty business back there at The Little Ship and I can’t guarantee that it won’t happen again. Alexias Pavlo is an important man on Kyros.’

‘Does that make him God?’

Kytros shook his head. ‘He doesn’t need to be God to arrange for someone to slip a knife under your ribs one dark night.’

‘The Alexias Pavlo I knew seventeen years ago did his own killing,’ Lomax said.

Kytros ignored the remark. ‘Could I see your papers?’