Devil of Delphi: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery (18 page)

Kharon shook his head. Crazy how otherwise intelligent people thought they could trust total strangers to do dangerous things for them. Spouses trying to find someone to kill their mates were just the tip of the iceberg on that score. The lucky ones ended up being stung by an undercover cop, the others milked by blackmailers for life.

Teacher had pegged the old man right. She knew he’d offer money in exchange for his son’s life. It was just a matter of setting him up for it. She’d left those details to Kharon. He liked that sort of improvisational freedom.

He knew his gambit about having to make two phone calls within an hour of each other wouldn’t work without the photographs. That’s why he’d spent the day before taking candid shots of the grandchildren. Preparation always paid off.

Kharon pondered whether he actually could have killed those children. He’d never killed a child. Then again, the choice would not have been his, as he’d only threatened their death should Tank’s father kill him first. To Kharon, that order of events made serious soul-searching on the subject a meaningless waste of time.

Besides, it was all a bluff. Kharon had been out there on a tightrope, performing without a net, the entire scenario made up, including the telephone call to his “boss.” He’d dialed the number for the weather and recited song lyrics until he sensed he’d softened Tank’s father up enough to hit him with Teacher’s demand: an amount she’d told him the day before.

He found the bike right where he’d left it. It would be a long ride home in traffic. He’d be lucky to make it in six hours; depending on how much time it took to get to where he’d left the BMW. He couldn’t wait to ditch this piece of crap. He should have known better than to steal a rental motorbike. Then again, he had no reason to rush home to Delphi. Or to Hosios Loukas.

What a stroke of luck for Tank to end up in a monastery Kharon knew so well and so close to his home.

Once again, he had to credit Teacher and her connections for finding Tank. She’d guessed he’d hidden out on a church property.

“Greeks always flee to churches. It’s tradition,” she’d told him.

It took a little more than a day of working her banking connections to come up with a list of religious institutions enjoying Tank’s family’s generosity. But after hearing Hosios Loukas Monastery had made the list, it took Kharon only two bottles of wine and a fine dinner with a talkative fellow who worked maintenance at the monastery to learn that the newest member of the community was a “celebrity” from Thessaloniki.

Kharon started the bike and eased out onto the road. The early afternoon was hot, but the wind would keep him cool.

Kharon wondered if, for his part, Tank’s father would keep things cool…or heat them up. The next play was up to him.

***

“Are you calling with more good news?” asked Teacher.

“I’m beginning to worry I might be spoiling you.”

“To the contrary. You’re building up a rather large credit balance for the day you inevitably fail.”

“Here’s hoping that day never comes.”

“Why? Failure is reality. We all do at some point. It forms us, makes us stronger.”

“Considering what I do for you, failure is likely to mean I am no more.”

“Hmm. Perhaps you’re right.”

“I’d have preferred if you’d disagreed with me on that point.”

Teacher laughed. “Touché.”

“Tank’s father just called me.”

“That was quick. It’s not even dinner time.”

“He said he’s trying to see what sort of package he can put together, but because he knew whatever number we agreed upon would be ‘a very large one’—those were his words—he couldn’t possibly get back to me by tomorrow. He said he needed a week and since his son had just told him you were involved, he didn’t want to raise a question with you over his ‘
bona fides
’ waiting until tomorrow to make that request.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, he apologized for speaking to me as he did. Said he’d never have done that had he known I was your emissary.”

“What did you say?”

“Thank you, but that your number was non-negotiable. He said he understood that, but all he could do was promise to give us what he could raise and if that wasn’t enough there wasn’t a thing in the world he could do about it.”

“Did you mention the three hundred million his family made in ripping off the Greek government of its tax dollars in that electricity bill scam?”

“Yes. He said the actual amount was far less and he only got to keep a small part of even that.”

“Interesting that he didn’t deny his involvement. The father knows how to negotiate. I respect that. Even if not a word of what else he said is true. I should have been in business with him rather than the son.”

“What should I tell him?”

“What he expects. Give him two days and tell him if we don’t have an answer with an acceptable number
and
the money in hand by then, he’d best start making funeral arrangements.”

“And just what is that number?”

“I’ll let you decide. Just make sure it’s big enough to be painful, but not so much that he decides to sacrifice his son.”

“If Tank were my kid, fifty euros would be too much.”

Teacher chuckled. “You’re not a parent.”

“Okay, I’ll figure something out.”

“Just be careful and don’t take chances. After all, by now the father knows you’re the one who killed his daughter.”

“No doubt about it. My picture must have been taken a thousand times with all the surveillance cameras around his house. Anyone in the
cafenion
that day with Tank could identify me. But that cuts two ways…it lets him know I’m serious.”

“True, but like I said, Kharon, be careful. Just because you live in Delphi doesn’t mean you can always rely upon your Fates to protect you.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

They exchanged good-byes and Teacher hung up the phone.
This one has great promise.
He was a bit of good news in her life. Now if only her health remained stable.

She picked up a file on her desk bearing Tank’s father’s name across the front and opened it to a financial summary prepared by her banking sources. She studied it for a moment and looked up at the photograph on her desk.

“The man asked for a week to raise less than fifty million when he has four times that amount sitting in Swiss and Luxembourg banks, every cent capable of being wired to me instantly. Is he just negotiating for a better price or does he have something else in mind?”

Teacher put down the file. She had wondered whether to tell Kharon about it when he called, and decided not. She’d reconsidered for a moment, but again decided no. It would be a good learning experience for him.

Chapter Twenty-two

Maggie and Kouros came bursting into Andreas’ office.

“What the hell’s with you two? Is there a fire?”

“We identified the shooter,” said Maggie.

“Kharon?”

“Yes, but only because of her.” Kouros bowed to Maggie. “If Maggie had made copies of the drawing of the killer instead of my doing it myself, we’d have known who he was the day of the murder.”

Andreas looked at Maggie. “I’ll take that to mean I should have shown you the photographs Rolex emailed me.”

Maggie shrugged. “What can I say? I can’t expect you two hotshots to show me every piece of paper that passes through this office.” She smiled. “But it wasn’t all that hard to figure out who he was.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Kouros. “I spent a day plowing through mug shots, and days more showing cops the drawing and photos without getting so much as a guess at an ID. Maggie gets just a glimpse of the drawing on my desk and—
bingo
—she nails him.”

Maggie fake punched Kouros in the shoulder. “And don’t forget the part about the drawing being upside down when I first saw it.”

“When the two of you are done with the love-in part of your routine, would one of you mind telling me who our mystery killer is?”

“The kid who killed two boys in that orphanage about a dozen years back,” said Maggie.

Andreas’ face held a blank stare.

“I can understand Yianni not recalling, he was a kid, but you must remember. It was in every magazine, every newspaper, on every television channel. The twelve-year-old who escaped conviction and a record because of his age.”

Andreas began to nod. “Yes, it’s coming back. The papers vilified him. But how could you recognize him from the drawing? He was only a boy then.”

“From the eyes. I’d looked at them a thousand times, wondering how a child could kill so brutally.”

“He wasn’t exactly a child,” said Kouros.

“Yes, he was,” snapped Maggie. “And what I saw in those eyes then, I saw in
his
eyes in the drawing.”

“And what did you see?” said Andreas.

“Something not from this earth.” Maggie crossed herself.

“From heaven or hell?” said Andreas.

“Not sure.”

“But you’re sure it’s him?”

“Positive,” said Kouros. “We ran his name through our national database and came up with a military service record and photo. It’s definitely him.”

“Any arrest record?”

“Clean as a whistle.”

“What about his military history?”

“Two years, no trouble, made it through advanced special forces training, but left after two years.”

“Do you have an address for him?”

Kouros smiled. “It’s Jacobi’s place in Exarchia.”

“I guess we have our man. What’s his name?”

“Fred Raucous.”

“What kind of Greek name is that?”

Maggie laughed. “Your education obviously did not include the source of all knowledge in Greece. The tabloids. Everything about him came out in those rags after the murders. He’d arrived at the orphanage an anonymous newborn. No father, no mother, no name. The nurse in charge of naming new admissions once lived in America and, being a big fan of the American dancer Fred Astaire, called him Fred. She told reporters that when she jokingly asked the baby ‘What should I name you that goes with Fred?’ he let out such a bloodcurdling scream she took it as a sign to use the Greek sounding English word meaning ‘a disturbing harsh or loud noise.’
Voila
, Fred Raucous.”

“I don’t know about his dancing, but he’s sure lived up to the bloodcurdling part,” said Andreas.

Maggie rolled her eyes.

“So, now what do we do?” said Kouros.

“It doesn’t really change anything. We still have no solid evidence of his guilt, whether we call him Kharon or Fred.” Andreas shook his head. “But dropping his real name as the sister’s possible killer into the already massive media shit storm raging out there raises mind-blowing ramifications I can’t even begin to comprehend at this moment.”

Andreas stood up and walked around his desk. “So, I think I’ll just sleep on it. And to do that I must first go home. Which is precisely what the two of you should do. You both did great work. Take the rest of the day off.”

“It’s almost eight,” said Maggie.

“At night,” added Kouros.

“Well, it’s the thought that counts. See you tomorrow.”

Andreas ignored the diverse collection of hand gestures that followed him out the door.

***

The National Gardens served as a source of great pride to Athenians and, in summer, a respite from the intense heat. Cool evenings drew locals out in hordes, and for those who could afford it, dinner in the Garden’s chicest restaurant close by the nineteenth-century neoclassical Zappeion Megaron, a sunshine-yellow and white masterpiece, constructed as part of a plan for reviving the modern Olympic Games.

Lila and Andreas lived only a few hundred yards away, just across the street from the Gardens, and like many of the restaurant’s regular customers, chose to sit outside. Their table offered a spectacular view of the Zappeion’s Corinthian portico, but much like museum guards surrounded by familiar treasures, most regulars would only have taken full notice of the sight if it vanished.

“It’s a beautiful night to be eating at the Aigle,” said Lila, adjusting the light blanket over her son in his stroller.

“It was a great idea you had to come here.” Andreas looked at his son’s sleeping face. “And to bring Tassaki with us.”

“Why not? It’s the Greek way. Bring your kids along to sleep while you party. Besides, I’d promised Marietta the night off.”

“Were the Gardens like this when you grew up?”

“Pretty much so, though I haven’t checked recently to see if the flashers are still hanging out in the bushes.”

“Flashers? You mean like the kind that, uh…” Andreas pointed at his groin.

Lila nodded. “Yep, raincoats, and all.”

“I never noticed them.”

“I doubt you’re their type.”

“I better start teaching Tassaki self-defense.”

Lila smiled. “I’ve a better idea. Let’s teach him how to push a stroller. That way he can earn his keep for hanging out with us at night.”

Andreas took Lila’s hand and kissed it. “Soon enough he’ll want to be alone. Figuring things out for himself.”

“Darling, he’s only four.”

Andreas turned and fixed his eyes in the direction of the Zappeion.

“What’s on your mind?”

Andreas shook his head and looked back at Lila. “Nothing.”

She stared at him.

“Well, just thinking about my father, and how differently things likely would have turned out had he lived.”

“I think you turned out rather nicely.”

Andreas smiled. “I’m not complaining. In fact, I’m feeling a bit guilty about my thoughts.”

“How’s that?”

“My father died when I was eight, and if he’d lived I’m sure he’d have tried to steer my life.”

“He was a cop and you’re a cop. Where else would he have steered you?”

“No, I mean in my personal life. He’d have wanted me to marry and have a family with someone known to our family.”

“Leaving me out of the running for the spot.”

Andreas nodded. “Precisely. My mother tried before we met, but it’s not the same thing as when your father’s pressing you.”

Lila smiled. “Are you complaining?”

“Nope, just trying to remember to keep that in mind whenever I think I have all the answers for our kids.”

“Meaning?”

“The right person may not be from your own clan.”

“I get it. It’s the person, not the packaging that matters.”

“Yep,” said Andreas.

“If I recall correctly, you most enjoyed the unwrapping.”

Andreas reached down and squeezed her thigh with his hand. “Still do.”

She pressed his hand. “Me too.”

“I’ve changed. I know it.”

“No you haven’t. You’re still the same lovable iconoclast I married.”

“Yes I have.” Andreas smiled. “Just knowing what ‘iconoclast’ means proves it. All this is part of the life we lead.” He waved his arms around him. “Not in my wildest dreams did I ever think I’d be sitting in a place like this, exchanging nods and smiles with our country’s movers and shakers as if we’re old friends.”

“We are.”

“No, you are, but I’ve come to accept that I’m now part of it. It comes with the territory of being your husband.”

“Okay, you met them because of me, but you’re liked because of what you are as a man.”

“I’m not complaining. Just telling you all this has me thinking of my responsibilities as a father.” He paused. “A father has the bottom line duty of leading his children to appreciate a world without limits both in terms of what they can achieve in their careers and personal relationships, provided, of course, their choices are of good character.”

“And that your children are raised to be of good character.”

“For sure. Sitting all around us are examples of fathers and mothers with money and power who believe that entitles their children to do whatever they want to themselves and anyone else.”

“Why do I sense you’re getting off the subject of our children?”

“I see you’re wired into my thoughts.”

“Yep, like all good wives.”

“Scary.”

“And don’t you forget it. So what’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking about how Tank ended up like he did. And what part his father played in all of that.”

“A lot,” said Lila. “The father is a white-collar political crook. Smart and self-important to an extreme. He let his children run their lives any way they wanted without regard to right or wrong, always bailing them out whenever they got in trouble. But the mother’s no prize either. She did little more than bear the children, leaving the rest to nursemaids and nannies while she spent most of her time in their Athens apartment playing around in Athens society. She and her husband haven’t lived together for years.”

“Some parents.”

Lila nodded. “Sort of like letting your dogs run wild on fenced-in property you control, thinking no harm can possibly come to them while they’re under your protection.”

“Until one day little puppy Tank opened a gate and let the Teacher-wolf in.”

“And?”

Andreas shrugged. “No idea. Not a word on anything from anyone anywhere.”

“Quiet as a graveyard, huh?”

“I like that analogy a lot better than the one that’s been running through my mind.”

“Which is?”

“The calm before the storm.”