Deadline in Athens (33 page)

"Where did he get the knife?"

"He said he took it from the kitchen." His grim laugh made plain his disbelief. "We've got him in solitary confinement. Do you want to talk to him?"

What would he tell me? Even if he'd been put up to it, he would stick to his story. Just like Seki. "No. But I would like to take a look at the victim's personal effects."

"Come this way."

He took me to the storeroom, where they'd put the Albanian's belongings. When I saw them, my mouth fell open. New underwear, new socks, two new shirts, a pair of shoes, evidently unworn, and a brand new anorak. I asked the warden: "Where did he get all this from? When he left us, he was wearing an old anorak and a patched pair of jeans."

"I'll ask. Maybe a visitor brought them for him."

"You didn't find a wallet? Any money?"

"No, but if he had any on him, it would be at the General Hospital in Nikaia, together with the clothes that he was wearing."

From what the warden found out, the Albanian didn't have a single visitor all the time that he was in the prison.

I went back the same way along Grigori Lambraki Street, more worried than I had been on the outward journey. The new clothes lent even more credence to the idea that the Albanian had been killed to keep his mouth shut. For that good-for-nothing to have had enough money to buy an entire wardrobe meant that someone had been paying him for his trouble. And the only trouble he'd gone to was to kill the couple. How he had got hold of the money, yet had no visitors, was simple. They'd sent it to him by means of a guard. After the first interrogation, they hadn't been worried because he'd convinced me that he'd killed them on account of the girl. They'd paid him and their minds were at rest. But when the public examiner had called him for a second interrogation, they'd been scared and had bumped him off so as to leave no loose ends.

Preoccupied as I was, I missed the turn for Chrysostomou Smyr- nis. I had to go back onto Petrou Ralli Street and return via Thivon Street.

The doctor who had dealt with the Albanian had gone, but I found a supervisor who was willing to help. She took me herself to the storeroom. The Albanian's clothes had been put into a large bag. I took everything out and went through them piece by piece. He had been wearing the same anorak he'd had when he left us, but his jeans were new. But again, I found no money.

"Didn't he have any cash on him?" I asked the supervisor, who had stayed to help me.

"If he did, it would be in the accounts department."

The head of the accounts department was getting ready to leave and made no attempt to conceal his displeasure at being delayed. He opened the safe and handed me a wallet. It was a cheap plastic one with a gold outline of the Acropolis on it, the kind you find at any of the kiosks in Omonia Square. It was stuffed and difficult to fold. I opened it and took out a fistful of 5,000-drachma notes and three 1,000-drachma notes. I counted the 5,000s. There were twenty-five. The scoundrel had been carrying 128,000 on him. Add to that what he'd spent on his wardrobe. He must have had around 200,000. The rest of what was in his wallet were papers written in Albanian, so I couldn't read what they said, but they resembled official documents. Last of all, I unfastened the pocket for loose change. I didn't find any coins, but I did find a crumpled piece of paper and I opened it up. Someone had written in Albanian characters and in capital letters: 34 KOUMANOUDI STREET, GIZI. I studied the paper, then shoved it into my pocket, thanked the supervisor, and left.

CHAPTER 35

My stomach had settled, but the coffee and croissant made me feel sick. I had spent the entire previous evening in the kitchen. No dictionaries, no nine o'clock news, nothing. Adriani had been cooking so that I would have plenty to eat while she was away, and I'd been keeping her company. We were going through one of our sloppy phases. Roast pork, fresh beans, fried meatballs, all meals you could eat cold so that I wouldn't have to warm them up. I looked at it all and felt sorry for all the expense because as soon as her back was turned I'd be into the souvlaki. Adriani doesn't let me eat them because, she says, they make them from old meat and fat and it's bad for my cholesterol. I didn't give a shit. I loved them. It wasn't likely that I'd eat more than two meals worth of the food she was preparing. A day or so before she came back from Thessaloniki, I'd throw it in the rubbish so she wouldn't find it in the fridge and whine about it.

"What did you do with the names of the passengers that Sotiris gave you?" I asked Thanassis, who was looking at me, like every morning.

He raised his hands in the air. "It was impossible for me to get anywhere with the airport. They asked me if they were scheduled flights or charters, and I didn't know. They asked me for the airline companies and the flight numbers. I didn't know that either. All I know is that they were arranged through Prespes Travel, but that's not enough. They referred me to the airline companies that fly those routes, but they can't help me either unless I give them more information. The only way is to get it direct from Prespes Travel."

I knew that myself, but that wasn't possible for the time being. Once I was alone, I called Koula. "I have to see the superintendent. It's urgent"

"One moment." She put me on hold while she conferred with him. Then she told me that he was free and I could come up.

This time, the elevator did me the favor of arriving right away. Ghikas listened to the story of the Albanian without interrupting me. I showed him the paper with the address in Gizi.

"When can I have a team from the Special Armed Force to go to .arty-four Koumanoudi Street?"

"What do you want the SAF for?"

"I don't know what I'll find and I want to be ready for anything."

He telephoned the head of the SAF to discuss it with him. "They'll let you know as soon as they're ready. Count on about fifteen minutes."

I went back to my office to see what Sotiris was up to.

"Hourdakis has a wife, a son, and a mother-in-law. They all have bank accounts. His is with the National Bank, his wife's with the Commercial Bank, his mother-in-law's with the Credit Bank, and his son's with Citibank. I've already submitted a request to the public prosecutors'. Once we have the okay from the Magistrates' Council, we'll open them up."

"Get on with it, because I'm in a hurry."

I didn't take the Mirafiori. I went in the SAF van. We parked it one street away, on Soutsou Street, so as not to attract attention. While the SAF boys surrounded the block, I went to number 34 and looked at the doorbells. There were about fifteen flats. Most of them family homes. The exceptions were a dentist's, a commercial firm, and one bell rather vaguely labeled THE FOXES.

"Let's start with this one," I said to the two SAF men who had come with me.

I rang the bell of the commercial firm and they opened the front door. We went through the floors one by one. The Foxes' flat was on the third floor. The SAF men took up positions on either side of the door and I rang the bell.

"Who's there?" asked a woman's voice. From those two words alone, I knew she was foreign.

"Open up! Police!"

I got no answer and the door didn't open. All I heard was footsteps scampering away.

"Should we break down the door?" one of the SAF men asked me. "One kick and we're in."

"Wait. They might still open it."

"It's wrong for us to wait," said the other one, giving me a lesson. "If they're armed, they'll have time to organize themselves."

With all the noise, the doors of the other flats opened. In one doorway an obviously retired couple appeared and in the other a woman holding a little boy.

"Get back inside and lock your doors!" the SAF man shouted at them.

The woman pulled the boy inside and slammed the door, while the old woman cried out in real fear: "Don't! There are children inside!"

We've startled a hare, I thought to myself, while from inside the flat another voice, not foreign this time, said: "Who is it?"

"Come on, woman, get a move on. Police, open up!" I said.

"Who is it you want?"

"Will you open the door or do you want us to break it down?" said one of the SAF men, who was just looking for an excuse to play the tough TV detective.

The door opened and a tall, thin woman of around forty-five was standing there. Her hair was graying at the temples, and she wasn't wearing any makeup. She didn't seem to be startled by the SAF men and their automatic weapons.

"Who is it you want?"

I pushed her aside, without answering. The two SAF men followed behind me and closed the door. We found ourselves in a small, square hallway, facing a closed sliding glass door.

"Who gave you permission to barge into my home? I demand an explanation!" The tone of her voice had become severe, but her manner was still calm and composed.

Again, I didn't answer her. I opened the sliding door and found myself in the space of two adjoining rooms. One half was living room, the other half playroom. Opposite me in the two corners were two armchairs with a coffee table between them. The floor was covered by a grenadine carpet. Four young children, a boy and three girls, were playing on it. They seemed to be roughly the same age, two or three, and they were all poorly dressed but clean. Lying around them were dolls, toy cars, building bricks.

I squatted down next to a little girl who was playing with a doll and asked: "What's your name?" She didn't reply but pointed to her doll. "Do you like your doll?" Again, the girl didn't answer, but nodded yes. The little boy grabbed the doll from her. The girl burst into tears. They began quarreling in a language I didn't understand but that resembled Albanian.

"Will you kindly tell me what's going on?"

My silence and indifference had rankled her and she was shouting. I went on as before, ignoring her.

In the middle of the other room was a large playpen. Two toddlers were crawling around inside it, while a third was standing up, hanging on to the netting. I looked around and went back into the hall. The woman, who followed me out, realized she wasn't going to get anything out of me and turned to the SAF men.

"Who is this man? Would you mind telling me?" The SAF men pretended not to hear.

"You leave me no choice but to call the police to find out who you are and who gave you orders to barge into my home!" she said threateningly, but without carrying out her threat.

The hall opened into a corridor on the right. The kitchen was on the right of the corridor and, beside it, a closed door, presumably the bathroom. I glanced around the kitchen. A young woman was sitting with her arms resting on the table. She looked at me and was shaking all over from fear. Facing me was another room in the flat. I looked in through the open door and saw two bassinets. I went inside and saw three more, all five together in a row, all with babies in them. Infants of all ages and for every taste.

The woman had grown tired of following me around and had stayed in the hall waiting for me. I turned and went up to her. "What's your name?" I asked her abruptly, Officer Bulldog now.

"Eleni Dourou."

"So, in addition to acting as an intermediary in kidney transplants, you also take care of children, Mrs. Dourou."

She was startled, but admirably maintained her composure. "I am a qualified child care provider and my nursery is operating legally, with a license from the Ministry of Social Services."

"And what kind of children do you take care of?"

"Any child whose parents can pay my fees. I do not discriminate."

"I want the list with the children's parents. All the details. Names, addresses, and phone numbers."

"What for?"

"Don't ask questions. Asking questions is my job. Just give me the list."

For the first time she lost her presence of mind and faltered. "I'll give it to you, but their parents are all abroad."

"All of them?"

"All."

"Where abroad?"

"I don't know where exactly. They go away for a length of time ... weeks.. . months ... and because they don't have anywhere to leave their children, I take care of them till they get back."

There was a telephone on the coffee table in the living room. I called Thanassis. "Send a female officer immediately to Thirty-four Koumanoudi Street in Gizi. Third floor. Name is `The Foxes: And phone the Ministry of Social Services. Get them to send a child carer to the same address. Do it right away, it's urgent."

"What's all that for?" Dourou said, when I hung up.

"You and the girl are coming with me to the station."

"Are you arresting me? On what charge?" Every time she felt threatened, her composure and audacity returned.

"For the present, all I want is to ask you a few questions. I'll decide on the rest later."

I wanted to jump for joy, but Dourou was smart and I held back so as not to give myself away. Leaving her in the dark would increase her anxiety and insecurity.

"Sit down," I said to Dourou. "We'll be off as soon as the female officer and child carer arrive."

She hesitated for a moment. Then she decided to put on a show of being unconcerned. We sat silent in the two armchairs, with the kiddies playing at our feet. Every so often, one of the kids would come up to her and show her a toy. She caressed them and talked to them. And when two of them started fighting, she'd take one into her arms to comfort them. I was surprised at how tenderly she behaved toward the kids. Standing opposite me were the two SAF men. They'd lowered their automatic weapons and were holding them discreetly at their sides. As soon as they got back to their base, they'd make me a laughing stock at the station for having got the SAF involved in an all-out assault on a nursery.

Half an hour later, the female officer arrived with the child carer. While I was giving instructions to the former, Dourou was telling the latter what to do. When to feed the children, when to change the babies' diapers, showing her the ropes.

"Let's go," I said, when we'd both finished. I shouted to the SAF men for one of them to bring the girl, who he'd been guarding in the kitchen.