Deadline in Athens (24 page)

So that was the price for my head: a sample of Petratos's handwriting. Delopoulos was so sure of himself that he thought it unnecessary to even mention my name and referred to me as the "subordinate."

"That was the case this morning, Mr. Delopoulos," I said, still very calmly. "In the meantime, new evidence has come to light."

"What new evidence?" It was Ghikas who asked.

"First of all, I verified that Mr. Petratos was absent both from his house and from the studio at the time that Kostarakou was killed."

"Along with another five million Greeks, most likely," Delopoulos said sarcastically. "Can't you put a stop, for heaven's sake, to your obstinacy and your prejudices?"

"Mr. Petratos had in his possession something that the other five million didn't have. The wire that was used to strangle Martha Kostarakou."

"What was that?" The minister almost jumped out of his seat. Delopoulos stared at me blankly. He didn't know how to react.

"In the garage of his apartment building, next to the space where Mr. Petratos parks his car, I found a length of wire identical to that which was used to strangle Kostarakou. I have a witness to the finding."

"Are you positive that this is what was used to strangle Kostarakou?" Ghikas said.

"I handed it over this evening to the lab people. We'll know more as soon as we have the results of the tests. You'll have my written report on your desk tomorrow morning."

All three of them remained silent. They realized only too well the implications of what I had said. If they took me off the case and I turned out to be right, someone would come across my report and would haul them over the coals.

"Very well. You can go, Inspector," the minister said.

I said good-bye, but no one was taking any notice of me. They were all lost in thought. Ghikas had a barely perceptible smile on his face, and there was a wily glint in his eyes. He seemed to be enjoying it, though I'd got nothing out of it. He was playing his own game.

I left with the satisfaction, at least, that I'd gone against the tide. Not as a lamb to the slaughter, but as a slaughterer of lambs.

CHAPTER 24

I was holding the croissant in my left hand and writing furiously with my right. I wanted to get my report to Ghikas before being suspended or transferred. I had made up my mind not to deal with anything else, but I'd reckoned without Thanassis, who I found waiting for me, just like every morning.

"Go away, I have work to do;" I told him curtly, needing to get rid of him. But he didn't budge. And not only that, he didn't have his usual moron look.

"We have a lead on Kolakoglou."

That was just great. If he'd told me this the previous day, I'd have been pleased and had a good word to say to him. But right now, having woken up resolved to get off the case, I'd convinced myself that it was no longer my concern. Let Ghikas tear his hair out since he'd taken charge of it. On the other hand, I didn't want to provoke comment and so I asked, purely as a formality: "What lead?"

"He was seen yesterday, around midnight, in a bar on Michael Voda Street, with another man. The owner recognized him and called 100, but by the time the patrol car got there, they'd gone."

"You see what I said about him still being in Athens?" When you're getting a pasting on all fronts, even the least bit of vindication is a comfort.

"The owner recognized the other man. His name is Sourpis and he's known in the street as a fence, a loan shark. The owner doesn't know where he lives, but he goes to the bar now and again to pick up a girl. As of today, I'll have one of our men waiting there. As soon as either of them shows up, he'll nab him."

"Fine. Put it all in your report."

"Report?"

He was expecting a pat on the back, but I was more concerned about my own situation. I'd send his report to Ghikas along with my own, so he'd see that I hadn't confined myself to Petratos, but that I had pressed on with the search for Kolakoglou. I wanted him to see that he'd treated me unfairly. From then on, he could do as he thought fit. Thanassis went on staring at me in surprise. He was about to say something, but thought better of it and left the office.

I bit into my croissant without much appetite, more out of habit than anything, and I kept writing. I wondered if I'd find croissants in the place they were going to send me or if I'd have to make do with a run-of-the-mill cheese pie. Most probably Adriani would have to pack me sandwiches, wrapped in tinfoil.

When I got home the previous evening, she'd pretended to be asleep. But I'd found the table set and the food simmering on the stove. It was another of her ways of showing that, even though we weren't talking, she still worried about me. I hadn't slept a wink. She'd felt me tossing and turning beside her but had said not a word. When I got up in the morning, she was asleep, perhaps because it had been late when she finally dozed off. Before I left, I had put the housekeeping money on the table together with five thousand more. An ambiguous gesture. Had I done it deliberately or because I'd miscounted the money? She could decide.

I had filled two sides of A4 paper and I was getting to the conclusions when Sotiris came in.

"Not now," I said, without lifting my head, like a student taking an exam.

"There's a girl outside who wants to see you."

"When I'm finished."

"She says she's Yanna Karayoryi's niece."

I stopped in midsentence. Anna Antonakaki was the last person I'd expected to see that morning. "Show her in," I said to Sotiris.

She was wearing black trousers tucked into cowboy boots, a gray pullover, and a black leather jacket on top. She was carrying a plastic bag. Once again, I was taken aback by her likeness to Yanna. That same haughty air. Except that she was still young and didn't have the irony in her look yet. She was simply cold and kept the world at arm's length. She stood next to the door, staring at me. I wondered if she shared her aunt's loathing for men.

"Come in, sit down."

She sat on the edge of the chair and continued to stare at me. "I don't know if what I'm doing is right," she said after a while.

She remained silent after that, as if she expected something from me. Maybe she was waiting for me to make it easy for her. But what could I say? I didn't know why she'd come, or what her intentions were, so I let her work it out for herself.

"I was thinking about it all night and didn't get any sleep."

"Since you have come here, it means that you have already decided to talk to me. So tell me why you've come and we'll see."

She reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a thick, bound file, like those we'd found in Karayoryi's apartment. She was about to hand it to me, but then she changed her mind and held on to it tightly.

"My aunt gave me this file to keep hidden from my mother. She told me that if anything happened to her, I should give it to Martha Kostarakou."

So that was the explanation for Karayoryi's mysterious telephone call to Kostarakou. She'd wanted Kostarakou to see the report with the revelation, though she died before she could broadcast it, so the other woman would know what it was all about if the file came into her hands. We'd been searching in Karayoryi's computer files, and all the while the stuff had been in the hands of her niece.

"Yesterday, when I heard that Kostarakou had-died-" The words "been murdered" had stuck in her throat. "-I didn't know what to do. I was afraid to tell my mother, because she gets terrified at the slightest thing. That's why I lay awake all night. In the end, I resolved to hand it over it to you."

This time, her mind made up, she held out the file, and I took it. I was in no hurry to open it. I wanted to go through it in my own good time. The girl considered her mission completed, and she got up to leave.

"Why didn't you give the file to Kostarakou while she was still alive?"

She was taken aback by my question. She tried to come up with an excuse. "I would have taken it to her, but various things cropped up. Also I had my classes at the university. Besides, how was I to know that they would murder her too?"

"You went to give it to her yesterday morning, but you found her dead and ran off. When you'd recovered, you went to a phone booth, called 100, and informed us without giving your name."

Some ideas come to you on the spur of the moment. You haven't given them a second's thought, they're not the result of some association, and yet you know you're right. I knew for certain that I was right when I saw the expression on Anna Antonakaki's face. She turned pale, her face lost its cold expression, and her face filled with fear. She began shouting, but her shouts had something hysterical about them, as they always do when people shout to try to come out on top.

"Are you crazy? I spent all day at the university yesterday. I heard about Kostarakou last night on the news."

"Listen, Anna," I said very gently. "It would be easy for me to verify whether or not you went to Kostarakou's house yesterday. All I have to do is comb the neighborhood, door to door, with a photograph of you in my hand, till I find someone who recognizes you."

"Do what you want," she said stubbornly. "It's my own fault for bringing you the file."

"You were right to bring it to me. Something tells me that it was because of this file that Kostarakou and your aunt were killed. You had no reason whatsoever to kill them, so you're not under suspicion. All I want to know is what time you found Kostarakou dead. It's important for our investigations."

She sat down again and stayed still. She was looking at me, but her mind was elsewhere. "I don't want to get mixed up with it. If the reporters find out, they'll start pestering my mother ... me.... We won't get any peace."

"No one will find out anything. I'm not going to ask you for a statement for the time being, and it will remain between us. Iftomorrow or the day after-we need a statement from you, then you can come and make one."

She continued to look at me suspiciously, but the fact that she wouldn't have to make a statement now reassured her somewhat. When she began to talk, her voice came out like a whisper. "I'd called her the day before to arrange to go and see her."

"What time was it when you called her?"

"At nine-thirty in the morning, but she had to leave. Then it was difficult for us to find a time convenient for both of us, so we agreed that I'd stop by the next day, before I went to my classes."

"Do you remember what time it was that you got there?"

"It must have been around ten-thirty because I had a class at eleven at the General Hospital in Goudi. If I'd rung the doorbell downstairs, she wouldn't have answered and I'd have left. But I found the door to the building open and I went straight in. I went up to the third floor and rang her bell a couple of times. No one answered. I was about to leave when I noticed that although the two door flaps were touching, the door was not locked. I pushed it open and went in. I began calling her name but got no reply. I thought about leaving the file and going, because I was in a hurry to get to my lesson. But then I thought that she must be around somewhere to have left the door open, so I went into the living room to wait for her."

She stopped and began to tremble. The tears were about to come, but she managed to restrain herself. She spoke with difficulty, faltering at every word.

"Suddenly I saw her in front of me, on the floor. Her eyes were wide open, fixed on the doorway where I was standing. It was as if she were looking at me-"

She couldn't contain herself any longer. She put her hands to her face and broke into sobs. I let her cry to relieve her feelings.

"How was the room?" I asked after a while.

"A total shambles, as if there'd been an earthquake."

"Did you touch anything?"

"I couldn't have been there for more than a minute. After I'd got over the initial shock, I took off. When I got out on to the street, I remembered I had left the door open, but I didn't dare go back. In any case, it was open when I found it."

"Where did you call us from?"

"From the hospital. At first, it didn't occur to me to call you. But before I went into my class, I realized that I had to do something, so I called 100."

"All right, Anna. We're done. And don't worry, nobody's going to find out anything. You have my word."

"Thank you." She wiped away her tears and stood up. She still had the empty plastic bag in her hands and didn't know what to do with it.

"Give it to me." I took it from her and put the file back in it. Better that no one see it until I had had time to go through it.

Anna had reached the door when it opened and in walked Thanassis.

"I've brought you the report," he said.

His gaze fell upon Anna and he froze. He kept staring at her and couldn't take his eyes off her. She gave him a casual glance, said "Bye" to me, and went out.

"Karayoryi's niece," I said, once he'd closed the door, to help him recover from his shock.

"Her niece?"

"Yes. Her name's Anna Antonakaki and she's the daughter of Karayoryi's sister. Did you see the resemblance?"

It was as if he hadn't heard me. His eyes were still on the door. Eventually, he came over and handed me the report.

"Incredible," he mumbled.

He was still saying "incredible" as he went out of the office. The same thing had happened to me when I'd first set eyes on her.

CHAPTER 25

The file was tied with a double knot on three sides. Logic dictated that I put it to one side and get on with my report. If I sent it to Ghikas, together with Thanassis's report on Kolakoglou and Karayoryi's file, I'd show him that I hadn't been concentrating on Petratos in particular but had been carrying out three simultaneous investigations. The minister and Ghikas would have to eat their words. That's what logic dictated, but my instinct told me to let logic go to hell and to open the file.

I pulled it to me and began to unfasten the knots. On top was a Kodak envelope containing negatives. I held them to the light. They were images of people and various vehicles: buses and cabs, but I couldn't make out any details. Beneath it was a newspaper cutting with a photograph of Pylarinos. I suddenly felt proud of my instinct, which had guided me correctly once again. Christos Pylarinos was one of those businessmen who had sprung up from nowhere in the last decade. An old leftist, he had fought with Markos in the resistance and, following the defeat, had ended up in an Eastern European country. In '76, he had sent his application from Prague to be repatriated. He had turned up in Athens one fine morning and had bought a tourist agency that was on the brink of going bust. Within ten years, he'd opened branches of Prespes Travel throughout Europe, with coaches on regular routes abroad. And he hadn't stopped there. He'd set up Transpilar, an overseas freight company, with a whole fleet of refrigeration trucks. Now he'd become the leading name in tourism and in overland transport.