Free The Lost Throne by Chris Kuzneski Page B

“I understand.”
    “Of course, you can help your cause even further if you do well on your assignment. Weren’t you supposed to assess the crime scene?”
    “Yes, sir. I studied the layout of the church and all the evidence. If we go back inside, I can explain my theories.”
    Dial turned away from the young cop and leaned against the railing, staring at the fog below. Somewhere down there was a second crime scene—one he hadn’t had a chance to visit because of the darkness and the treacherous terrain. “Tell me about the bodies.”
    “The bodies?”
    “You know, the things that
used
to be people.”
    Andropoulos frowned. “But they weren’t found inside the church.”
    “What’s your point?”
    “You said you didn’t like to hear about evidence until you’ve seen it for yourself.”
    “Tell me, Marcus, are the bodies still down there?”
    “Not anymore. We recovered them this afternoon.”
    “Then how in the hell am I supposed to see them at the scene?” The question was rhetorical, but Dial let it linger for several seconds, hoping to unnerve Andropoulos. “Once again, if you don’t mind, please tell me about the bodies.”
    The young Greek took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Villagers found eight bodies on the rocks below and called us in Kalampáka. Because of their clothes, we think all of them were monks. We are still trying to get names and backgrounds on seven of them. The eighth victim was the caretaker of Holy Trinity. He was the only one we found intact.”
    “What do you mean by
intact
?”
    “He was the only one who had a head.”
    Dial glanced at Andropoulos to see if he was joking. “As in they fell off when they landed?”
    “As in they were cut off before they were dumped.”
    “
Really?
I didn’t know that.” Dial considered it for a moment. “Did you find the heads?”
    “Not yet. But we are looking for them.”
    “And you’re sure they were cut off while the monks were alive?”
    “Yes, sir. That’s why there was so much blood on the altar.”
    “What about the rest of their bodies? Any missing appendages—besides their heads?”
    “Some were mangled. But we doubt it was the killers.”
    Dial glanced at him. “Birds?”
    “Wolves.”
    “Great,” Dial muttered. Half the crime scenes in rural areas were ruined by wildlife. “How badly were the bodies mauled?”
    “Not too bad. We can still get fingerprints from all the victims.”
    “What about their ages? Young, old, somewhere in between?”
    “A mixture of all three.”
    “Any signs of torture? Burn marks, tape residue, water in their lungs?”
    “Sir?” he asked, confused.
    Dial paused. “Tell me, why did they cut off their heads?”
    “To kill them.”
    “I doubt it. They could have done that by throwing their asses off the cliff. Or slicing their throats. Or a hundred different methods. Instead, they took the time to sever their heads. Why would someone do that?”
    Andropoulos pondered the question. “Intimidation?”
    “For what reason?”
    “To get answers.”
    Dial nodded. “That would be my guess. Which is why I asked about signs of torture. Different groups prefer different techniques. I was hoping I would recognize their signature.”
    “Unfortunately, nothing stands out. Other than the head thing.”
    “Which is a pretty good method if you ask me. I mean, if I saw my colleagues beheaded one by one, I’d be tempted to talk. The question is, about what?”
    “Sorry. I don’t know.”
    “Don’t worry. I don’t know, either. But it’s something to keep in mind as this case develops.”
    Andropoulos pulled out a small tablet and jotted down a few notes in Greek. When he was done, he looked at Dial. “Sir, may I ask you a question? Why would they take the heads with them?”
    Dial shrugged. “You tell me. Are there any customs or superstitions I should know about?”
    He gave it some thought. “Great Metéoron, the largest of the local monasteries, has a bone room, where