Deadline in Athens (17 page)

"What do you know about police investigations to even have an opinion, you stupid shit?" I yelled at her.

"Don't you talk to me like that!" She jumped up in anger.

"What do you think the police are like? Like that arsehole that you watch every evening yelling his head off? They make them like that to delude credulous cows like you!"

"I won't allow you to talk to me like that!"

"As if I need your permission. Go on, get your boots on and get me something to eat!"

"Get it yourself, you pig! You bastard!" She went out, shaking from head to foot, just at the moment that I picked up the coffee table and threw it back down. It was like the coffee table that Antonakaki had in her living room, except that ours had a vase of flowers on it that fell over and soaked the carpet.

All I'd needed was one small provocation. I'd had it bottled up inside me all day and I'd taken it out on her. But I'd done it on this occasion because I'd wanted to take her down a peg or two. I knew what would be waiting for me otherwise. She'd make my life unbearable. She'd want to verify every little piece of nonsense that she heard on TV about Karayoryi's murder and ask me for details about the investigation. And I wasn't going to make two reports a day. One to Ghikas in the morning and one to Adriani in the evening. She'd stop talking to me for at least two weeks now. I'd lie on the bed with my dictionary, and I'd get some peace.

I switched off the TV and tried to put my thoughts into some order. So Kolakoglou had been released from prison after serving three-fifths of his sentence. And he had openly threatened Kara yoryi, there was no denying that. He'd spent three and a half years in prison with the thought of revenge. That's all that had kept him going. During this time, Karayoryi had published her book, which was only fat on the fire. Within a month of getting out, he'd done her in. The fact that he'd disappeared from the face of the earth was the more incriminating, together with the fact that Karayoryi was afraid for her life. She had heard that Kolakoglou had been released, and that's why she'd been frightened. The whole scenario suited me to a T, as it left out Petratos. You grab a pederast, who's already done three and a half years inside, you lock him up again, this time for life, and everybody's happy, above all Ghikas, who credits me with another twenty-five points.

Fine so far, but there was one snag in the whole imbroglio. Why would Kolakoglou risk going to the studio to kill Karayoryi? He certainly ran the risk of being recognized at any moment. Wouldn't it have been easier and safer if he'd waited for her on some street corner at night? Let's suppose, however, that he'd decided to take the risk and that he'd gone there. Wouldn't he have had a knife or something with him to cut her throat, or a rope to strangle her? Would he have left it to chance, hoping that he'd find a light stand there to do the job? I had no liking at all for Kolakoglou-I'd have been only too happy to put him away again. That was one thing, but it was another matter entirely to arrest the first villain who came to mind. Besides, there was the threatening letter among Karayoryi's papers. Kolakoglou's first name was Petros. There was no persuasive connection with the N who had signed the letters. And since there was no connection, there must have been someone else, someone other than Kolakoglou, who was threatening Karayoryi.

All this got my goat because the tidy solution I'd come up with, that left out Petratos, didn't seem so tidy in the end. I picked up the telephone and called the studio. I asked the operator, who answered in a couldn't-care-less tone, to put me through to Petratos.

"Yes," said a sharp voice.

"This is Inspector Haritos, Mr. Petratos. I saw your report about Karayoryi's murder on the news and I'd like to talk to you. Please remain there and I'll be right over"

"I can appreciate your urgency," he said with heavy irony. "Come on over. I'll be waiting for you."

It was an opportunity for me to get out of the dilemma of having to get my own meal and of losing face before Adriani. I thought that on the way back I'd stop and get a couple of souvlaki with all the spicy garnishing rather than have the spinach and rice that I hated. Not to mention that I'd reek of garlic from fifty paces and Adriani wouldn't get a wink of sleep because of the smell.

CHAPTER 16

At last, I saw the man from the defaced photograph in the flesh. He was a porky forty-something with chubby cheeks, hair cropped short at the sides and bushy on top-a real doughboy. In appearance, he played on two fronts: that of the serious news editor, with his dark gray suit; and that of the casual reporter, with turtleneck sweater, without ties or formalities.

We were inside Petratos's cubicle and I was facing him, but at an angle. Facing me was the newscaster, with his tailored suit and the handkerchief in his breast pocket. They smiled at me. Smiles full of condescension for the poor police officer who'd come to pay his respects. I played the fool because it suited me that way.

"Kolakoglou is an interesting case," I said in a friendly tone. "Of course, it's a little too early to say for sure that he's our murderer. We will need to continue investigating."

They swapped more smiles and Petratos shrugged. "We're done with our investigation," he said. "But you go ahead. When all's said and done, it's your job to investigate."

"That's why I'm here to see you. Do you have any other evidence, that you haven't yet revealed to your audience and that might help our investigation?"

"We don't keep cards up our sleeves, Inspector," the newscaster broke in. "What evidence we have, we come out with it, so that the public may be informed."

Petratos rested his elbows on the desk and put his hands together. "Let's speak openly, Inspector Haritos. Yesterday, Mr. Delopoulos suggested that we work together. You'd give us precedence in informing us about the course of your investigation and we'd give you whatever evidence we have. This morning I sent Kostarakou to see you. Not only did you not tell her anything, but you even interrogated her. And now you're asking us to give you evidence. That's not the way it works."

"I didn't give any information to Miss Kostarakou because I had nothing to tell her. We're still in the dark. You're already one step ahead of us." If it seemed as if I was sucking up to them, I wasn't; it was a tactical maneuver. Not one learned from the FBI, but one learned in the Greek village. "That's why I came to ask for your help. From tomorrow morning, we'll be inundated with phone calls. Every two minutes someone tells us that they've seen Kolakoglou. We don't know where this mass hysteria will take Kolakoglou. So we have to find him, and quickly."

"We disagree on that too, Inspector Haritos." He looked at me as if I were a person with special needs, who had to be taught basic literacy. "Would that the public were so concerned about Yanna Karayoryi's murder as to take to the streets tomorrow and look for her murderer. That would not only be a huge journalistic coup, but also a mark of recognition for everything Yanna achieved."

"And what if the murderer was someone else? Okay, there's incriminating evidence with regard to Kolakoglou, but we cannot yet be certain that he killed her. He may be innocent."

"What are you afraid of?" the newscaster said. "That you might tarnish the reputation of a pederast who was sentenced to six years in prison?"

"No. I'm afraid that we may waste time looking for the wrong person.

"First of all, it's not our job to prove Kolakoglou's guilt," Petratos broke in. "We're simply handing him over. Everything else is up to you.

In other words, they were lumbering us with Kolakoglou. It was for us to run around and prove his guilt. Meanwhile, they'd fill their news bulletins with the story and up their ratings.

"Anyway, you're worrying for nothing," Petratos went on. "It's ninety percent certain that he's the murderer. If it hadn't been for Yanna, he'd have got away with his squalid little crimes. He's the only one with a motive."

"You're wrong," I said quietly. "There are others who had motives too. Even you."

He stared at me open-mouthed and the image of the doughboy was complete. He couldn't decide whether I'd said it seriously or in jest. In the end, he evidently plumped for the latter, because he let out a howl of merriment.

"Me? You are pulling my leg, of course."

I didn't reply, but turned to the newscaster, who was trying to recover his poise. "Would you leave us, please?"

The newscaster was taken aback and didn't know what to do. He responded, however, to Petratos's nod and got up.

"I don't like your tone at all, Inspector," he said to me icily.

"Nor I yours, especially when you're presenting the news." It left him speechless. He would happily have slammed the door behind him, but it was made of aluminum and he was probably afraid of bringing the whole cubicle down behind him.

"So, Inspector? What motive did I have for killing Yanna Karayoryi?"

"You had an affair with her. She used you to scramble up the ladder, and when she'd got where she wanted, she dumped you."

He made an effort to maintain his ironic smile but failed, because he hadn't liked what he'd heard.

"Who told you that?"

"We asked and we found out. That's our job."

"Just because we had an affair and split up-I stress that she didn't dump me, we split up-that doesn't mean that I had a reason to kill her."

"I heard it differently, Mr. Petratos. You didn't split up, she dumped you as soon as she had direct access to Mr. Delopoulos and could do as she liked without having to go through you. She offended not only your male but also your professional pride. You would have given anything to teach her a lesson, but she had Mr. Delopoulos behind her. You could neither control her nor fire her. And from what I know of Karayoryi, she would have made sure she re minded you of that every working day, which of course made you furious." If I'd had the photographs with me, I'd have stuck them in his undefaced face, but I'd left them in my office.

He was fuming inside but was trying hard to appear calm. "That's all speculation on your part, there's no evidence whatsoever for it."

"It's not speculation. It's the conclusion from statements made by witnesses. Karayoryi's murder has all the elements of a crime of passion. That fits Kolakoglou's case, but it also fits yours, given that you'd written her threatening letters."

His surprise seemed genuine, at least as genuine as a journalist could get. "Me?" he said after some time. "I wrote Yanna threatening letters?"

"We found them in the drawer of her desk. In the last one you openly threaten her."

"And is my signature on those letters?"

Now it was me who was in a tight spot. "You signed them N. Your name is Nestor, if I'm not mistaken."

"And because you found some threatening letters signed by someone with the initial N, you automatically concluded that I wrote them? What can I say? The police force should be proud of you."

I ignored the insult and said, very calmly: "It's easy for us to prove who's right. The letters are written by hand. Give me a sample of your handwriting and I'll compare it with that on the letters."

"No!" he answered in a rage. "If you want a sample of my handwriting, you can take me down to the station for interrogation and ask for it officially, in the presence of my lawyer! And if you're wrong, I'll drag your name through the gutters!"

And the whole of the police force with it. From the minister down. I'd be lucky to get away with a transfer to the VIP guard.

"First, you have to prove that I had the opportunity to kill her. Yanna came to the studio at around eleven-thirty. I'd left by ten. At least four people saw me leaving."

"They saw you entering the elevator. That doesn't necessarily mean that you left."

"So where did I hide? In a cupboard or maybe inside a wardrobe?"

"In the parking lot," I said. "You took the elevator down to the parking garage, hid there, and came back up just before the latenight news."

So far I'd been doing quite well, but then he lost his temper, jumped to his feet, and started shouting: "You won't get away with this. You can't go around making unfounded accusations."

"What accusations?" I said in all innocence. "Weren't you the one to suggest we exchange information? I'm giving you what I have. You can hardly complain."

By the time he realized that he'd walked into the trap, I was outside his office.

As I crossed the newsroom, some young reporters who were still at their desks turned and looked at me inquisitively. I walked out without paying any attention to them. I'd pressed the button for the elevator when, coming down the corridor, I saw Kostarakou.

"Hello," she said rather formally and walked on past me. I let the elevator go and went after her.

"Are you sure that Karayoryi didn't say anything else to you on the phone?"

"I told you all I know this morning," she said coldly. "There's nothing more. Because of you, I got into hot water with Petratos."

"Did you say anything to Petratos about the photograph I showed you?"

"Of course not. If I'd told him about the photograph as well, he'd have canned me on the spot, given the vile mood he was in."

"If Karayoryi spoke to you on the phone about the story she was preparing, it would be better for you to tell me now, before it's too late."

She didn't even trouble to reply. She shot me a poisonous look and walked off.

When I stepped out of the elevator, I ran into the backstreet marine. He puffed up his body, his arms and legs apart.

"Here again? Any developments?"

"Why do you always stand like that with your legs apart? Are you chapped?" I asked, and went off to find some souvlaki.

CHAPTER 17

"The profile fits at any rate."

It was the first time he'd used the English word profile. I made a note to look it up later in the OED. It was nine-thirty in the morning and I was giving my report to Ghikas concerning Kolakoglou. He guessed that I hadn't understood "profile" and was waiting to see how I'd react. But I was wise to what he meant-that Kolakoglou would do quite nicely for the murderer-and I began listing everything that didn't ring true. It didn't ring true that Kolakoglou had gone to the studio and risked being recognized. It didn't ring true that he'd have gone without a murder weapon if he'd gone to kill her. And I reminded him that Kolakoglou was not the only suspect.