IN THE NEWS - The Dance of Dimitrios by Patrick Brigham

Immigration, Terrorism, Murder And English Detectives - New Crime Thriller, 'The Dance Of Dimitrios', Offers Gripping Fiction Based On Real World Current Events

Patrick Brigham is the award winning author of a number of mystery books and crime thrillers. His most recent work brings terrorism, illegal immigration and murder together in a tale featuring an English detective

Award winning author Patrick Brigham has released 'The Dance Of Dimitrios'. The new crime thriller is a riveting mystery novel that mixes a fictional English detective with real world events drawn from today's headlines.

DCI Lambert, who works for Europol, is sent to Greece in order to solve a cold case. Greece is the gateway into Europe for Middle-Eastern migrants, political refugees and terrorists. In the storyline, a woman's body found floating in a river in Northern Greece. Believed to be of Middle-Eastern origin, she is buried in a communal grave along with other Islamic victims of drowning and promptly forgotten. Surprisingly it is found that she is actually Marjory Braithwaite, an Englishwoman who has been living for some years in Greece. The British government turns to Europol for help and DCI Lambert is dispatched to Greece.

Good books on the subject of international crime are few and far between, especially mystery stories which delve into the shady side of politics. Not many mystery novelists are prepared to address arms dealing, money laundering or people trafficking. Patrick Brigham has lived in the middle of the situations he describes in his novels, as he was the Editor in Chief of The Sofia Western News, the first English Language news magazine in Bulgaria.

As a journalist Brigham knew the political players and witnessed the changes in this once hard core communist country, He knew the Communist Dictator Todor Zhivkov and his successors Zhelev and Stoyanov. Today he brings the flavor of those experiences to readers through engaging works of crime fiction.

Patrick-Brigham-Cover"What seems to be a story to some, has been very real to me, as I watched reality unfold before me, and whilst governments turned a blind eye to the issue of illegal immigration," Brigham stated. "Now firmly in the media each day, back in the early 2,000s most illegal immigrants, either crept under the media radar or were ignored by the majority of self serving EU politicians. Some tried to use their public positions and scanty information to further their own trite ambitions, but mostly they ignored the problem altogether. Now that the dripping tap has become a torrent, they all sound so knowledgeable - after the event of course - but still remain unquestionably ignorant."

"I write books about this and many other often unpalatable subjects, but I surround these thorny issues with good murder mystery stories - familiar territory to most readers - but with a backdrop of political intrigue, and true crime. DCI Mike Lambert is more than your average tired and disillusioned policeman, because of the way he thinks and takes his own council. He believes in teamwork, but is also busy looking out for himself - a loose cannon perhaps - but always true to himself. In 'The Dance of Dimitrios,' we see a dedicated copper doing his job, but also a man on the cusp, looking for love and romance and finding it; something which he has never really experienced' in a lifetime of police service."

Readers have praised his novels. One stated, "I am an ex cop - he must of done a lot of research to get so many things right. I felt when reading 'Abduction' that Patrick was relating an investigation, he actually carried out." Another said, "'Abduction - An Angel Over Rimini' is an entertaining, gripping, and also an astonishing Europol procedural read, making you want to read more. I was drawn into the story right away. I felt close to Michael Lambert and his way of analysing and detecting. All relevant characters became pretty real. 'Abduction - An Angel Over Rimini' is a good read for mystery fans, readers who like surprises, and apparent coincidences."

Patrick Brigham is available for media interviews and can be reached using the information below or by email at patrick.brigham@gmail.com. Books are available at Amazon, Amazon.UK, Smashwords and at his website. More information is available at Patrick Brigham's website at http://authorpatrickbrigham.com/


About Patrick Brigham:

Patrick has been a writer and journalist for many years. He has published many short stories, newspaper and magazine articles. Born in the English Home Counties, he attended Public School and College before moving to London and embarking on his career. Having spent the last twenty years in South Eastern Europe, many of his stories are set in this part of the world as well as in Oxford, Hampshire and Berkshire. As the Editor in Chief of the first English Language news magazine in Sofia Bulgaria, between 1995 and 2000 - and as a journalist - he witnessed the changes in this once hard core Communist Country and personally knew most of the political players, including the old Dictator Todor Zhivkov and his successors Zhelev and Stoyanov.


Contact:

Patrick Brigham
http://authorpatrickbrigham.com/
patrick.brigham@gmail.com

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Judicial Review: A Play by Patrick Brigham

It is the year 2000 and Sir Jerald Noakes, a leading City of London business tycoon, has fallen foul of both his own and the prevailing institutional greed. Very much a 21st century phenomenon, it seems that he has been chosen as a scapegoat by the British establishment, and soundly trounced for his misdemeanours. The fact that he is not from an old established UK family might have something to do with it, or that he is the upstart son of an émigré family emanating from somewhere in central Europe. The play begins in court, where it appears Sir Jerald, having been found extremely guilty on all counts, is now awaiting his sentence. The play makes a mockery of money and the way it alters people’s attitudes towards one another; in this case, the piffling sum of £50 million. As the play progresses, the audience is introduced to the fictional actors who all have their own stories to tell, and who are all baffled by the amount of money and greed involved. It also juxtaposes a previous court case – experienced by a member of the fictional cast – which happened during the dark days prior to the 1967 Sexual Offences Act.

The play within the play – written by a fictional Irish member of the Socialist Workers Party – is being performed at Reading University. It is one of the few places in the UK that still accepts and enjoys left-wing theatre and, as the play progresses, The Theatre of the Absurd. The director of the play has misgivings about the way it is progressing and both he and the writer – who seems to be permanently full of angst – are at loggerheads over the message the play is sending out to the audience. The director is worried about its political correctness, but the writer is not concerned at all with controversy, because of the emotional baggage he is carrying around, his working class roots, and his life experience. By halfway, it is discovered that Sir Jerald is terminally ill, and – out of compassion – he is released from prison by the Home Secretary. On release, and due to his rapid decline, everywhere he looks he is surrounded by treachery and humbug. No longer a tough nut, with his dictatorship now seemingly over, and in despair, he comes to realise that - during a lifetime in big business - he has only been loved for his money. But however much Sir Jerald’s tormentors believe they have him at their mercy, he still preserves a powerful and humiliating weapon, a final card, which he believes will allow him to die in peace. Patrick Brigham

AVAILABLE FROM AMAZON

"THE DANCE OF DIMITRIOS" - by Patrick Brigham

There is a womans body floating in the River Ardas!


The Dance of Dimitrios is a mystery novel that mixes some of the horrors of illegal immigration with everyday events. DCI Lambert, who works for Europol - the European equivalent of the FBI - is sent to Greece in order to solve a cold case. Detective Chief Inspector Mike Lambert knows about people trafficking and the problems caused to governments throughout the world. Greece is the gateway into Europe, for countless Middle-Eastern migrants, political refugees and terrorists.

The police think the victim is Islamic, but she is not!

The story involves the discovery of a woman's body found floating in the River Ardas, in Northern Greece. Believed to be of Middle-Eastern origin, she is buried in a communal grave along with other Islamic victims of drowning and promptly forgotten. When it is later revealed that she is actually an Englishwoman called Marjory Braithwaite - who has been living for some years in Greece - the British government turns to Europol for help. Realising that this probably means murder, DCI Mike Lambert is dispatched to Greece.

The Underwater road

The author Patrick Brigham has recently written four good mystery books, including Herodotus – The Gnome of Sofia, Judas Goat – The Kennet Narrow Boat Mystery, Abduction - An Angel over Rimini and The Dance of Dimitrios. He has also published his first play which is called Judicial Review.

Set once more at the end of the Cold War and Communism, his most recent book also features the jazz loving, classic car enthusiast and fictional police murder detective, Chief Inspector Michael Lambert. Faced with political intrigue and in order to solve cases which often involve Eastern Europe, he genuinely needs to understand intrigue and how an old Communist thinks, during the course of his investigations.

The Cafe by the River Ardas

There are few good books on the subject of international crime, especially mystery stories which delve into the shady side of politics. There are also few mystery novelists, who are prepared to address the thorny political issues of arms dealing and money laundering, people trafficking and terrorism in their mystery crime fiction. As a recently seconded officer to Europol - the new federal European police force –Police Detective C.I. Michael Lambert will bring a refreshingly new slant to good crime fiction books, as they emerge in the future from the pen of the author Patrick Brigham.

Where the murdered womans body was dumped

AMAZON REVIEW

The third time out for DCI Michael Lambert, whom we have followed on his detective work in two of Patrick Brigham's previous crime novels, as Europol's representative, Lambert is brought into a case that is prefaced with the personal descent into tragedy of the title character, and then what seems to be just another death of a woman trafficked through illegal migration - a death that would be meaningless to a largely uncaring world and the dubious chief of police in a countryside Greek small town community.

But the dead woman is somewhat less than a statistic, and the engine of the piece, as it becomes clear she was a cantankerous British expat retiree whose career had spanned international journalism - with some significant espionage on the side, and a later-life pursuit as...a crime novelist! The journey of Lambert, partnered again with noble Greek police officer Electra Boulos, spans from Greece to Sofia's capital Bulgaria, to Turkey and to strained conversations between straight-arrow former army officer and latter-day Europol detective Lambert and a snooty guardian of Britain's intelligence establishment.

Brigham assembles quite an ensemble of characters, well-drawn and credibly portrayed each in their own way, from - among others - the police of various countries to the ruthless and amoral denizens of the worlds of people-trafficking and terrorism, to unfold by careful degrees his tale that progresses steadily from a world that hints to that of Zorba to a real world of the worst perils of the 21st century. And not, by the way, without a few humorous sidelights about the world of books and publishing.

The author of his previous Judas Goat: The Kennet Narrow Boat Mystery, and Abduction: An Angel over Rimini, has us engaged all the way, with a final tease as to Lambert's future. After the enthralling enjoyment of The Dance of Dimitrios, one can but hope that we shall be following Lambert's footsteps at least once more.

5.0 out of 5 stars for Patrick Brigham who once again again shows off his crime-writer paces in The Dance of Dimitrios
By Amazon Customer on February 10, 2016

- Clive Leviev-Sawyer, Editor-in-Chief, The Sofia Globe

BUY THE DANCE OF DIMITRIOS

Cuba: The American Bogeyman?

In my series of blogs called ‘Then and Now,’ I explore the changes, which have occurred in Communist countries, during the last twenty years of geopolitical unrest and how they are now perceived. Countries are the people - not just the commercial signs of a modern society - and it is important to understand how these very same people have developed as the years pass us by.

Recently, Cuba has returned to the debating room of the West, where it is becoming increasingly hard to understand why the US stance remains so intractable – despite a few encouraging improvements of late, by Obama –remaining the only country which continues to be swamped in Cold War rhetoric.Obama has opened the door to North America, but has he opened the minds of Republicans and the redneck community, enough to declare that Cuba is on its way to becoming the 51st State.
I was in Havana during Pope John Pauls incredible visit in 1998 and this was the article I published in the Sofia Western News, for which I was the Chief Editor.

***

1998. The old two engine Antonov rattled, shook and then finally took off from Nassau airport New Providence, into the sunny Caribbean sky. On board were mainly Cubans, returning from business trips abroad and a number of Bahamians, most likely off to savour the delights of Cuban nightlife and destined to return home, with copious amounts of cigars, to be sold in the Bahamas to visiting Americans. On the beaches of Paradise Island and elsewhere, one often sees US citizens striding through the sand, purposely puffing on large Havana cigars, perhaps a small symbol of their individuality, where little else exists.
We flew over azure waters so blue that even the romantic descriptions of Buzz Aldren - as he circled the earth in space - did little to truly describe the magnificent beauty which I could see through my grubby window. Over Andros and towards Cuba the sea begins to change colour slightly and becomes a deeper blue, over the salt marsh and Cays, the tips of marine mountains, poking through the surface of the sea to create lush natural gardens with protruding rocks and palm trees. It is no wonder that Pirates like Black Beard, Ann Bonney and Mary Read chose to spend their short lives amongst these islands before suffering an ignominious death.
Havana is a large sprawling city, and flying low over neatly ploughed fields, we finally approached the end of the runway, disembarking with a cheery goodbye from our Cabana Air cabin crew. No problems with immigration, no stamps in my passport, and just the casual question - was I an American citizen? My travelling companion had been in Cuba, on and off, for some twenty years, was well organized and we were met, at Jose Marti airport, by a confident young man dressed in tee shirt and baseball cap, who took us to his waiting Lada. Parked next to old 50’s American cars, in various states of disrepair, with animated conversation he confidently took to the bumpy Cuban roads. Making our way past very familiar Socialist looking buildings, bicycles, old Russian trucks, and people of all age’s types and colours, we finally drove into Havana City.
The Pope had been there for two days, and to underline the sense of occasion, one only had to see the amazing number of posters of him, either by himself, or with Fidel Castro, on buildings, in cars and finally - when I arrived at my destination - on the glass door of the apartment in which I was to stay. It was Saturday, the sun was shining and looking out of my window, I watched the sea lapping the shores of what was considered locally as a prime location, next to the Cococabana Hotel.

Taxis are quite expensive in Havana, despite their often decrepit appearance, and I found a private driver, who agreed to be my guide for the next few days. Jojo, as he called himself, was an older man, who not only had a clean Lada, but a sense of humour. That Saturday afternoon he drove me around Havana on a photographic expedition, which would have taken a gormless tourist a week.
The Old Town is an architectural wonder, so full of Spanish History, so beautifully preserved, full of book shops and art galleries, museums and restaurants. When I asked Jojo, what he had done for a living before retirement, he said ‘I was an architect by profession, but first and foremost a soldier of the Revolution!’ With a bit of French, English, some Russian and Spanish, we got on very well, and he even took me for some coffee and insisted on paying.
Being an experienced traveller, Havana reminded me of Spain during the 60’s, although my recollection of Franco’s Spain, involved far greater signs of state security. In Spain, I remember men wearing various uniforms, lurking around on street corners watching one another, and being watched in turn by men in leather coats. During the Pope’s visit, Havana had many uniformed policemen in evidence, but they were passive and unarmed - except for handcuffs, and batten - and were there, I suspect, mainly to tidy up the many professional ladies who widely inhabit the streets at all times of the day.
These mainly young and friendly policemen seemed to want to create a good impression, to help the large number of tourists - mainly from, Europe and Canada - who now go to Cuba and those like me, who had specially come for this remarkable visit.
In common with many Eastern Europeans I have met in the past - before the political changes, that is - Jojo took me to see some hotels in order that I might realize the strident improvements which socialism had made in Castro’s Cuba. I finally managed to steer him away to sights far more worthy of my meagre photographic skills, which included a fleeting visit to the Hotel Inglaterra; a beautiful portico’d period building full of charm, and a pianist who also sang ‘I did it My Way.’ Followed by the pride of Havana - the Hotel National de Cuba - I somehow managed to steer Jojo into the real world, and the Havana which I had mainly come to see.
That night I went to the famous Earnest Hemingway restaurant called La Bodeguita Del Medio. The walls of the restaurant were covered with hundreds of famous signatures, and with two musicians playing traditional Cuban music, it was an evening to remember.
The food was also good, but what made Havana for me was the music, the architecture - Jojo was great - the sun, the people and of course, the great occasion of the Pope’s visit. There will be those who would like to reduce Pope John Pauls visit to a political scam, but it was not true. In the great Boulevard of the Revolution, Sunday morning proved this to be a myth.
Over a million people attended Pope John Paul’s final mass, which took place on a platform over which the Cubans had erected a canopy designed to look like a white dove of peace, the backdrop to which was the flank wall of a massive office building, which had been painted with what must be the largest painting of Christ in the World. That day, there was undoubtedly a great feeling of spirituality, neatly woven together with the kind of euphoria one might expect from a nation which had been starved of what they must regard, as their Mother Church.
There are Catholic churches everywhere in Cuba and many priests officiate, but somehow forty years in the wilderness - created by the sanctions which only politics can impose - had left its mark. Sunday proved to everyone, particularly to Cubans, that this was no longer the case - that they were unquestionably a part of a World society of Christian believers - that they had a place in this new order, and a human right to be there. On an adjacent wall there was also a large outline of Che Guevara, to remind us all, of the ‘Continuing Revolution.’
The Pope blessed the people and the politicians, and firmly told both the Cubans and the Americans to be more reasonable. Afterwards, the camera crews packed up their gadgets, loaded their vehicles and returned to their hotels, where they occupied whole floors as their studios and editing rooms. In the Capri Hotel - reputed to have belonged at one time to Al Capone - CBS reporters sat back, gazing at TV screens wearing Bermuda shorts, tee shirts and baseball caps – usually turned the wrong way round - with great identity tags swinging from their necks. To them it was, after all, just another World event amongst so many. But it had not only been a media event, it was far more than that!
Cuban National TV had transmitted the whole event live, and watching parts of the broadcast during the early afternoon, one could see in detail what had been missing from view, in the crowded arena, so full of optimism and occasionally rowdy people. It seems that the Pope attracts his own variety of football songs, which means that he also attracts the young. People of all ages went to see him - not as stated in the world media, by presidential decree - but by choice, and in support of an aging President who had the guts to allow the occasion to unfurl with its own momentum.
Fidel Castro was much moved - as were all his people - and the so called ‘tyrant’ undoubtedly seemed to have the same look of supplication as many of those who took mass. This included many attendant onlookers, from the diplomatic missions and elsewhere, supporting this historical moment.

I will never forget the look of submission in the face of President Fidel Castro himself - when he bid the Pope farewell - neither will I forget the look of firm resolve in the face of the Pontiff, as he left this huge and sublimely moved congregation, to return once more to Rome. This was real, and although the politically motivated had their disparaging and occasionally cynical day in the press and on TV, he winds of change were clearly blowing in Cuba and for the best.
Back at the Jose Marti airport, there was a lot of action. It is now Tuesday and the little Antonov airliner had been replaced by a Topolev 154, to accommodate all the babbling multimedia drifting back to various parts of the world via Nassau, many well known international TV personalities interspersed, by otherwise anodyne businessmen. Clasping hand luggage, containing expensive Cohiba cigars, their eyes glazed over with the memory of sultry nights, spent with sultry Cuban beauties - albeit at the local commercial rate – their smuggled cigars would no doubt be sold to American holiday makers, visiting the islands, at a vast profit!
On the return flight, I look at a week old copy of Granma International, one of the state owned newspapers in Cuba. On the front page it stated ‘Colossal Victory- 98.35% voter turnout. The preliminary results of the January 11th elections for Deputies to the National Assembly of People’s Power….. President Fidel Castro and General of the Army Raul Castro were elected with more than 99% of the votes in their electoral districts….. The people say “Yes” at the polls.’
Later that week, the Vatican reported : ‘The secretary of state - Cardinal Angelo Sodano - has been informed that the Cuban government has freed a certain number of detainees, as an act of clemency and goodwill to mark the visit of Pope John Paul to Cub The Vatican is delighted with this notable step which represents a concrete prospect of hope for the future of this noble nation.’ In the end it is the old stories which prevail.
And so, the spiritual voyage had ended and the political stories began. America continued to take its revenge on this virtually harmless nation, claiming all sorts of infamy and conspiracy, where none actually existed. Any fool could see that Cuba had lost its political independence, when the USSR had collapsed and their economic support had finally evaporated. But, this did not stop successive American administrations describing Cuba, as a snarling dog, when in truth – with few teeth remaining – it was only capable of giving the USA – or anyone else for that matter - a nasty suck!

***

Recently a vote was taken at the UN for Cuba to be taken off the long standing US unilateral trade embargo, which has been kept securely in place since the 1962 Cuban missile crisis. Yesterday, the Americans decided to veto an almost unanimous vote - which the great powers now seem to regard as quite unfair - for Cuba to be allowed a normal trade relationship with the its powerful neighbour, the US, as well as the rest of the world.
With the support of their troublesome client state, Israel – a rather belligerent perpetrator of human rights violations, in their own right – it seems that the Obama administration, is held firmly in the grip of some hideously ignorant right wing dinosaur, who still regards the country of Cuba as the Evil Empire!
Whilst they discuss such heady matters, in the smoking rooms and bars in Washington, they no doubt happily puff away at their expensive Cohiba cigars. Not realizing – through their poor geography skills and their firm belief that the little island sweltering in the Carribean is probably Ireland or even Madagascar – and totally unaware, that their favourite smoke comes care of their perceived arch enemies, Fidel and Raul Castro.

Before I flew to Cuba in 1998, I spent some time in Nassau. At that time, Nassau seemed to be full of rather portly Americans – enjoying some early sunshine on the sandy beaches – usually puffing away; you’ve guessed it, on large Cohiba cigars. Overhearing two of Americas finest political analysts discussing Cuba, one of these stalwarts was heard to say, ‘I don’t know why we don’t just nuke Castro, it’s the only solution.’
Well, apart from depriving him of his favourite cigars, it would probably have also blown his rather ample bathing shorts off and anything he still had hidden beneath! This underlines the basic truth that many Americans are not so good at geography, but instead, they are rather good at all aspects of violence and so it seems; retribution.
From this side of the pond, when one hears about school or university shootings, it seems odd when the NRA advocates even more guns. The mind boggles at the thought of well armed teachers and school prefects, pushing their way to the common room, waving a Glock 17 in the air. But that is America and few politicians have been able to curb the US gun culture, which no doubt has its roots in the old pioneer days. Unfortunately it underlines not only US society, but how it is inclined to deal with others.
Castro, in some respects, humiliated the US with the Bay of Pigs fiasco. From then on it was all down hill for most Cubans, who seem to have been on the receiving end of considerable American angst ever since and - dare I say - thoughts of lingering revenge. Leaving out all the Cold War nuances - and the WWII battle hardened soviet general, Nikita Kruschov - by 1990, Cuba, without the support of the Soviet Union simply became another little Carribean island. And, that is also Cuba today.
Fidel Castro no longer controls Cuba and any vestiges of power, now remain in the hands of his extremely moderate brother, Raul. He, like most Cubans, wants détente, equilibrium and calm. He would succeed in his quest, if the US were to present itself as a benign economic power as well as a military one. Because Cuba, not only needs dollars and as many American visitors as it can get, it needs to rebuild its infrastructure and manufacturing base in order to somehow, drift into the 21st Century.
America has always seen Cuba as a bordello, most certainly until 1959, when Batista was kicked out. Practically run by the American Mafia until then – now a part of US folk history – it seems appropriate for US business to plough some of its newly famous transparent cash, into Cuba’s shaky economy. And, what will America expect in return? Well, I expect, the same as before!

The Authors Show 2015 - Writing Competition.

Many people ask me why it is, that I set my stories in Europe and not in England, where I was born? The truth is that, I find my nation has become rather set in its ways and that Europe has so much more variety to offer. Meaning a choice of 30 countries or more, the availability of characters and customs, is unending. Living in Greece, as I do and part of the Balkans, I am intrigued by the remaining vestiges of Bolshevism, still to be found, in ethnically mixed, South Eastern Europe.
Living in a metropolis like New York or London, you might wonder what these differences are? After all, you can eat anything you like in these cities – including Peruvian or Nepalese cuisine, with perhaps the odd spot of Mongolian – and even meet the people who cook it. Chatting with the waiter, in a foreign country, has always been a recognized way, for tourists to enter a foreign culture. But, it isn’t quite as easy as that, is it?
As a journalist, in the mid 80s, I was busy exploring Eastern Europe and well before the so called changes, it was a time when Communism was a byword for treachery and subversion. The players – from both the East and the West – eyed one another with considerable suspicion, as well as with considerable ignorance and hate.
The mindset of an old Communist was often hard to understand, unless you had been in their company, for any length of time. But the same could have been said of any right-wing dinosaur who, historically, like most western pundits, viewed the rest of the world from an ivory tower. From a comfortable Western perspective, there was often considerable cause for contempt – especially for their natural enemy’s enforced austerity - whilst the ex- commies hated all forms of consumerism, even though they very often had no choice. Or, did they?

When the two cultures collided in the 1990s and the old Communist countries, allegedly, became democratized, the silly games began. But, the recently disenfranchised Communist Apparatchiks - spy’s and spooks - needed a new master even though they were very good at playing silly games, or even deadly ones. As in Luigi Pirendello’s play “Six Characters in Search of an Author,” these stalwart commie characters went in search for a new master and conveniently found it, thriving in the world of crime.
Having connived with each other for years – brow beating, bribing and bullying –they had little difficulty in bending the rules. By evading tax, enjoying the wonders of offshore banking and making a fortune of their own; twenty five years on, this has now become the reality of our New World, although these days, you can also add Al Quada and ISIL, into the mix.
From what I have written so far, you can well see how it is that, with all this jiggery-pokery going on, the fear we all experience in Europe - of Al Quada and terrorism in general - is profound. As most Americans have discovered, in the light of the 9/11 tragedy in the US, all these international criminals, fit nicely into the murder mystery genre, for that is what they are!. Baffling the reader, challenging them to understand Islamic extremism, the vacuum left by Communism and the Soviet Union, might be construed as a blight on their private leisure time, but I totally disagree.
We are all sick of the daily news and the media neurosis it causes, because we all know what to expect and generally try to ignore it. Begging the question:
‘How does a TV or newspaper journalist explain, to the general public, with any clarity, how the world works and the pain it inflicts on us all?’
The answer is, with great difficulty!
In my new novel, ‘The Dance of Dimitrios,’ I try to mix some of the horrors of illegal immigration, with everyday things. DCI Mike Lambert, knows about people trafficking and the problems it is causing many governments throughout the world, because, Greece is the gateway from the Middle East, for countless migrants, political refugees and terrorists.
He works for Europol, which is the European equivalent of the FBI and has been sent to Greece, in order to solve a cold case, of a mistaken identity. It involves the discovery of the body of a woman, found floating in the River Ardas, in Northern Greece. Believed to be of Middle-Eastern origin, her body is buried in a communal grave, along with other Islamic victims of drowning and promptly forgotten.
It is one year on and her fingerprints, which were taken at the time of her autopsy, are run through the Europol computer.When it is revealed that she is actually an Englishwoman living in Greece, the British authorities inform the Foreign and Commonwealth Office who in turn inform Europol. Realizing that it probably means murder, DCI Lambert is dispatched from The Hague.
As it turns out, she is not an ordinary Englishwoman, but a well known writer, causing DCI Lambert to look for motives within the world of literature. As a retired war correspondent and an Arabic scholar, Lamberts attention is also drawn her previous life and loves, and further suspicion falls on her past life, in the Lebanon, Syria and Jordan.
This is only a taste of the story, because this essay is mainly about how the world deals with modern history. Are we as authors bound to ignore reality and follow the path set by Agatha Christie, Colin Dexter and Ruth Rendell or do we get in step with Robert Ludlam, Charles McCarry and Tom Clancy?
I for one, would become quite sleepy if I had to write about bodies in haystacks no matter how much fun that sounds. Shouting about, getting drunk and divorced is one thing, but is that how true detectives solve cases? Or, improbable endings, which come from nowhere and tiresome last minute admissions. No thanks, not for me!

50 Great Authors You Should be Reading

Patrick Brigham, author of the crime novel 'Abduction: An Angel Over Rimini', has been chosen as a winner for '50 Great Writers You Should Be Reading'. Winners will appear in this year's edition of the book. Brigham was chosen through a public voting process.

Crime novels and mystery books are everywhere. Engaging crime novels and good mystery books are fewer in number. Very few address real world political issues, specifically Communism and the Cold War. Patrick Brigham is a prolific mystery novelist and master of the genre. He has recently written three good mystery books, including 'Herodotus – The Gnome of Sofia', 'Judas Goat – The Kennet Narrow Boat Mystery' and 'Abduction: An Angel over Rimini'.

Set once more at the end of the Cold War and Communism, his most recent book features the jazz loving, classic car enthusiast and fictional Europol police murder detective, Chief Inspector Michael Lambert. Faced with political intrigue and in order to solve cases which often involve Eastern Europe, he genuinely needs to understand how an old Communist thinks, during the course of his investigations.

There are few good books on the subject of international crime, especially mystery stories which delve into the shady side of politics. There are also few mystery novelists, who are prepared to address the thorny political issues of arms dealing and money laundering and people trafficking in their mystery crime fiction.

"I was pleased to be chosen this year," Brigham stated, "because I felt that I had matured as a writer and that Abduction: An Angel over Rimini, somehow deserved to be recognized, bearing in mind the actual subject matter. Clearly about the abduction of a little English girl on vacation in Rimini, it also introduces the reader to the horrors of people trafficking and illegal immigration. Not only are these poor unfortunates trafficked illegally, but they also bring terrorism with them and Al Quada in particular, because, one criminal activity supports the other."

Patrick Brigham does not just write about these situations. He has lived them. He was the Editor in Chief of The Sofia Western News, the first English Language news magazine in Bulgaria, between 1995 and 2000.

As a journalist, he witnessed the changes in this once hard core communist country and personally knew most of the political players, including the old Communist Dictator Todor Zhivkov and his successors Zhelev and Stoyanov, but these days as an author, he concentrates on writing good mystery books often revealing diplomatic and political intrigue.

"It is no longer smart to be ‘An Angry Young Man,’ but I think that I am allowed to be a concerned older man." Brigham concluded. "World problems concerning arms dealing, money laundering, illegal immigration and terrorism, are all connected. Citizens turn a blind eye to the activities of terrorists like Al Quada and ISIL, because after years of media bombardment they have become sick of it. My books introduce these unsettling facts, but I surround them with good old fashioned murder, mystery and well thought out fiction, in order to stimulate their interest, and very often to explain to readers, how it is done."

Readers have praised his latest crime novel. One stated, "I am an ex cop - he must of done a lot of research to get so many things right. I felt when reading Abduction that Patrick was relating an investigation, he actually carried out." Another said, "Abduction - An Angel Over Rimini is an entertaining, gripping, and also an astonishing Europol procedural read, making you want to read more. I was drawn into the story right away. I felt close to Michael Lambert and his way of analysing and detecting. All relevant characters became pretty real. Abduction - An Angel Over Rimini is a good read for mystery fans, readers who like surprises, and apparent coincidences."

Patrick Brigham is available for media interviews and can be reached using the information below or by email at patrick.brigham@gmail.com. Books are available at Amazon, Amazon.UK, Smashwords and at his website. More information is available at Patrick Brigham's website.

www.PatrickBrigham.co.uk

Zhelyu Zhelev and The Foundation of Democracy - by Patrick Brigham

“Being a rabid anti-Communist does not yet mean that one is a democrat; nor is frenzied anti-fascism a hallmark of democracy. To a democrat, both communism and fascism are abhorrent. Indeed, there has been no greater anti-communist than Hitler, and no greater anti-fascist than Stalin, but neither of them is known to have been a democrat. Moreover, the 20th century has seen no greater butchers of democracy than these two mustached comrades.” Zhelyu Zhelev - Sofia 1997.

The late President Zhelyu Zhelev was an enigma to me. I had watched him on TV in Bulgaria during the early nineties, performing official tasks, much as his predecessor Zhivkov had done. I remember him handing over prizes to the successful Bulgarian national football team in 1996, with jeeps and apartments being liberally distributed, much as before to underline the importance of this event, but nevertheless, it was reminiscent of the heady days of ‘socialist realism,’or to give it its correct definition, Communism!

To be honest, he seemed lost amongst the burly politicians of the day, the demagogic and often devious detritus which was then successfully ruining the country. Each with a cynical smile on their face; most of them were not democrats by any measure, in fact, they were only out for what they could get.

In his book written during communist times and called simply ‘Fascism,’ Zhelyu Zhelev expressed the reality of communism, by hiding it behind the story of Nazi Germany, Mussolini’s Italy, and Franco’s Spain. His tale of communism versus fascism, is couched in intellectual terms, is underlined by the true facts of modern history and the analogies jump from the pages with humour and alas, black irony. For after all repression and socio-political manipulation are the same evil, whatever brand name which may be attached to it.

He once said,‘If democracy seems not to be working, then you need more democracy,’ as if the ingredients of a cake have to be finally balanced with the right amount of baking soda - the instruments of power perched like delicate coloured jars on a shelf in some political bakers shop, ready to be weighed and mixed by the baker - but paid for with considerable angst and occasional pain. Written in 1967 the book didn’t emerge until 1982, and then with understandable difficulty and composed during his period of isolation, it is a good textbook by any academic standard, and unearths the tricks of political psychology, as well as the bare faced lies.

Rather like Peter Pan; Dr. Zhelev seemed ageless. He had the round face of a boy - eyes wide apart, showing generosity and nobility of spirit - whilst displaying a relaxed confidence that one might associate with a man who has come to terms with his own reality. But, nevertheless he was also a man determined to continue on a course towards increasing Bulgarian democracy. No longer the President of Bulgaria, he then created his own foundation, simply called ‘The Zhelyu Zhelev Foundation,‘ in order to pursue his goal. In my interview for the Sofia Western news, I asked him what his greatest success had been.

‘My greatest success was that I was able to create a new foreign policy. For me this was the greatest personal achievement, after Zhivkov, who had turned Bulgaria into a Soviet client state.’

It had been an easy interview, open and frank, his answers were not clouded by suspicion or with other agendas attached, as one often finds with work-a-day politicians and it had been a pleasure to be there. At the time he was
considering the past and carefully reviewing the plethora of historical files littering the archives of the Ministry of the Interior. Maybe now the truth is better known, there will finally be reconciliation.

Murder Mystery or Crime Fiction? - by Patrick Brigham

Detective Chief Inspector Michael Lambert, features in all three of my published murder mysteries - or are they crime thrillers - and continues to do so, in my soon to be completed current novel called - The Dance of Dimitrios.

Lambert is a decent, hard working middle aged police detective, who has been seconded from the Thames Valley Police Authority in the UK, to work at Europol in the Netherlands. For those of you who are not resident in the EU, Europol is the European Federal Police Force, which operates in all 28 European countries and is the equivalent of the American FBI.

Having suffered the fate, which many - real and fictional - policemen and women have experienced in the past, divorce is no stranger to Lambert. But in a way he has found new hope in his Europe wide activities and three ‘fictional’ years on, from my last publication, Abduction: An Angel over Rimini, to my newest yet to be published book, The Dance of Dimitrios, he has straightened his life out and has found new hope in the arms of an attractive widow called Beatrix d’ Aragona, who lives in Italy.

A far reach for the once provincial English police detective, perhaps, but it is real in the context of his new job and his new life and it gives us all hope – readers alike – that our lives can change and that the world is not always the dark place, which the media would have us believe.

Whereas Abduction: An Angel over Rimini, is mainly set in Italy and Greece and is about the kidnapping of a little English girl from a campsite in Southern Italy, The Dance of Dimitrios is mainly set in Greece, and is about a murder case which has gone cold; a mysterious body found in the River Ardas.

Both of these stories involve various forms of people trafficking, but there is one common theme which binds all my stories together. It is the tale of honest policemen and policewomen in search of truth and justice. This is also the ethos of the Europol Police Force, which in its short existence has enjoyed many successful results, due to European wide police cooperation as well as help from the American FBI.

Many people ask me why I have moved DCI Lambert from the comfortable leafy lanes of Berkshire in England, to the wilder parts of Southern Europe and the Balkans. The answer is quite simple; that is where I live. I left England many years ago and forgot to go back. But it wasn’t the only reason.

I forgot to go back because of the way that the British mentality was developing. It seemed to me that as a dedicated consumer society, the UK - where I was brought up - was no longer the same, and had lost many of its intrinsic virtues. Is there anything wrong with consumerism? No, but it seemed to me that people just wanted more of the same thing and that recently variety was rarely to be found on the intellectual menu. As a writer of sorts, I am supposed to know about such things and I wanted to introduce a new storyline into this ever repeated literary diet, which would challenge my readers.

Many of us confuse fabulous TV crime shows with literature, where most of the inspiration comes from, to make a good series in the first place. When we pick up a book which does not keep up to speed with the average TV crime drama, many of us get bored. But if it complies to a strict formula of events, can be consumed within a reasonable time and if it has a specific genre, that appears to be the way that choice is determined. But, which came first the chicken or the egg, and what is the difference between chalk and cheese. The confusion is immense and the challenge for a writer is even greater and often, insurmountable.

I put Lambert into a European setting which I have known all my life, and he fits well into the ex Communist countries of Eastern Europe. This is because he has the right kind of mind and the capacity to out-think even the most ardent ex-Communist or retired KGB intelligence officer. This is because he thinks laterally, and uses logic to discover the truth. Also, above everything else, Lambert is not a bully, is not loud mouthed and remains - as far as I am concerned - the living proof that kindness is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength.

I was there before, during and after these so called political changes in the Communist countries of Central and South Eastern Europe. I know what a Communist is and I know how, during the Cold War period, Communism successfully warped the minds of four generations of Southern Europeans and filled them with paranoia, intrigue and very little hope.

Now a part of the EU, the mentality of these countries has not changed significantly - as one can see from the vast amount of criminal activity and corruption which takes place in them - and which by our western standards, is generally viewed with disbelief. In our New Europe, we need the kind of policeman that can deal with the hard facts of European crime and DCI Michael Lambert, is that man.

Both Herodotus – The Gnome of Sofia, and Judas Goat – The Kennet Narrow Boat Mystery, are set at the end of the Cold War and Communism. Abduction: An Angel over Rimini is set at a later date, but continues to feature the jazz loving, classic car enthusiast and fictional police murder detective Detective Chief Inspector Michael Lambert.

Faced with political intrigue and in order to solve cases - which often involve Eastern Europe – he genuinely needs to understand how an old Communist thinks during the course of his investigations into the darker side of European crime.

There are few good books on the subject of international crime, especially mystery stories which delve into the shady side of politics. There are also few mystery novelists, who are prepared to address the thorny political issues of abduction, arms dealing and money laundering, in their mystery crime fiction.


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50 Great Writers You Should be Reading

http://50greatwritersyoushouldbereading.com/winners-2014/

Each year, The Authors Show runs a competition called '50 Great Writers You Should be Reading.' In so doing they introduce new authors to the reading public in the US and elsewhere. This year I was fortunate to be one of the chosen fifty writers - who will be featured in a forthcoming publication by www.TheAuthorsShow.com - the electronic version being available above. This year I am featured at No3, amongst some very strong competition in all genres, in which I contribute as a Crime Thriller writer.

Promoting my newest murder mystery, Abduction: An Angel over Rimini, to a new and experienced American reading audience is not always easy for a European, despite claims by Amazon and the various search engines like Google, Bing & Yahoo. These giants seem to control our lives on the internet, but with the help of Don McCauley and Daniel Hampson - of The Authors Show - we can hope for a more prominent billing in the future, in order for our readers across the pond to enjoy our European novels.

Abduction: An Angel over Rimini - by Patrick Brigham

It is 2002 and little Penelope Scratchford has been abducted in Italy. The Italian State Police has given up its investigation and believes her parents to be responsible for her disappearance and her probable murder, but cannot prove it. The British authorities believe she is still alive, as does the UK Press. In order to reopen this cold case, Europol offers its assistance. Detective Chief Inspector Michael Lambert – now retired from Thames Valley Police – is sent to Rimini as a Europol Liaison Officer, in order to assist the Italian police in re-opening their investigation.
His quest takes him from Rimini to Greece and the River Evros, where illegal migrants frequently cross over from Turkey. Following this recognised people smuggling route, his investigations also take him to Bulgaria, where he discovers a crooked adoption racket. Finding some promising leads to the whereabouts of the little English girl, he is able to establish if she is alive or dead.

Germany, Then and Now - by Patrick Brigham

In my series 'Then and Now,' I explore the way that Europe has evolved since the heady days of early 90s political change, the 25th anniversary of the destruction of the now iconic Berlin wall and the aftermath. Before the emergence and integration of the Eastern and Central European countries into the EU, there was a high degree of cynicism as to the outcome, something to which I too was a doubting party. It was hard to see how countries like Bulgaria and Romania could even dream of 'stepping up to the plate,' of EU membership, and seemingly harder for them to arrange their affairs, in order to meet the very elastic requirements on offer from Brussels. In this published article, I write about a time, literally just after the joining of the two Germany's. I also try to rationalise what happened immediately afterwards and the feelings which people had at the time. It is also an opportunity to review how Germany has changed - for better or worse - and if it has reached the expectations of Europe and the Germans themselves. Written in 1999, it was a foretaste for fifteen years of press speculation and critisizim

It was 1991, and early spring, as I landed at Stuttgart airport. I have always loved southern Germany, and this time I had come with an old friend Garrick Coleman, to visit an antique ‘hypermarket’ situated on the outskirts of the town. Landing at Stuttgart airport had been a strange experience for us, because coinciding with a number of international arrivals or departures, it seemed that there were no German faces to be seen. We thought for a moment we had caught the wrong aircraft, judging by the sea of Turkish people in front of us, some greeting each other, others with glazed eyes, saying goodbye to loved-ones; but we were wrong, we were in Germany.

From there we went to a friendly comfortable hotel; then a few beers with some brockworst and sauerkraut at a local pub, and it was time for bed. In the morning after a leisurely breakfast we visited the hypermarket, to be met on arrival by the owner and his English speaking manageress, both waiting at the main entrance.

Garrick is Britain’s leading dealer in antique chess sets, but at the time we were also interested in Czech antique glass paperweights, and we thought we might rent a stall at the hypermarket, to sell small pieces of art virtu, chess sets and decorated items, to the then burgeoning European antique and art market. In the end we didn’t do it, but our host was a very friendly and cultured man, and he insisted on showing us his private collection of Meissen porcelain, before our return to London.

It was an enormous collection, which he kept securely on the top floor of the building, and it was a wonderful sight to behold. Spanning the ages, the porcelain pieces glistened with quality; each item with its own beauty, the intricate artisan work, the precision the detail, and finally the crossed sabres on the base confirming provenance. Then we got to the Nazi section! It was dull, black and white, a little bit gothic, and to all accounts not very valuable. I could quite understand why, and our host - who was Jewish - said it was part of the history of the Meissen factory, so it mattered. But that was all he said.

By chance, later in the day, I met an interesting man, who ran the social security office in the City of Dresden. In 1990 the first freely elected ‘Peoples Chamber’ in the GDR had decided to accede to the Federal Republic of Germany, so it was by then, fully united. He told me of his problems, about the former East German chaos, and I replied with tales from Bulgaria and other countries that were experiencing similar changes. He told me how his local staff would start to disappear at around two o’clock in the afternoon, only to claim the following day that they had to queue for food. He had said to them, ‘But the shops are groaning with food, we west Germans have made sure you have everything in abundance, you don’t need to queue for anything anymore.’ Later he had decided that they probably couldn’t work for more than five hours a day, and looking in his beer mug, he sighed, saying - “ That is communism for you!” And it was.

The story of Germany, is about a new beginning, it is about saying goodbye to a past for which most Germans today share no responsibility; simply, they are too young. But, judging by German TV, it is a country which feels the need to apologise almost daily for the past, but in truth one has to wonder why - quite so much - anymore?

The ‘New Germany’ of 1949 spawned many remarkable figures, including Ludwig Erhard, Konrad Adenauer and of course the ex Mayor of Berlin, Willy Brant, all of whom served - not only to change the face of Germany - but of Europe itself. When in 1951 Germany became a member of the Council of Europe, and later a party to the European Coal and Steel Community, the stage was set for the creation of the EU as we know it today. When in 1954 the Federal Republic gained sovereignty following the Treaty of Paris - and the German national soccer team won the World cup - it was time to see Germany in a different light. Unfortunately, while this was all happening, East Germany was being heavily suppressed by Russia, following a season of riots in East Berlin.

By 1946 Germany had already begun to receive aid from America under the GARIOA Programme, and by 1948, from the George Marshall Plan - to conquer ‘Hunger, poverty, despair and chaos’ - and which was to help create the ‘New Germany,’ and effect its necessary economic recovery. Between 1948 and 1952, Germany received $1.4 billion USD alone under the Marshall plan, given to a country which - with the inspiration of men like Ludwig Erhard - now found itself moving towards a ‘social market economy;’ which in effect is what the EU is all about today. Then in 1955 came the termination of the Occupation Statute, and the Federal Republic of Germany’s accession into NATO.

Although this whole process was about German sovereignty; two years later in 1957 we saw the formation of the European Economic Community (EEC) and the Treaty of Rome, with Germany as a signatory. Europe had finally grown up and had begun to change, with the clasp of friendship between Konrad Adenauer and Charles de Gaulle of France, a Europe no loger at war but fighting for peace. Post war idealism had now turned Germany from the ‘bad boy of Europe’ to a position of leadership, and the miracle of economic change began to happen. Then, the only war in Europe was the ‘cold war,’ symbolically underlined by the building of the ‘The wall’ by the Soviets, in 1961.

For some countries in the rest of Europe, Germany’s economic might, might well have seemed to derive from their own misfortune - as was also the case with Japan - but this is more a matter of ignorance than fact, and many foreign fortunes were made from the reconstruction of the scarred landscape of post war Germany. Now it is like everywhere else in the world, with international companies vying for a share of world markets, and using international money. But, the reality of the German economic miracle, was Germany itself, and the German people. A country renowned for its hard work, good organising ability, and engineering skills, it is now difficult to fault its claim to be the third most powerful industrialised nation in the world, something that it has every right to be proud of.

The slow process of change in Bulgaria, seems to be fraught with unconvincing excuses. The whole sordid business of expediting various faction’s special interests, seems to have taken over the political agenda, bogging down the more important issues of transition, and the fiction of privatisation. But the German story must be one, which should invigorate the flagging determination of much of eastern Europe, because it was one of political determination, of coalition, of social responsibility, and finally of nationhood.

In Germany, the end of National Socialism brought out the angels, and not the political adventurers that we have often seen in the Balkans. Symbolised by the famous Berlin speech of President John Kennedy in 1963, it seemed then, that the main German preoccupation was democracy. But, with the death of Konrad Adenauer in 1967, many waited with baited breath to see if there were any angels left, and there were.

One came in the form of Willy Brant. Famous for his fight against Hitler by his activities in the Norwegian underground, and with the continuing turbulence in the world of east-west; as the new German Chancellor, he embarked on the now famous ‘Ostpolitik’ process, culminating on the 12th August 1970 in Moscow, when a treaty was signed by Brant in which both sides stated that they had no territorial claims against anyone. In a letter presented to the Soviets at the time it was stated that the ‘treaty’ did not contradict its aim of working towards a peace in Europe ‘ in which the German people will regain their unity, in free self determination,’ and in this statement, the dreams of a nation were expressed.

Germany from the beginning of the ‘cold war’ seemed to be in the front line of possible aggression, playing host to NATO troops and missiles, and dealing with the pressures of the ‘two countries, one nation syndrome,’ while the so called super powers, played power politics around it. But meanwhile the economy expanded, which in itself was an irritant to the centrally planned economy of its immediate neighbour. Perhaps winning the hearts and minds of the ordinary people in East Germany was easy, it was the politics which was the problem; because by then it had become simple to see who was winning the economic battle. With the ongoing missile talks, and the negotiations, Germany experienced serious political casualties, particularly when it came to matters of security versus the economy. Helmut Schmit was forced to resign as Chancellor during the course of 1982, in favour of Helmut Kohl, becoming one of the most fortuitous events in modern German history .

For eighteen years Helmut Kohl stood out as the tough man of Europe, both by physical size and political stature, but rather like Winston Churchill - having successfully steered his country through to ultimate change - it seemed that he had to go! Without him, and his predecessors - those who understood the reality of European integration versus communism - very little would have changed. Because, rather like someone facing the end of a sad marriage, he was wise enough to find common ground with his estranged partner; Eric Honecker, and his marriage guidance councillor, Mikhail Gobachov. On the subject matter of ultimate change, his reign - like him or hate him - was remarkable. It is also remarkable, the amount the German people were prepared to take on. Despite all the apocryphal stories one hears about the then East Germany - the jewel in the crown of the Soviets - West Germany took on a disintegrating mess, much as one might see in Romania or Bulgaria today. The speed of change, and the relatively low level of actual unemployment in the east of Germany (16% at present) is a wonder, realising the current EU unemployment position. It was ultimately Germany, which paved the way to ‘the changes’ in Eastern Europe.

Germany has always had good relationships in Bulgaria, but mainly because of its engineering traditions; the fact is, most managers in manufacturing speak German. And, it is a major trading partner on a wide spectrum of activities, but trucks, motor cars, manufacturing machinery, fabrics, wine and food, have always come ‘top of the list.’ In the last four years - published figures 1994 to 1997 - the balance of payments has remained in Germanys favour, 1995 being the year of greatest negative difference for Bulgaria. But, last year saw an improvement - not only in total trade figures - but in the difference as well. During the course of 1997 Germany exported over .......to Bulgaria, whilst in return, Germany received ....... in imports, thus reducing the Bulgarian balance of payments by some 28%. In an ideal world this would seem encouraging, but with Bulgarian obsession with German cars and consumer goods; although a good prospective market for Germany, with the likely changes in border tariffs, this might serve to tip the balance even further Germany’s way!

January 1999 has been a terrific time for Germany. Not only is it the residing President of the EU, but it has simultaneously had to oversee the introduction of the EURO, through the good offices of minister of finance Oskar Lafontaine. This, and a ‘Euro-Socialist’ coalition Government, has taken Germany to the forefront of conceptual politics. Having kept its post-war promise of a ‘social market economy;’ with all the integrated social and infrastructural spending in place, the new Government of Gehard Schroder, is branching off even further into the realms of profound Liberalism. With a policy which has very marked Green tendencies, time will only tell of the consequences of its present ‘free spending proposals,’ and the slightly nutty first evidence of a ‘U’ turn in its nuclear policy - both civil and military - and the uncontrolled utterances of Jurgen Trittin. Maybe, this is the price we all have to pay for peace?

The Dance of Dimitrios - by Patrick Brigham

© Copyright Patrick Brigham – Evros Greece - 28th November 2014

This is a preview of my newest crime thriller and murder mystery, which takes place in Northern Greece, close to the borders of Turkey and Bulgaria. It is a poor region, occupied mainly by subsistence farmers, but it is also an area fraught with illegal immigrants from all over the Middle East, Asia and North Africa. Jam-packed with intrigue and many conspiracy theories, the little Balkan village of Kzenia harbours many dark secrets. But, because the age old smuggling profession has little or no conscience, it also means that the eyes of the world are often carefully diverted in the media but, not the probing eyes of MI6 or the careful investigations of British police detective, DCI Michael Lambert of Europol.

Chapter 1 - Down by the River Ardas

Dimitrios Pantzos was an old man. In his 80s, his thoughts not only dwelt on his own austere past, but also that of his parents. In 1923 they had been forced to move from Turkish Thrace, as part of the Great Migration, to the then newly fashioned country of Greece. As a first generation Greek National, he had little reason to love the Turks and felt a deep resentment for the damage they had caused his family and their lives.
Once from a wealthy family of landowners, his father - and those members of the family who managed to survive Ataturk’s bloody partition - had been forced to cross the River Evros into Greece, only to become a subsistence farmer.
In common with many in the Evros region, when he became a man, Dimitrios accordingly held a grudge, which his children grandchildren and great grandchildren, could never truly understand. Living in the little riverside village of Kzenia, overlooking the meandering River Ardas, he too had tilled the soil throughout his life. Witnessing Greece’s turbulent past, the various political upheavals - the rule of the Colonels and their cursed junta - and finally their spendthrift successors; somehow he had managed to survive.
Hidden in the northern reaches of Evros, the next door neighbour Turkey was literally five minutes away by road, and driving north - and twenty minutes by car - was the recently renamed, Democratic Republic of Bulgaria. He had heard these days that Bulgaria now had a King as Prime Minister, but Dimitrios Pantzos remained ardently unimpressed, believing them all to be, the Devil’s Children!’

He remembered the Communists during the troubles in 1948 and like many other Greeks, hated them like the plague. But, because he didn’t like the Turks either, he – akin to many from his country – felt isolated, and detached from the outside world.
The Greek newspapers glibly repeated the mantra, that Greece was now a fully fledged member of the EU, which - other than some minor help to subsistence farmers - had improved life very little, for him or his family. With worn out tools and increasingly arthritic joints, it had become a struggle to survive the recent past, and he was pleased when a neighbour - very reluctantly - agreed to rent his land from him. Now, all he could manage was to plant a few vegetables in his garden, exclusively for his own needs.
A widower for some ten years, the loneliness he felt was indescribable. Even with the other old men in the village, who daily inhabited the pensioner’s café, he had little in common. They rarely seemed mournful for very long, and when their loved ones died, somehow accepted their passing, as a matter of course. But Dimitrios Pantzos was different, because - although he had been a farmer all his life – he was also a musician, a philosopher and a poet.
The ever present grief, which for years had held him in its icy and unrelenting grip, often stopped him from performing even the most mundane daily tasks and rarely seemed to go away. This grey and numbing spectre had appeared the very same day that his wife died. It had happened quite suddenly, one Sunday morning, during the cruel month of April. The horror of waking up next to her cold and lifeless body, was a memory which could never be adequately described; even by a philosopher and poet such as himself. It was as though his life had also come to an end.
This had all happened some time before, but to the old man, it still seemed like yesterday. Many in the village thought him quite mad, because, as a self proclaimed intellectual, he appeared to inhabit some unfathomable and distant in-between world which they simply didn’t understand. And so, he learned to ignore the cruel whispers and jibes coming from his neighbours, and of course, all his so called friends.
They laughed at his claims to understand the very essence of Greece, which was something he described in his poems and songs. Maybe, this was because they were far too preoccupied reading their seed catalogues and farming magazines; that is, of course, if they could read at all.

Dimitrios Pantzos had a small piece of land next to the River Ardas. It was good for nothing except for a few trees, and being next to the river path, it was occasionally prone to flooding in winter when the Bulgarians - usually quite gratuitously - opened up the sluice gates on their side of the border. But in spring and summer the land remained dry and usable - adjacent plots having become occasional barbeque sites - and so Dimitrios, in his loneliness and with little else to do, opened up a small riverside café.
The tables and chairs were an eclectic mixture; some tables simply being merely planks of wood on makeshift trestles, but many items were also donated to him free of charge – often with a smirk or a patronizing grin - by local people, who had never really taken him very seriously. Finally, he built a little wooden hut to house the coffee machine and the sink unit, both of which had been given by the owner of a defunct café in Orestiada.
By connecting a garden hose to a nearby tap and by plugging into the local electrical substation; he was finally able to open his café which he named after his late and beloved wife. He called it Café Marta.
On each and every table, he placed a candle and strung across the trees, the little outdoor café now had fairy lights, and a spotlight which shone high into the sky at night and Dimitrios was now set. for his long awaited opening. He advertised the event in the village post office, the supermarket and petrol station, but sadly on the day, nobody came.
Even the local Greek Orthodox Priest refused to come and bless the opening, claiming that he would be ridiculed by his local parishioners, were he to do so, and the villagers refused to come, because they said the old man was mad.
But, Dimitrios Pantzos defied their insults and the brutal humiliation handed out to him, and - despite the villager’s obvious scorn - he opened his riverside café early one summer evening. That night Dimitrios Pantzos loudly played his beloved Marta’s favourite traditional Greek love songs, sang with passion to the glittering stars; but seeing Marta’s smiling face before him, only he could hear her words of love.
Over the passing years, despite local derision and his increasing loneliness, he continued his daily walk each day to the river. There, he would patiently unlock his hut, play his favourite music very loudly and occasionally, Dimitrios Pantzos would even dance.
With arms held out straight, his fingers clicking, his face stern and full of the emotion which only Greek men can truly display when they weep, Dimitrios Pantzos would slowly twirl, jump and spin amongst the assorted tables and chairs, and in so doing he would reverently display the deep and painful loss he felt for his beloved Marta, and pray that one day, they would finally be reunited in heaven.
***
One summer’s day old Dimitrios saw a woman’s body floating face down in the River Ardas. Practically opposite his café, she was lying in a pool which had formed in the delta, and snagged by the bough of a tree which had fallen during the night, she was completely motionless. It was early one morning and as usual, there were no people around.
Knowing that it would take him some time to get to the village - due to his age - with great determination, he painfully ascended the steep hill leading up from the river to the centre of the village and then turned left towards the high street. Too early for the other village elders to be gossiping in their usual café by the bus stop, Dimitrios made for the post office which always opened early.
‘I have just seen a body floating in the river, by my café,’ he blurted out to the postmistress and her husband. They were sitting and drinking frappe, at a roadside table.
The man sucked noisily through his straw and then smiled at Dimitrios, ‘it is a bit early for you to be on the tsipouro isn’t it Dimitrios? Or, did you have a rough night drinking on your own, at your famous riverside café?’ The contempt in his voice was harsh. Punctuated by a spurt of tobacco smoke - which he blew from the corner of his mouth - and grinning at the old man, the postmasters brown coffee stained teeth displayed very little humour, and looked more like a sneer. ‘Was it one of your customers Dimitrios? I expect you poisoned them with that dreadful coffee of yours!’
The couple, both laughed at his poor joke, leaving the old man feeling humiliated. ‘I tell you I saw her. She was face down by the underwater bridge. She was caught on a tree. I know she was dead, you could tell, so you better call the police in Orestiada and they will send a detective.’
‘I’m not phoning anyone until I am sure what you say is true, you old loony. We can drive down to the river in my jeep, if you like, and then you can show me exactly where this body of yours is. But, I will only phone the police when I am convinced you are telling the truth and not before. It might just be one of your silly stories!’
They climbed into the Suzuki jeep and the postmaster drove back down the steep hill to the underwater bridge, where they got out. ‘Well, I can’t see any bodies you old fool, you must have been seeing things.’
The old man looked bewildered and then started along the river towards the local council dump. ‘There she is, she must have been freed by the current. The Bulgarians must have opened up their sluices, while I was away, and the body must have been carried on down the river.’ The brown toothed man looked with considerable apprehension at the woman’s unmoving body, now bobbing gently in the undulating water.
As his face gradually turned white, the village postmaster began to feel nauseous. Finally he blurted out, ‘okay you old fool, I believe you now,’ and turning back towards his jeep in haste, in a hoarse whisper, ‘I’d better get back to the post office now, and phone the police.’
Knowing full well that the postmaster wouldn’t dream of mentioning his name in his report to the police, old Dimitrios slowly walked back towards Café Marta and got on with his daily chores.
Minutes later and sitting behind the post office counter, the self important postmaster leaned back in his chair and with great authority, explained the situation to the Orestiada police. ‘It is definitely a woman, Warrant Officer Panagos and judging by her clothes, she is probably one of those illegal immigrants who occasionally get washed up these days. I wish those bastards would go to Italy or Bulgaria instead; bloody foreign scum.’
Old Dimitrios sat outside his little shed, drinking strong, sweet Greek coffee, which he had prepared on his little camp-gas stove. He did this every morning, despite the fact that the coffee grains, sometimes got stuck under his denture plate. Lighting up a strong Balkan cigarette, he looked at the day and at two Grey Herons who - seemingly fearless - strutted along the nearby underwater concrete bridge, as if they owned it.
In the distance he watched a noisy moped driving onto the bridge, splashing water into the air. The young rider was nonchalantly resting his legs on the front mudguard as he crossed the bridge, before cycling on, up to the village. The two Grey Herons casually stepped to one side, as he passed, and continued fishing for minnows.
Half an hour later, a distinctive blue and white police car arrived at the river scene, driven by a uniformed police officer, with a young woman sitting in the front passenger seat. Occupying the rear seat was the postmaster. He appeared to be having an animated conversation, with the two front seat passengers, whilst waving his arm in the general direction of the woman’s floating corpse.
Old Dimitrios was completely ignored, but even so, he watched events very closely. Meanwhile, the postmistress had arrived in the Suzuki jeep, in order to collect her husband – who, having waved goodbye to the two officers - gladly left the tragic scene, both ignoring the old man as they swiftly drove past.
After a few minutes discussion, the woman - who may well have been a police detective - returned to the car and holding a microphone, she proceeded to talk to someone over the radio. Fifteen minutes later, a Mercedes mortuary ambulance arrived, followed closely by a red painted emergency vehicle, out of which four burly men immerged. Later still, a shallow river punt appeared from downriver, and manned by two tough looking men in wetsuits, they moored up to a nearby post.
The two men in wetsuits, then - after donning tanks and masks - searched the area underwater, while the four men from the emergency vehicle manhandled the woman onto the riverbank. Having put on latex gloves, the two police officers then appeared to briefly search the body, presumably for some sort of identification, which – judging by the way they shook their heads - they couldn’t find. Then, having taken photographs of the scene and the woman’s corpse, the body was duly zipped up in a green body bag and carried by stretcher to the awaiting mortuary ambulance.
To old Dimitrios, these events had happened so quickly that; before he knew it, he was once more alone on the riverbank and left to his own devices. He thought how strange it was that old people become invisible to others, even over matters of life and death. Dimitrios Pantzos wondered who the poor unfortunate woman might have been, and how she had come to be drowned in the river? But, with his limited knowledge of the world, he finally concluded that she must have either been an Ottoman or a Frank. Either way, the river was better off without her, whoever she might have been.