Devil of Delphi: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery (12 page)

No reason to plow those thoughts again.

They’d each made their own beds and now they were lying in them. Alone. At least not with each other. She had her parties and he had his career. When they’d met in university, she was searching for a husband who’d advance her pretensions to social prominence and he for someone to buy him a career. They settled on each other, and used her family’s money to achieve both. Now, it was all about maintaining appearances.

He reached over to open the bottom drawer of the nightstand and pulled out the bottles of pills. He shook one from each into the palm of his left hand and stared at them.

“Whatever dreams I have left for my life depend on you.”

There were no children to hug, no family left to talk to, just the pills. He put them in his mouth and swallowed. Gagging, he reached for a bottle of water on the nightstand and drank until the gagging passed.

He put the bottles back and sat staring at them sitting in the open drawer.

Why am I so afraid to talk to her?
He already knew the answer. His wife’s life followed an immutable plan, known only to her, with no allowances for the slightest sidetrack or delay. He wondered if she’d had an unscripted moment their entire life together.

He sighed, stood, and walked to the window. He studied his hands in the moonlight passing through the curtains. No one else was in the house, just him and his thoughts. He felt very much alone, that he’d gotten old, and more foolish. He worried about his image, how he’d be remembered. But by whom? He could not think of one soul out there who cared a damn about whether he lived or died.

Spiros shook his head. There must be more to life than this. “
There has to be!”
He shouted the last few words so loudly they’d echoed back at him.

“Ah, a voice I can understand. Perhaps I should listen to you more often.” He rubbed his forehead with his right hand, reached out with that same hand, and pulled back the curtain.

The other voice he heard in this house only spoke the truth to distract or assuage him, and never without motive. He wondered whether his wife’s depressions were a distraction too? Or were they real? She seemed so lost, so unfocused at those times. And he would concede whatever issue troubled her so, no matter how trivial to her but meaningful to him. What choice did he have? After all, life was all about her and no one else.

He let the curtain drop back into place. “I want to share my problem with you. I
must
share my problem with you.
You are my wife
.”

There was the sound of a door opening somewhere in the house. Spiros hurried back to bed. He did not want to talk anymore.

Chapter Thirteen

Andreas looked at the calendar on his desk. Kouros had finished going through mug shots and came up empty. He’d had no better luck spending another two days showing the artist’s sketch of the killer to every cop he’d thought might recognize him.

On top of that, even magical Maggie couldn’t manage to hook Andreas up with his old friend who’d once headed the ministry’s organized crime division.

As Andreas saw it, nothing was going right, but Maggie kept telling him to trust in the stars.

“Everything will improve as soon as Mercury comes out of retrograde.”

Andreas was considering the implications of astrology as an aid to police work when his mobile rang.

“Hi, Chief, it’s Petro.”

“Still in Thessaloniki?”

“Yep, into my third day watching the carryings-on of Tank and his merry men.”

“Any better luck than with the first two?”

“Wish I could say yes, but Tank’s spending all his time playing grieving brother. He’s working every opportunity to put the image of his
slaughtered
sister in front of the media and demand that the government clamp down on what he calls a
foreign terrorist element
trying to muscle in on legitimate Greek businessmen.”

“I know. I’m getting calls from virtually every member of the three-hundred.”

“The what? I assume you’re not talking about the Spartans of Thermopylae.”

“No, those three hundred we could use. I’m talking about the three hundred members of our illustrious Parliament.”

“We could use less of those.”

“A lot less. Can’t you at least come up with something exciting to tell me to justify your three days on the road at taxpayer expense?”

“I’ve trailed Tank’s crew to a long list of places buying bootleg. Amazing how many bars, clubs, liquor stores, restaurants, and hotels are into counterfeit.”

“That’s the best you can do? They’ll all swear they didn’t know it was counterfeit.”

“Chief, you asked me to come up with something exciting. Whether or not it’ll get someone put away is a different story. Besides, that’s just the intro to my report. I spotted some trucks unloading what looked to be booze at the same warehouse Tank’s crew uses for making deliveries. I traced one load back to a ship out of Northern Cyprus, another took me up to the border with Bulgaria. He kept going, I didn’t.”

“A wise decision.”

“A third truck took me straight to a place making the stuff. It’s in the boondocks of Salonika and looks like a small-time operation.”

“With our legitimate economy cratered everywhere but in tourism, I’m surprised more Greeks aren’t into manufacturing
bomba
,” said Andreas. “I’m also willing to bet, if we don’t put a stop to whatever Tank’s got working, that operation and a lot of others won’t be small-time for long.”

“Wish I could say I’m any closer to getting a line on whoever’s behind Tank, but I’m not.”

“Join the club.” Andreas fluttered his lips. “I’m open for suggestions on how we can get Tank to arrange a face-to-face meeting with the big boss.”

“I don’t have any ideas off the top of my head, but how about a tap on his phones? We might catch them talking.”

“Ah, yes, a phone tap. And let’s not forget to add to our little wish list of judicial and ministerial cooperation, permission to access Tank’s bank transactions and financial history. Trouble is, between his family connections and all the publicity over his sister’s death, I can’t conceive of us getting that sort of authorization.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch Tank making payments to his boss in a suitcase filled with cash?”

“I’ll add that one to my prayers, but I doubt they’re doing transfers that way. Without Tank’s cooperation, tracking down who’s getting the money will require us to wade through a mess of offshore corporations and cooperative bankers that these types of international bad guys use to launder money upstream. Our getting permission to conduct that sort of full-scale forensic investigation would be seen as setting a precedent for looking into the financial shenanigans of a lot of other people. Something I don’t see our distinguished politicians letting fly.”

“Sounds like you think we’ve hit a dead end.”

“Not quite dead, but comatose. Yianni’s come up dry on identifying the killer. We need a break. I don’t care if we dig one up or stumble upon it in the dark. But we need one that doesn’t require the cooperation of our government to nail the bastards.”

“Should I take this conversation as a sign for me to return to Athens?”

“You might as well.” Andreas looked at his watch. “If you hustle to the airport, you could be back here by lunchtime.”

“Okay. Will do, Chief. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Andreas put down the phone and stared out his office window.
I sure wish I had better news to pass along to Spiros
. He shook his head and said aloud. “Damn, I wish I had better news to keep for myself.”

***

Kharon knew it would take weeks, perhaps months, before all the property would be his. It could be done more quickly if one paid the right people, but that would be unwise. Aggressive buying interest would raise the price, but of more concern to Kharon, attract attention and trigger gossip. Two things he definitely did not want. No matter, he knew the property would be his and so he wandered the groves as if they already were. No one cared or took notice, for he’d long been a familiar figure among the trees.

He walked along a patchy mat of green grass and brown dirt amid rows of hundred-year-old olive trees planted in parallel to tens of thousands of others. The trees spread north for miles from the Gulf of Corinth’s harbor town of Itea, filling the broad flat valley with endless green. They stretched northwest to the town of Amfissa, and northeast to below Delphi at the picture perfect village of Chrisso—all surrounded by mountainsides of brown and gray, flecked in green, rising up from the sea and rolling back toward limestone Mount Parnassos.

In this Amfissa-Chrisso-Itea triangle grew the finest olives in the region, each tree yielding over five liters of oil in a good year. Ten thousand trees meant a potential annual production of nearly fifty thousand liters of prime grade olive oil. On top of that, once Kharon owned the olive press, the standard price in the community for any grower using his facilities would be fifteen percent of the grower’s crop, plus ten euros per hundred liters.

Kharon had never even dreamed of such a life, one of profit and at peace with the land. Now all he had to do to make it real was stay alive.

Kharon turned north between the rows of olives and aimed slightly west of Chrisso toward its looming mountain backdrop. He moved quickly across the valley floor. The hills close on his right appeared greener to him than those in the distance to his left, but all shared the same hazy beige and chocolate markings reminiscent of shadows that did not exist at this time of day.

Could there be a more beautiful place on earth?
He quickened his pace.

Just beyond the northern edge of Chrisso, Kharon turned east and climbed a steep hillside toward a group of boulders perched high above an aqueduct carrying water down from the mountains to the valley. He sat among the boulders and looked south across the valley toward the Gulf of Corinth. From this height, none of the trees he’d just walked among stood out from any other, except for random cypresses spiking the sky. He saw only a broad canvas of olive green, framed on three sides in beige and brown with touches of ochre and terra cotta, its far side bordered by sapphire blue sea and bright blue sky.

He leaned back against a boulder and watched doves soar up to where gulls drifted lazily overhead, only to scatter at the sight of a hawk rising in the sky. He inhaled deeply and caught a distant scent of the sea blending into aromas of wild herbs and lavender. The only sounds a chirp, a caw, or a rare distant bark. He closed his eyes, lifted his head and faced straight into the sun.

She was the first woman he’d ever killed. Strange, it didn’t bother him at all. Why should it? Why should a woman’s life be more precious or meaningful than a man’s? If one could be said to
deserve
to die, why could it not be said of the other? Are there not good and bad amongst both genders? Yes, a man was more likely to harm with brute force, but a woman had her subtleties, and if both shared the same deadly intention, where was the distinction justifying mercy for one and not the other?

All this he had learned through one who claimed to have pledged herself to saving lives.

He opened his eyes.

He must thank Teacher for the lesson.

Chapter Fourteen

“Chief, It’s Ted Rousounelous on the line.”

“Who?”

“He said you knew him.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Gimme a minute,” said Maggie.

Andreas picked up a pencil and began drumming the eraser end on his desktop. He’d barely slept last night, and not for a good reason. No leads meant no sleep. And no sleep meant a likely cranky morning.

“Chief?”

“What you got, Maggie?”

“He said, ‘Tell him it’s ‘Rolex.’”

A smile burst across Andreas’ face. “Why didn’t he say so in the first place? Put him through.”

“Hello?” The voice sounded tentative.

“Rolex, you old son of a bitch. How are you?”

“I’d thought you’d forgotten all about me.”

“I can’t remember the last time I heard you called by your real name.”

“Yeah, nicknames stick like you-know-what to a shoe. I lost it at my new job. No one here knew me from our school days.”

“You have to admit, a seven-year-old wearing a solid gold wristwatch to class had to attract attention.”

“Tell me about it. My mother thought it looked cute. And since it was a fake, she thought what harm could it do.”

“How is your mother?”

“She passed away a couple of years back.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Pause. “I gotta ask. Did she know?”

“Know what?”

“About the nickname.”

“How could she not? She heard all my friends calling me ‘Rolex,’ so she asked them why they called me by the name of a watch, and they told her.”

“Did she mind?”

“No, she laughed and said it could have been a lot worse. Imagine what I’d be called if she’d made me eat raw garlic everyday before school to ward off illness.”

“God bless her soul.”

“And the strange thing about it is, I threw away that damn watch on the way home from school that very first day and never wore one again.”

“Funny, how, when we’re kids we don’t realize how a seemingly little thing on a single day can brand you with a nickname for life.”

“Too bad we never came up with one for you.”

“Yep, that’s me, just plain old Andreas.”

“We ought to call you Lucky, with that wonderful bride of yours.”

“That’s right, I haven’t seen you since our wedding.”

“How’s that working out?”

“Terrific.”

“Damn well better, she’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“Why does everyone always tell me that?”

“I think that’s something you can figure out for yourself, Chief Inspector.”

Andreas laughed. “My secretary told me she’d finally tracked you down and that you’re doing something hush-hush with the Defense Ministry.”

“It’s so secret I can’t tell you that it has to do with keeping track of potential terrorists.”

Andreas laughed. “Thanks for not telling me.”

“Your secretary left a message that you wanted to speak with me about something important.”

“Yes, I wondered if you’ve heard anything about a big move by international organized crime into the European counterfeit alcohol market?”

“Sure wish I could help you, but I’ve been out of the loop on that sort of thing since they replaced me as head of organized crime at GADA. I don’t have to guess why you’re not running this past the guy who took over for me.”

Andreas snickered. “I’d only talk to him if I wanted to make sure the bad guys knew I’m interested in them.”

“Yeah, he’s not exactly known for discretion.”

“A nice way to put it.” Andreas let out a deep breath. “Oh well, it was worth a try. Thanks for calling back.”

“No problem, and just so your effort’s not a total loss, I may have something for you on a different matter.”

“What sort of thing?” asked Andreas.

“We’ve been watching a taverna in Exarchia for about a year. It’s a gathering place for the sort of home-grown terrorist characters we’re interested in.”

“Like November 17 and Conspiracy of the Cells of Fire?”

“Yeah, but mostly wannabes. A week ago we picked up a telephone conversation between the owner named Jacobi and a male called Kharon. It sounded interesting.”

“What did they talk about?”

“Here, I’ll play the tape for you. Jacobi is the first voice you’ll hear.”

Andreas heard Rolex fiddling with some buttons.

“Kharon?”

“Did he show?”

“Yes, and with all the money.”

Silence.

“Kharon, did you hear me? He showed with a hundred thousand euros!”

“Yes, I heard. So did all the world by now.”

“Come on, this isn’t the United States, no one’s listening in on calls from my shitty little taverna in Athens.”

“Where is the meeting?”

“You’re to be at the foot of the Acropolis at two. At the start of the path up to the top.”

“Who am I looking for?”

“He said they’ll initiate contact.”

“Bye.”

“Wait a minute. What about all this money?”

“Hang onto it for me.”

“Until when?”

“Until I ask for it.”

“You definitely are nuts.”

“That’s all of it,” said Rolex.

“Sure sounds suspicious to me,” said Andreas.

“That’s what we thought, so we had people stake out their meeting.”

“Did he show?”

“I’ll say. With bells and whistles. It was as if James Bond had come to town and put on a show.” Rolex described how an acrobatic Kharon went from incognito bicycle messenger to uninvited passenger in an ominous SUV.

“He sounds like a real pro,” said Andreas.

“For sure. We followed the SUV out to the private air terminal at Venizelos.”

“Where’d he fly?”

“He didn’t. He stayed in the SUV. A woman got out.”

“Any ID on her?”

“No, and we couldn’t get a photo of her.”

“Tough break.”

“But we did manage to identify the plane off its tail number. Not much help though, it’s owned by some offshore, likely shell, corporation.”

“What about the James Bond character?”

“We followed him to a hotel by Omonia, and the next morning to Jacobi’s place in Exarchia.”

“Any idea what they talked about?” said Andreas.

“Nope. We don’t have the necessary equipment.”

“Let me guess. Crisis cuts.”

“Too bad the bad guys aren’t feeling the pinch too,” said Rolex.

“What about the others in the SUV?”

“Two men returned it to a place that rents out high-security vehicles, caught a taxi to Venizelos, and took a commercial flight to Sofia.”

“Bulgaria?”

“Yes. No idea where they ended up. We had no authority to follow them out of Greece.”

“Out of sight, out of mind. A wonderful philosophy on fighting terrorism.”

“Tell me about it,” said Rolex.

“Which brings me around to asking what this mysterious stranger Kharon has to do with me?”

“Patience, dear boy, I was just getting to that. We followed him to a place up by Delphi. Apparently he lives in the area. Thank God we had a tracking device on his bike. The guy rides like a bat out of hell. Three days ago we followed him from there to Thessaloniki. But we lost him when he switched bikes on us.”

Andreas felt the hair on the back of his neck start to rise.

“How’d you get the tracking device on his bike?”

“He picked up a BMW at Jacobi’s taverna and rode it back to his hotel in Omonia. In the time it took him to get his things out of his room, we stuck it on the bike.”

“Too bad you lost him in Thessaloniki.”

“It wasn’t a total loss. We stayed with the bike and he came back for it. We’d lost him for three hours, and then followed him back to Delphi. On the way back he kept to the speed limit. Even wore a helmet. Like he didn’t want to be noticed.”

“And would those three hours have been after breakfast, say between ten and one?”

“I see you’re getting the picture.”

“Speaking of pictures, do you happen to have any of this Kharon guy?”

“I’m emailing them to you as we speak.”

“I guess I don’t have to ask why you thought I might be interested in him.”

“I do read the papers and watch the news. Not sure if he has anything to do with the mess you have on your hands, but when I saw the call from your secretary I wondered why you were calling. That’s when it hit me that I should have called you about this sooner. I guess it was one of those out of sight, out of mind things.”

“I’ll take that as your gentle way of saying let’s stay in touch. Duly noted, Rolex.”

“Uh, there’s just one favor I’d like.”

“Sure, name it.”

“It’s not a big one, and you know that I’m not the sensitive sort, but for someone in my position to be called ‘Rolex’ suggests I might be on the take. If you need a nickname for me, can’t you come up with something less flashy?”

“You mean like Patek?”

“I see that marrying Lila has elevated your sense of humor.”

A new email popped onto Andreas’ screen. Attached to it were a half-dozen photos of a dark-haired, clean shaven man in his mid-twenties. It was a face Andreas had definitely seen before.

“I have the photos, my friend. Thanks. I owe you big-time,” Andreas paused, “Ted.”

***

“Is he in yet?”

“Chief, as I told you five minutes ago when you hung up with your watch friend, I’ll tell Yianni to go straight to your office the moment he gets in. Just because you decided to come into work an hour early doesn’t mean the rest of the world does too.”

“But, you were here.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m always here early. It’s the only time I can get any work done in this place.”

Andreas listened to Maggie hang up. He looked at his watch. Almost nine in the morning. Still a lot of time left in the day to be cranky. He looked at the photos on his computer screen. This had to be the guy who did Tank’s sister. No beard on this one, but definitely the eyes and facial structure of Kouros’ composite. Andreas kept staring at the face.
I know I’ve seen you somewhere before.
That thought had helped keep him awake last night.

“Damn,” he said aloud staring at the screen. “Who are you?”

“The one you wanted to see,” said Kouros peeking in the slightly open door.

“Get over here and take a look at this.”

“And a good morning to you, too, Chief,” said Kouros walking over to Andreas’ desk.

“Okay, so I’m not in a good mood.” Andreas pointed at the screen.

“Hard to tell,” said Kouros as he turned to look at the screen. “You’re always so full of happiness and—Holy Mother, it’s the guy from the
cafenion
.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Where’d you get the photos?”

Andreas told him of his conversation with Rolex.

“It sounds as if this Kharon character was hired to do the hit on Tank’s sister,” said Yianni.

“Too bad we can’t prove it.”

“What do you mean can’t prove it? We’ve got the tape of his conversation with the taverna owner, the meeting by the Acropolis, Kharon followed to Thessaloniki, my identification of him in the
cafenion
—”

“Your leaving the scene of the murder before it happened, and not a soul in there when it did go down willing to point a finger at Kharon, including the deceased’s brother.”

Kouros walked over to the couch and dropped onto it. “I guess it’s wishful thinking to hope we can somehow put enough heat on Tank and his crew to get any of them to turn against Kharon.”

“Especially since it’s not Kharon they fear.”

“Then who do they fear? The mysterious woman in the SUV?”

Andreas shrugged. “Could be, or she could be representing whoever wanted the message delivered to Tank. But no matter who sent Kharon, I’m betting this is no coincidence, and that it all somehow ties into Tank’s counterfeit booze business.”

“What makes you think that?”

“From the way Tank is screaming about foreign terrorists muscling in on his legitimate business.”

“But he’s asking for all of Greece to go after Kharon’s boss. That doesn’t sound like he got the message.”

Andreas gestured no. “He got it loud and clear, but he needs political cover to explain why a mobster-style execution of his sister right in front of him doesn’t paint him as tied into something dirty. It’s a typical political misdirection ploy intended to cover the first thing that ordinarily comes to the Greek public’s mind: a conspiracy. To counter that, you tell enough of the truth for your version to be believed without implicating any of your real bad guy buddies. As long as Tank doesn’t identify the real killer, there’s no way to trace anything back to who ordered the hit. And if Tank does as he’s told and pays on time, the big boss in charge couldn’t care less what he says to cover his ass.”

“This is all way too crazy.”

“Come on, Yianni, it’s not all that different from the sort of intrigues we see Greeks and our government involved in every day.”

“This still seems wilder to me.”

“Really? Remember when our government in its wisdom imposed that special real estate tax you had to pay with your electric bill?”

“Of course. The government knew if it just sent a tax bill no one would pay it, but this way if you didn’t pay, your electricity got shut off.”

“Precisely. And if you happened to be a property owner who received electricity from a private company, that provider was required to collect your tax payments and turn them over to the government. Back in the early days of our financial crisis, one of those private electric companies collected over three hundred million euros in taxes and solemnly announced one day that it was transferring all of those funds to Cyprus for ‘safekeeping.’ And guess what happened?
Poof.
The entire three hundred million vanished without a trace.”

“Four guys went to jail, didn’t they?” said Kouros.

“They were arrested, sat in jail for eighteen months, but never came to trial.”

“Son of a bitch. So the court had to let them out. Just like those terrorists who walked out of jail for the same reason.”