The Assassins' Village

By Faith Mortimer

Bound and gagged, the shocked and terrified victim recognises his assailant. Days later, another body is discovered. How many assassins stalk the village?

In a picturesque Cypriot village an expatriate theatrical group gather to discuss their next play; but when the curtain rises it’ll be murder.
A blackmailer stalks the cast – a group riven with jealousies, rivalry, sexual tension and illicit affairs.

Unbeknown to each other they all attempt to find solutions to their problems. Some believe it lies in murder. Can they find the blackmailer? And can they find that all important ‘little black book’ – the chronicle of their misdeeds.

When a body is discovered, Diana, author and amateur actress, turns detective to draw up a suspects list. After the police get involved one of the suspects is found hanged - another murder or the suicide of a guilty person?

A visit to a villager’s home uncovers an ancient deadly device. Could this be the murder weapon? Is it possible that an assassin lives at the heart of this formerly peaceful and idyllic village?

Love, hate, murder and high drama all feature in this classic historical detective story. With a long list of suspects, some dramatic twists and the odd red herring, the reader is left guessing until the final curtain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Faith Mortimer
• Release date: May 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458027634

Book preview

Chapter 1. The previous Tuesday evening. 24th August

Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the insane root that takes the reason prisoner?

Macbeth. Act 1 Scene 3

Alicia stood in front of the hallway mirror. A freckled face, pale and thin, stared back at her. Smoothing back her unruly red hair she heard the deep tone from the old clock striking in the hall. The sound echoed along the hallway and into the living room beyond. Alicia counted the chimes. Seven o’clock! Time to go. Swiftly, she gathered up the sheaf of scripts for the forthcoming play reading, tucked the bundle under her arm and threw open her front door. The evening’s sweet scent from a frangipani tree reached her and she took a few seconds to steady herself before closing the door behind her.

She was going to be late. It was a nuisance; she needed to compose herself. It was important to be in control. Especially tonight as she intended to instigate the first of her carefully laid plans. He would not get away with it.

Alicia told herself, keep calm. The walk would take just a few minutes if she passed through the church grounds. Crunching up the jagged stone steps Alicia glanced at the Greek Orthodox Church that gave its name to the village; Agios Mamas. It loomed in front of her, large, rectangular and faced in the local pale-coloured sandstone. The Church had been rebuilt in 1860 after the earthquake that had shaken its original foundations. Now, it served its purpose well. Its regular congregation of mostly black-clad old ladies was swelled on Saints’ days with visiting families. She imagined the rows of dutiful women as they sat nodding in the back of the church, surrounded by the heady smell of incense and candles. Alicia was not one of the worshippers. Her faith and allegiance belonged to another deity altogether. Something she rarely mentioned to anyone who knew her, and if she did then it was with complete reticence. The New Woman World Alliance was secretive in its ministry to outsiders. When questioned about the order, Alicia remained tight-lipped about its overall aims and functionality. Only once had she made the mistake of letting someone know its secrets.

Years ago, when she was an art student on a year’s sabbatical she had journeyed through Pakistan, India, and far up into Bhutan and beyond. Somewhere in the wild and arid hills she strayed into a sect different from anything else she had known. Feeling compelled to stay; she had been indoctrinated with its scriptures. Forgetting her people back home in Ireland Alicia turned her back on her College education as she took up the narrow life the sect demanded of her. To this day she remained committed. And because of this commitment she had to stop Leslie and his vile threats.

Alicia walked down the path to the road that wound its way around the hillside eventually leading to the rehearsal venue. The sun’s rays slanted down through the half-ruined buildings, casting long purple shadows in the broken darkened doorways and windows. Tumbledown houses mixed in with the renovated stone works, a startling blend of courtyards, paths, Venetian arches, and gardens drenched with flowers, all behind a jumble of walls.

The air smelt of over-ripened grapes and she could hear the low drone from the wasps as they buzzed in the overhead vines. Swallows and doves fluttered in the soft evening sunshine before disappearing into the gaping holes of the empty dwellings. It could have been creepy, but Alicia never found it so. She loved the solitude in the labyrinth of the deserted houses that stood in quiet sentinel before those still inhabited. It suited her covert nature. A flight of pigeons made her pause. They swooped down from their high roost in an empty two-storied house. Alicia felt the beating of their wings as they swarmed around her; faltering, fluttering, a renewing of position before they made off down the valley.

At the end of the cobbled path she caught up with Yanoulla picking her way down the rough slope. Alerted by footsteps behind her, Yanoulla turned to greet Alicia.

‘Alicia. Kalispera. How are you?’

The slim, blonde Cypriot woman fell in beside Alicia. She was a few years older than the Irish woman and it was noticeable. She was plain, ugly even; her large nose dominated and spoiled her face. Tonight she looked weary, despite the pleasant smile.

‘And good evening to you, Yanoulla. I am well and you?’

‘Yes, thank you. Are you excited about tonight?’

They rounded the corner catching sight of the open-air theatre. Alicia’s heart gave a lurch. Village and town theatres were all very well, but the thought of directing Shakespeare at the amphitheatre always filled her with an excited inner glow. The villagers were fortunate having been awarded a grant from the European Union to build their own theatre and Alicia was determined to make this production her best.

‘Oh yes. I always like beginning new plays, especially Shakespeare. This year we have the makings of a very good cast. I hope everyone will agree with my final choice.’ As she spoke she knew she would have trouble. There was always one or two who would disagree with anything. They had already had their inaugural committee meeting and the cast auditions. Most roles had been allocated and agreed a week ago. However, as director she had the final decision, and had decided to make a couple of changes. Well, she would address that if and when the problem arose.

‘I too am looking forward to this year. Making costumes is a lot of fun and I love the challenge.’ Yanoulla was an expert with her needle and in the past Alicia had been indebted to her. Apart from her sewing, Yanoulla had introduced Kristiakis to the group. His huge physique was an asset when building wonderful stage sets.

Reaching the bottom steps of the amphitheatre they said hello to the members already gathered; lounging and chatting on the stone steps; enjoying the evening sunshine.

A tall dark Cypriot man was sitting by himself near the top. He rose to his feet and approached the two women. After a brief nod to Alicia he took Yanoulla to one side and rapidly addressed her in Greek. Yanoulla’s face grew still as she listened to her lover. When he had finished talking, Yanoulla replied in the same language. Alicia’s Greek was nowhere near perfect but she knew enough to understand a lovers’ tiff when she heard one.

Shaking his head, Kristiakis took a look at his watch. Without another word he left an angry looking Yanoulla and bounded back up the steps and out of the theatre.

Turning to Alicia, Yanoulla looked furious and miserable; white-lipped. Alicia raised her eyebrows in question, waiting for an explanation.

‘I am sorry, Alicia, but, Kristiakis cannot be here for tonight’s casting. He has to go to Limassol. He is –’ she paused, unsure how much to tell her.

Alicia had clearly heard the name Marina mentioned in their conversation and could guess that the predatory Krisitakis had other and better things to do that night. She sought to spare Yanoulla’s embarrassment, as she liked the Cypriot woman.

‘Never mind, it’s not important that he can’t make tonight. You can fill him in later. Come and sit with me at the top of the steps.’ She gave her a smile of encouragement.

Yanoulla shook her head and turned away; her face flaming. She sat down, a pensive, worried look upon her face. ‘Thank you, Alicia, but I’ll stay here for a moment. I’ll join you in a minute.’ Her accented voice was heavy with disappointment.

Alicia knew Kristiakis’ reputation well. He’d always been a womaniser and he would never change. It was probably why he was still single. She couldn’t see their relationship lasting. She nodded her understanding.

Kristiakis and Yanoulla were the only Greek Cypriots belonging to the group. At first Kristiakis had been reluctant to involve himself with any expats; especially the British, it was Yanoulla who had persuaded him to help backstage. Yanoulla was at least ten years older than the single Kristiakis and Alicia failed to see what Kristiakis could see in her. Alicia was secretly peeved that an older woman could attract a man so sexy and handsome. Kristiakis was a man wrapped in an aura of mystery. Dark tales of his youth followed him concerning his impetuous involvement with the guerrilla organization EOKA. Whispered stories passed down between the older locals, somehow never managed to translate into a comprehensive history for the expatriate community. Of course, embellished anecdotes made it impossible to tell what was genuine. Whatever the truth, Kristiakis was locally known as Kristiakis the Bomber.

Leaving a sour-faced Yanoulla, Alicia made her way over to a group of three people.

Lolling on a step was Tony; hopefully sober this evening with his mind in focus for once. He had made a disgusting spectacle of himself the other night at the annual cast party. The other two with him were Ann and her neighbour Diana. As Alicia neared them, she heard Tony plaintively whining an apology to Ann.

‘I can only repeat what I’ve already said, Ann. Look! I am sorry for ruining your new shoes. If you want to give me the bill I’ll happily replace them. I don’t know what came over me.’

Ann looked nearly as cross as when she first saw her new white shoes being destroyed. She drew her matronly chest up with indignation and launched into him with a tirade. ‘For God’s sake Tony! You’ve got to start to get a grip of yourself. No, no there’s no point in apologising now. This isn’t the first time you’ve over done the alcohol and acted like a complete and utter tosser.’ Sixty-something and a northerner, she was renowned for not standing any nonsense and when angered her northern accent was even more pronounced. ‘What’s more you’re a bloody mess. You need to clean up your act.’

She waved a hand in his direction. Apart from the sour smell of booze, both imbibed and spilt; his off-white crumpled linen shirt and trousers reeked of stale cigarette smoke and his pale brown hair flopped down into his eyes. He was a mess. ‘Shorry, shorry,’ he slurred slumping back down onto the steps.

Looking disgusted, Ann hadn’t yet finished. ‘And finally, Tony no, I am not interested in reading your latest play. The last one was pure filth. Can’t you write something with a story for once?’ Ann didn’t wait for an answer. Mumbling something to the younger woman standing next to her she stalked off to sit further away. Diana gave Alicia an apologetic shrug and followed her.

Alicia knew Tony was writing yet another of his sleazy little plays. Nobody was very interested in performing any of his offerings, despite him saying that it was - very Pinteresque - and nothing like the ‘usual hackneyed rubbish’ put on out here. Irritated, she too could imagine just what it would be like, awful. No doubt he had been trying to persuade Di and Ann to put his idea forward for a later production. Well, she knew Ann would be difficult to persuade once she had made up her mind and Diana was clear-thinking herself. He stood no chance.

Alicia looked around for a good place to sit. Most people were seated in small groups. Diana and Ann had found seats at the back and were chatting to Steve, Di’s handsome, rugged husband. They were relative newcomers to the village, and as yet had given Alicia no problems. Diana was about forty years of age. She stood tall, with shoulder length dark-wavy hair and enormous green eyes fringed by long sooty black lashes. She was pretty and vivacious, an asset to the theatrical group.

Alicia turned her attention back to the other regulars. Karl had not yet arrived, but then he was always late. His memory was getting bad. Even so, he made the most of his appearances, both on and off stage, late or otherwise. Karl really was the most irritating man and he was going to be even more irritating later on. She gave a little shudder. He would of course, consider it a God-given right that the lead part of Macbeth was already his. Privately Alicia thought him to be a pompous ass, especially when it came to auditions.

Leslie lounged against the steps. Here was another who relished in being the centre of attention. Alicia was thankful she only had to contend with his artistic talents when it came to set design. She could not have coped if he too had been an actor. She thought it strange that Leslie was here at all. His expertise wouldn’t be needed until they were well on the way with rehearsals. Perhaps he had another reason, he usually did.

Alicia didn’t have time to go and confront him now. She needed to get started with the casting. But just seeing him there made her feel nervous. She had to find a moment to ask him about his book and his intentions, and tonight if possible.

Tony surprised Alicia when he mentioned Leslie’s black book of memoirs at the recent cast party. Actually, Tony was drunk and quite emphatic about it. ‘Leslie’s got a book full of nasty little secrets. I tell you he’s got something on everyone written down in it. He’s an absolute bastard,’ he’d complained.

Tony was right. Leslie had intimated to Alicia that the book contained some very dark and interesting snippets. It was alarming. Her private life was her own and she would do anything to keep it so. Alicia had not had a chance to speak to him lately. She felt he had been avoiding her.

Alicia had wanted to speak to him at the cast party, but Leslie had left after only a sip of the sparkling wine; not his choice of course. Leslie always left early. He was an artist and made it clear they were lucky to have his attention at all. His superior art came before their "little amateur productions." His words and certainly not hers. Leslie reluctantly gave a hand with stage design, and instructions on how best to paint the set. With the set completed, he wanted nothing more to do with them.

Again, Alicia thanked her luck that he did not act. Karl and Leslie, two prima donnas preening on stage would have been hell for everyone.

Alicia took a deep breath; it was time for her directors’ persona to take over. She enjoyed being in charge of what she most loved. She took another glance around at the gathered cast; channelling her vision. She knew she had a talent for directing. She could see with perfect clarity, how to block the moves for each scene in the play that was to come and she rarely made a mistake when it came to casting. She used her actors as puppets of her own making. Now, as she stood in front of everyone her whole demeanour and character changed; firm, direct and skilful in handling a cast.

~~~

‘I don’t want to read Duncan! It’s - well, I don’t consider it’s the right part for someone like me,’ said Karl, his eyes blazing as he confronted Alicia.

‘Sorry, Karl I know what I am doing.’ Alicia continued undeterred. ‘You are perfect for the part.’

‘I have always played Macbeth in the past!’ Karl sat a little apart from the rest of the group. His body was rigid with agitation; his eyes flashed as his temper began to take hold of him.

‘Yes, you have before now. However,’ Alicia replied quietly, taking a deep breath, and hoping her voice would not waver before she finished. ‘It’s a huge part that is both demanding and perhaps more to the point requires a younger, more virile man. You know you much prefer fewer lines to remember these days. You found the last play really tiring and had some difficulty learning your lines.’

An expectant hush fell over the cast as her words hit home. With exchanged glances and raised eyebrows, one or two winced as if they could feel the hatred flare up between Karl and Alicia. Diplomacy had never been one of her finer points.

Karl leapt to his feet, waved his hands in the air dramatically and then stamped his foot. She almost recoiled as he spat his retort at her.

‘Yes, but Duncan! He’s an old man who’s bumped off early in the play! Are you suggesting that I can’t remember my lines? If so, then you are being outrageous! Really, Alicia I don’t understand your casting and besides, you have no one else with enough stage presence or experience to carry off the rôle of Macbeth.’ He finished with a flourish, puffing up his chest and managing to splutter in a fine old rage at the same time.

The irregular members of the company shuffled in their seats in embarrassment. They were clearly unused to the tirades of Karl the Actor. Those who knew him of old looked on with amusement on their faces and some with more than a little malicious enjoyment at his fury and discomfiture. Alicia felt she had the majority with her; and she was right. Karl, despite being a fair actor in the past, did find it increasingly difficult to remember long chunks of prose. With long periods rehearsing and the subsequent stress it created, he was left wrung out and exhausted.

Nowadays, every time a new play was cast Karl played up. He threw his weight around with childish histrionics whenever he was offered something that he considered beneath his talents. This evening was no exception as he was clearly demonstrating.

Karl honestly knew that if he had been given the lead he would have been scared to death. That did not stop him playing a rôle. It was tedious but expected. Eventually he would settle down and accept the less demanding part Alicia wanted him to play. Before he had a chance to carry the argument further Alicia addressed the rest of the cast.

‘Moving on, there are only a couple of changes,’ she said clearing her dry throat. ‘Steve, I would like you to read Macbeth.’

A ripple of surprise flowed between them. Steve had played cameo roles in two previous productions, but her choice caught them unawares. Steve looked stunned. He opened his mouth to say something and then promptly closed it as he glanced over to Diana with a look of unexpected pleasure. Diana gave her husband a return look of sheer pride.

‘Well done,’ she mouthed and grinned at the dawning consternation on his face.

The others agreed with Alicia. As long as the actors could handle it they welcomed new blood taking the principle rôles.

Quickly, Alicia read through her notes. ‘I know Tilly isn’t here, but she already knows I want her to play Lady Macbeth. She will let me know for certain in a day or so.’ Nobody was surprised at this announcement; Tilly played a formidable leading lady.

Alicia carried on, dishing out the other characters. There were a few good-natured moans and groans but most were happy with her casting.

Sitting next to Alicia was Diana. Alicia meant to cast her as one of the three witches, a perfect character role. She hoped she would accept the part.

Pausing, Alicia noted Karl still looked grim and sulky as he threw a furious, black look across to Steve and then back to Alicia. Pouting, and with a voluble and melodramatic sigh, he opened his as yet unlooked at script and turned the pages until he found his opening scene.

There was a bellow of rage from Leslie. ‘Is this some kind of sick joke?’ he demanded.

With a gasp everyone turned to look at him, shock registering on their faces at his rude outburst.

‘Well?’ he asked.

Chapter 2. The same evening

Speak if you can. What are you?

Macbeth. Act 1 Scene 3

Diana noticed Leslie gingerly holding his script away from him as if he did not want to touch it.

Everyone fell silent. He stood up and strode over to where Alicia was sitting at one of the taverna tables. She was writing some notes before Leslie made his rude and noisy interruption. Leslie towered over her, glaring down.

Despite his age he was a man to be reckoned with. He possessed classic good looks with fine bone structure despite a slight fleshing in the face. Leslie was of medium height with a trim, muscular body, and still carried a full head of steel-grey hair. With pale, icy blue eyes to match he looked Teutonic. With a great flourish he tossed his script down in front of her. It fell open at the page he had been glancing at.

‘You have a very peculiar sense of humour I must say. This is the final straw. I don’t know if I can be bothered, this whole thing is going to be a sham. Honestly, Alicia. I thought you had better judgment but your decision is just too pathetic for words. Typical of a woman! I think you’ve finally lost it. Anyway you’ll be very sorry, you wait and see.’

From where she sat Diana took a sneaky peek at Leslie’s script. With some bewilderment she thought that the opened pages were blackened out. Blinking, and focusing properly, Diana realised that in fact they were not black but red. Blood red. The pages appeared to be seeped in what looked like shining wet blood. ‘What on earth?’ she said to herself. ‘Was she seeing things or was this some macabre joke?

Seconds later, the sun disappeared behind a lone cloud in the sky. A sudden breeze rippled through the trees behind them, and a small flight of bats veered and swooped with disturbed, shrill squeaks upon the party gathered on the terrace.

Away upon the hill, the church bell rang out its miserable dull tone. The sound echoed around the empty forlorn buildings, peculiar, as there was no service this evening, and therefore no reason for its sombre tolling. As if in sympathy to this incongruity, the breeze turned into an unseasonable chill wind that swirled along the paths and around the corners.

Startled, Diana jumped up and looked round her. The branches of the trees silhouetted against the hillside swayed and rustled, a whisper running through the canopy. A shiver tingled down her spine. She could have sworn she had heard something up there. It was something like a shrill cry then a low chant. But staring into the gloom, the space between the trees remained as empty as when they had all first arrived. Feeling silly, she returned to her seat.

You’re seeing things and hearing things, pages covered with blood and spooky sounds, she thought. Next time it’ll be goblins. For goodness sake get a grip on yourself and stop letting your imagination run away with you.

It was strange though, this was not the first time she had felt something here. Almost like a presence. She felt a little giddy as a small wave of nausea washed over her. Her palms broke out in sweat and her heart thudded in her chest.

Perhaps Steve was right and she had been doing too much lately. He’d been nagging at her to take it easier.

‘Your health is beginning to worry me. Can’t you slow down and take it easier, Diana darling?’ he’d said more than once.

Diane sighed. He really was such a softie. But she was glad he cared and wouldn’t have changed him for anything. But how could she take it easier?

After her conversation the other evening with Ann, she’d already decided a change of genre would be exciting for her next novel. Up until now her subject was historical fiction.

During the cast party while she and Ann stood off to one side chatting, Diana had watched and studied the various members gathered. ‘You know it’s time I wrote another book,’ she said dreamily gesturing with her hand. ‘Something compels me to. Look at this scene before us.’

Puzzled, Ann turned and looked at her, not understanding her gesture. She frowned and tilted her head to one side. ‘Sorry? You’ve lost me.’

‘All these people gathered here, and the setting so romantic, or even dramatic. I know it’s been done before, but surely the whole scene lends itself to something. Look, all around us are people, all different in age, nationality and class. Yes, there’s still a class structure despite what they say. These people are brought together for the production of the play. Here, we act together; we almost live in the same village. For the duration we cannot get away from each other until it’s all over. Then, we part, and go back to our other lives. The outsiders, perhaps we’ll never see again. The play kept us all as one.’

‘Well, apart from the play what else could bring us together then?’ asked Ann.

‘Apart from another play, you mean? I don’t know, a calamity possibly, or a strange or bizarre happening perhaps. I’d have to think about it,’ she broke off musing it over to herself.

Ann gave her a knowing smile, ‘Well, you’re the one with the writer’s imagination.’

Diana grinned back. ‘Something will come to me eventually, even if I have to write something completely different.’

Ann looked interested. ‘Really? What about a murder or a mystery?’

‘Ye-es there could be something there. A group already together, suspects in the making. There are enough weird and flamboyant characters to choose from to be the victim or the perpetrator.’

‘He would have to be evil.’

‘He?’ Diana queried her with a smile.

‘Well, it could of course be a she, as long as they’re horribly evil. The murderer I mean,’ she was warming to the theme. ‘Like in the Scottish play, you know, ‘Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen.’

Diana laughed. ‘Of course, I’ll give it some thought. My agent is breathing down my neck for me to write another novel. I’ve had my time off apparently,’ she grinned ruefully at Ann. ‘I do want to get back into it. But you’re right; it would need an evil person to portray as my murderer. Somebody the readers would love to hate.’

Ann looked back steadily at her for a moment before she replied. ‘Well there’s enough material around to give you some good grounding, and you’ve already noticed a few of the people from here are very weird. I bet Leslie’s right. They all have some dark secret or other to hide. I can even tell you a few stories I’ve heard myself. Not now, there isn’t time. We’ll do it over coffee one morning…’

~~~

…Diana shook her head. How on earth could she have drifted off thinking about the other night? She felt really strange and fuzzy. It took a strong will to turn her attention back to the present and Leslie.

Amazed, she found he’d already turned on his heel and was stalking away from the startled group. There was a stunned silence as they all sat open-mouthed at his rude departure, not believing what they had just heard. Embarrassed, they looked at the stricken face of Alicia. Her freckles stood out like a hectic rash upon her face and throat. Blinking and flushed; an ugly red stain crept up her neck and across her cheeks.

Diana felt sorry for Alicia as she obviously struggled to keep her composure.

Alicia looked up from the script that Leslie had just thrust at her, confusion clouding her features.

She took a gulp. ‘I don’t understand. I only wanted to try something new. Leslie was well aware I was going to make this production contemporary. I don’t see what’s wrong in setting the play in the present and making the cast into modern armies. Guns and army fatigues would make a fine change from medieval costume’. She paused, then continued shakily. ‘I’m sure he’ll see reason once he calms down.’

‘He was bloody rude and arrogant to boot,’ stormed a nearby member shaking his head in anger. ‘I think you did very well not to have had a stand up row. If it had been me, I’d have bloody well thumped him. ’

‘Well, that’s not my thing, Bernard. Anyway, I’m only relieved he threw a wobbly now and not at some later crucial stage. At least we have plenty of time to plan around him if necessary. It is important that everyone takes part in this production. We want to put our theatre group of Agios Mamas firmly and right with the rest of the Cyprus theatre scene. We have this splendid opportunity with our own open-air amphitheatre so let’s take it. I’m not going to be put off by a minor irritation like Leslie.’

She paused, and then in a firmer but soft voice spoke to herself. Only Diana, who was nearest to her, heard the venom in her words. ‘No. This time he’s not going to be allowed to upset any of my plans.’

Chapter 3. Wednesday 25th

And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, against