Deadline in Athens (16 page)

"To a small bar-restaurant in Psyrri, near Agion Anargyron Square."

So that's why she'd phoned her sister to say that she wouldn't be able to make it. Not because of any revelation, but because she'd arranged to go out with Thanassis.

"Did anyone see you?"

"Just a couple, friends of hers, but she didn't introduce me. Nobody I knew saw us, I'm sure, because it was one of those places for those poseurs who pretend to be lowlife and hang about between Psyrri, Gazi, and Metaxourgeio."

"Where did you meet?"

"In Agion Anargyron Square. We went in separate cars." He thought a moment and said: "The only place we might have been seen together was when I waited for her in front of the church while she went to the kiosk for cigarettes. Then again, I doubt it."

"What time was that?"

"Just after nine.... We were going to meet at nine, but she was about fifteen minutes late." He quickly added, "Don't worry, I didn't get out. I waited for her in the car. In any case, I was careful."

"And did you leave separately?"

"Yes. Ya-" He was going to say her name, but it stuck in his throat and he stopped. "She left at around eleven. I paid and left a couple of minutes later."

He took the receipt out of his pocket and handed it to me. The bill was for 11,800 drachmas. Six thousand apiece to eat in a dive in Psyrri. Everywhere else, the smart ones sharpen their minds in the schools and universities. In Greece, they sharpen them on the suckers. The more suckers there are around, the more smart ones there are.

"I'll hang on to the receipt. And as for Karayoryi, you won't say a word to anyone. You haven't seen her or spoken to her. Otherwise, we'll both be up the creek."

"Okay."

I put the receipt in my pocket, took out my wallet, and counted out 12,000 drachmas. As I was handing him the money, I felt as if I were staking my all in an illegal gambling joint. At least there were two things in that hideous mess that gave me relief. One was that Thanassis had in all probability not been seen with Karayoryi. The other was that I now knew for certain what Karayoryi had been doing from about nine that evening till the time she was killed.

Thanassis was about to get out, but I stopped him. "Did Karayoryi make any phone calls while you were together?"

"Yes, just before she left. To be exact, she called and left." He looked at me puzzled. "Why?" he asked.

"She called Kostarakou, a colleague of hers. She told her to make sure she watched the late-night news because she was going to drop a bombshell. She also told her that if anything happened to her, she wanted Kostarakou to carry on the investigation."

"What was the bombshell?"

"Kostarakou says she doesn't know. But she might be hiding it to get it on the air herself and feather her own nest. Did she say anything to you about being in danger or being afraid?"

"No," he answered straightaway. "If she'd said anything like that to me, I'd have told you immediately. Just the opposite. She was in high spirits and kept teasing me about the force."

Then I remembered why I'd sent him to get in with Karayoryi. "What about that business with the Albanians and the kids, did you find out anything?" Not that I was particularly interested any longer, but at least I'd have something to show for my twelve thousand.

He smiled. "Over dinner, I kept bringing the conversation around to that, but she was as slippery as an eel. In the end she told me that she wanted to sleep with me first and that if I was good in bed, she might tell me something more."

A little earlier, the niece had told me that her aunt made compromises and then took it out on herself. A nymphomaniac and a seductress, but one who felt remorse. So Robespierre was right. Revolutionaries are like that. They make a mess of the revolution, but they are on the right wavelength with the girls at the barricades.

CHAPTER 15

I closed the door and expected to hear the soap cop yelling or the prosecutor whining, but I heard nothing. The living room was dark and the TV was off. In the kitchen I found a saucepan full of spinach and rice. Adriani had disappeared. I wondered where on earth she might have gone, because she hardly ever went out in the evenings. Then I realized that I had the house to myself and that put me in a good mood.

I took down Dimitrakos and jumped onto the bed in my clothes. I did remove my shoes. I didn't want to give Adriani any excuse, because, given the state I was in, I was simply waiting for someone to let fly at and she would be the one to bear the brunt of it. I opened the dictionary and fell randomly on the letter D. Deface = to spoil or mar the surface, legibility or appearance of, disfigure. Defaceable (adj.); defacement (n.); defacer (n.). Karayoryi had defaced him, all right. She'd got him out of her face in double-quick time. But what was the game she had been playing with Petratos? She had got what she wanted from him. But what about him? What did he want from her that made him threaten her? And what did it mean in that first letter when he said he'd been surprised to see her? He saw her at the studio every day. Had he seen her somewhere else? Sure, his asking to see her to talk to her was easily explained. He couldn't talk to her at the studio, fair enough, and he wanted them to meet away from the office.

"Are you here?" Over the top of the dictionary I saw Adriani standing in the doorway and smiling at me. "Good boy, you took your shoes off," she said.

"Where have you been?"

"You'll see. I've a surprise for you."

She dashed out. Outside I could hear the sound of plastic bags, boxes being opened, paper being torn. In a few minutes she came back into the room, but her hands were empty.

"What do you think? Do they suit me?"

She stretched out a leg, like a veteran ballerina, and only then did I notice the boots. They reached almost to her knee and were dark brown and shiny.

"Well?" Adriani said, impatiently.

She was expecting me to express my admiration, and, I have to say, the boots were impressive. But I was overcome by an unexpected vexation, born no doubt of stinginess. I'd paid thirty-five thousand for them, and, as if that weren't enough, I'd forked out another twelve thousand for Thanassis's restaurant bill, so that in two days I'd spent fifty thousand, money down the drain. I was annoyed with myself: If I'd adopted my usual tactics, I'd only have been twelve thousand poorer and she would still be sweet-talking me.

"They're okay," I said half-heartedly and went back to Dimitrakos.

"Okay? Is that all you have to say about them?"

"What else do you want me to say? When all's said and done, they're boots just like all the others."

"No, not like all the others. These are from Petrides."

"Okay. So Petrides's boots are different. That's why you paid thirtyfive thousand for them, when anywhere else they'd only be twenty."

"What do you mean? That I squander money just for the label?"

"No, I'm not saying that. Anyway, they suit you fine."

The compliment didn't satisfy her at all. "You're always putting a damper on other people's pleasure," she said bitterly. "You're really good at that."

"Don't be ungrateful!" I shouted, and Dimitrakos flew to the foot of the bed. "I paid thirty-five thousand for your pleasure! Isn't that enough?"

"It most certainly is and thank you very much. But you know what my mother used to say? `Don't give with one hand what you take back with the other!"' She stormed out of the room before I had time to answer.

I needed to relax but all I'd succeeded in doing was getting myself worked up. I reached for Dimitrakos again. I took hold of it clumsily and some pages got crumpled. As I tried to straighten them, my eye fell on the word sucker. I thought that it summed me up perfectly, and I began to read, to discover my roots. Sucker = fool, idiot, (sl.) moron. Definitely. A fool for giving Adriani the thirty-five thousand and for letting myself be taken to task by her into the bargain. An idiot for wanting at all costs to find out why Karayoryi was dropping hints about kids when she had it all worked out already. And a moron for getting Thanassis involved so that I could find out what I wanted. Being a sucker would be the least of my problems if Ghikas were to find out about Thanassis. I'd be in the doghouse, no question. My father used to call me a whelp, though I didn't know what it meant then and I didn't dare ask, because whenever he used it, he was always furious with me. He'd have thought I was trying to be clever and he'd have hit me upside my head. It was the first word I looked up when I got hold of a dictionary. Whelp (n). = 1. a young offspring of certain animals, esp. of a wolf or dog. 2. disparaging; a young man or youth. 3. jocular; a young child. So, the young dog was heading for the doghouse. I wasn't complaining. It was the way of the world.

The voices on the TV brought me back to reality and I remembered that I'd wanted to watch the news. I looked at my watch. I had two minutes. I was certain that Karayoryi would be the main story. I left Dimitrakos on the bed and rushed into the living room. Adriani was in the armchair, in her usual position. Her eyes were glued to the screen and she made a show of ignoring me to emphasize her wounded pride.

I'd just managed to get comfortable on the sofa when the first of the main stories was announced: "An investigation by Hellas Channel reveals unknown aspects of Yanna Karayoryi's brutal murder." It was as well that I had been expecting something, and I accepted it calmly. Grief was oozing from the features of the newscaster, like snot from a runny nose. If he didn't get out his handkerchief to wipe his tears now, he never would. But he didn't. I guess he sensed that even hypocrisy has its limits.

"Mystery continues to surround the killing of Yanna Karayoryi. The determination of the police not to reveal any information has caused an unprecedented uproar. The channel's telephone lines have been busy all day. Viewers have been desperately seeking information and expressing their indignation at the police's indifference to public opinion. Over and above anything else, one vital question remains to be answered: What was the story that Yanna Karayoryi had intended to break on our late-night news bulletin? Let's hear what Martha Kostarakou has to say."

Martha Kostarakou appeared and spoke about the telephone call Karayoryi had made to her. She gave the bare bones, without any trimmings. Perhaps that's why she seemed so bland alongside the newscaster.

"Why did Yanna Karayoryi phone Martha Kostarakou? And why did she ask her to carry on the investigation should anything happen to her? Who was Yanna Karayoryi afraid of?" The newscaster looked penetratingly into the camera, as though waiting for the viewers to solve the mystery. "Our own reporters have been working to find an answer to this question and have come up with a sensational discovery." He paused for a moment, then fixed his gaze, as though looking at each of us individually, and asked: "Ladies and gentlemen, do you remember this man?"

The scene changed and we were in the grounds of the law courts in Evelpidon Street. The camera came to rest on a short, thin man. He was wearing a dark suit, white shirt, and tie, and looked like a bank official or some bureaucrat. But this first impression was immediately undermined because the man was in handcuffs and was being escorted by two plainclothes policemen, who were pushing him through a crowd of reporters. I recognized him immediately. It was Petros Kolakoglou.

The scene changed again. A girl was speaking with her back to the camera so she couldn't be identified. The voice asking the questions belonged to Karayoryi.

"And then what did he do to you?"

"He fondled me," said the girl with her face hidden.

"Where did he fondle you?"

There was a pause. Then the girl broke into tears.

"What we've shown you today, ladies and gentlemen, requires no comment. It speaks for itself." The newscaster was there again. His expression had changed, and he was all smiles. Self-satisfaction had replaced the mask of mourning. We'd wept for our aunt, now it was time for the inheritance and we were rubbing our hands with glee.

Back to Evelpidon Street. Kolakoglou, the two policemen at his sides, was walking toward the police van. His head was bowed, and he kept his gaze focused on the ground. As he was approaching the van, a crowd of reporters swarmed around him, their microphones held out like bayonets. Karayoryi was in the vanguard.

"What do you have to say about the court's decision, Mr. Kolakoglou?" she asked him.

Kolakoglou suddenly raised his head and fixed his gaze on her. "You're the one who got me sent down, you bitch!" he screamed in fury. "But you'll pay for it! You'll pay big-time!" The policemen broke through the ring of reporters and bundled him into the back of the van. The camera remained on Karayoryi, who followed Kolakoglou with her eyes, smiling her satisfaction.

The newscaster appeared once more. "Ladies and gentlemen, Petros Kolakoglou was released on parole just one month ago for good conduct. The Kolakoglou case was one that Yanna Karayoryi took intensely seriously. She regarded Kolakoglou as a dangerous individual. She had already published a book on the subject, but we have reason to believe that she was continuing her investigations and that's why she had reason to fear for her life." He stared into the camera with a grave expression, leaving open every possibility. "We have searched for Kolakoglou, but we have not yet been able to locate him. No one knows where he is, or, at least, no one is willing to talk."

I stopped following what was happening on the screen. The scenes flashed before me, but I didn't see them. Now all of Greece would believe that Karayoryi's murderer was Petros Kolakoglou. Tomorrow, reporters from every channel would rush out to find him. And whoever found him first would be the channel's plat du jour.

Not a minute had passed before my thoughts were confirmed, at least as to the first part. "It's a good thing that there are reporters to bring certain things to light. Because if we waited for the police ..."

I heard Adriani's disdainful commentary, and I felt doubly infuriated. The police force fed us, clothed us, paid for our child's education, and yet she was having a go at it. You don't bite the hand that feeds you. And second, because she was doing it expressly because I hadn't gone overboard in my enthusiasm for her new boots.