The Greeks of Beaubien Street (5 page)

Business was slow in the afternoon after the lunch rush. Occasionally, a sight-seeing bus would stop out front and a group of hungry travelers would come in, looking for the Greek experience. He always gave it to them, pretending he didn’t speak very good English in spite of having been born in the country, turning the radio up loud, bouzouki music ringing out. He would grab a white dish cloth and pretend he was going to dance, very Zorba the Greek. Occasionally, Estelle Nickopolos would stop by and join in, Dido spitting at the crowd for effect. Just once, a stunned and disgusted Jillian walked in on this scene and admonished her father for reinforcing stereotypes. Gus had been educated at Wharton, choosing to run the store his father started in Detroit after immigrating through Ontario.

“Why’d you do it, Papa?” Jill asked. “Why’d you give up so much to keep this store open?” Gus was surprised.

“I didn’t give up anything! I wanted to be here, to give the same life I had to my children.” This stymied Jill.
What the hell was so great about growing up where you were considered a second class citizen?
She didn’t want to hurt her father’s feelings, but she had to know why her experience was so different from his.

“Didn’t you feel that your expensive education was worth more than working in a grocery store?” Her dad was a thrifty man; maybe focusing on the expense of a wasted education would make him think.

“I went to college on a scholarship. Do you think my father could have afforded Drexel?” This was the first she heard of the scholarship.

“Papa! Papou and Gigi must have been so proud of you!” Jill exclaimed. Gus snickered.

“No, actually they weren’t. They hated it while I was in Philadelphia. My dad came once to visit me and said it was the dirtiest city he had ever been in, worse than Rome.” He was pensive. “Look, my beloved daughter, you could have gone anywhere in the world, but you stayed here. Ask yourself, why? Is it because being here made you feel badly about yourself? Or, is it because this is where you can be the best person that you were meant to be? I love it here. Your mother and I, we hated to go away for vacation or to weddings out of town. We went to my Cousin George’s wedding in Chicago. Every second we were away, we were miserable. ‘That’s the last time, Gus!’ your mother said. No more traveling for her. Do you think I stayed here all my life hating it? No, my dear girl. But if you hate it, you had better get out now.”

Gus cleaned up his kitchen as he waited for the dinner crowd to come to shop. Jillian would come back too, probably close to closing. He would eat with her. His life was simple. He loved his store, loved buying the food for the shelves, shopping from the catalog the foreign foods distributor brought around, going to Eastern market every morning and on Saturday with Jillian. Once a month, he got his car out of the garage and drove to Plymouth to see his boy, Christopher. Any excitement he needed he got from his daughter, the homicide detective. He stuffed down the things that bothered him, the regrets. Life was good.

Chapter 5

Jill got to the precinct five minutes after Albert and the Parkers arrived. Albert would take them to a private interrogation room. They videotaped and recorded any activity that took place after the doors were closed. Even though the Parkers weren’t suspects, Jill couldn’t shake the odd feeling she had about the father. She was glad they would have a record of whatever was said.

Albert got coffee for the four of them although he would not stay for the entire questioning. Like Jill, he was chomping at the bit to get to Dearborn and find Mike Ahmed. The style of questioning that would work the best for the Parkers was Jill’s expertise. He would do better to bow out.

Jill walked in and took a seat opposite Marianne and Jacob. She wanted to begin the conversation talking about something unrelated to death or Gretchen. She reached for a cup of coffee, her fifth in four hours.

“Our coffee is really good. The beans come from the Eastern Market. My dad grinds them for us.” She took a sip, looking at them over her cup as they each reached for theirs. She opened her notebook to see where they had ended their conversation in the cafeteria. She didn’t want Mr. Parker to hide his true feelings about Mike Ahmed, hoping the change of location would help to lower his guard. She would introduce him into the conversation again, but from a different angle.

“So how long had Gretchen been dating Mike?” She directed her question to the father. He looked up from his coffee turning his head to his wife.

“Oh, not long. About four months. It wasn’t even that serious.” Jill saw Marianne Parker purse her lips, but remain silent. Jacob started talking again, rambling on. “Gretchen could have dated anyone she wanted, but she chose not to. She told me herself that she’d rather go out with Leah than waste time with a date. Except for Mike,” Jacob said. His eyes flashed and he smiled when he talked about his daughter, appearing more like a gossiping confidant than a grieving father. It just rang false. Jill couldn’t help but notice there was a femininity about him that collided with his appearance. He might be a big, tall man, but he had small, delicate hands that he held in a prayer pose under his chin when he talked, unless they were conducting, flapping back and forth for effect.

“You mentioned she had a curfew. What time did you say it was? It’s unusual for a woman her age to have a curfew, isn’t it? Did she adhere to it?” Jill continued to direct her questions to the father.

“I go to bed early and can’t sleep unless the house is locked up. Gretchen agreed to a curfew when she moved back home last spring. She’d tried sharing an apartment but it didn’t work out. She never argued about having a curfew and was always home by eleven. That’s what made us worry when she didn’t come home.” He turned red in the face again; Jill was hoping he wouldn’t break down. They weren’t getting anywhere as it was.

“What was she wearing when you saw her Friday?” This time, she was speaking to Mrs. Parker.

“It was warm out, so she had a cotton shirt on with her jeans. But I remember saying that it was supposed to cool off, so she took a black sweater with her, too.” Then, the question Jill dreaded, but knew was coming. “Wasn’t she dressed when they found her? Oh my God! Is that why you are asking me this?” Marianne Parker looked at her husband with an expression Jill couldn’t translate. He was red in the face again. She steeled herself for another tirade, but he didn’t say a word. Jill knew that silence, especially in a man as aggressive as Jacob Parker appeared to be, could be an ominous sign. “She was nude when she was found,” she replied.

Jacob Parker erupted, jumping up and banging both his fists down on the metal desk with such force that two officers in the outer office came running to ensure that she was safe. Jacob lunged forward at Jill, who stood up just as Jacob’s fists had come down. Her reflex would be to quickly step back from him, but she stood her ground. He didn’t frighten her at all.

“What fucking difference does it make if she was nude?” He screamed right in her face. Jill could smell his breath: coffee and old beer. “God damn it! That’s just one more thing that makes me determined to kill that motherfucker!” The male officers walked around the desk and stood on either side of him.

“Mr. Parker, I’m going to ask you to sit down right now. I am warning you, if you don’t sit down you will be arrested for attempted assault on a police officer,” Jill told him. He hesitated, but sat down. The male officers stayed behind him, but they could have left. Jacob Parker was once again reduced to a sniveling lump, his head in his hands, crying out for his dead daughter. Jill caught the eye of her colleagues and nodded to them that she was okay. They would stay in the room at the door, just in case. Jill sat back down. This interview was turning out to be exhausting.

“We understand how difficult this must be for you. Just a few more questions and then you can go. Are you ready?” She directed this to Mrs. Parker, who was looking at her husband, shaking her head back and forth in disgust.

“I doubt if you understand, Miss Zannos. But go ahead. You might hurry up, as a matter of fact. I need to get my husband home.” All Marianne could think of was that she would end up taking care of Jacob now, unable to grieve for her daughter on her own terms. She had enough of this young woman and her questions, judging them because they had been trying to protect their daughter. Well, a lot of good it did. Maybe if Jacob had shut his big mouth and allowed Gretchen to stay out late, or possibly not come home at all, she would be still be alive. She looked at him with disdain. She was too much of a lady to tell him what she really felt about him at that moment. She was certain that Gretchen’s death was ultimately Jacob’s fault.

“Did you know of anyone, or can you think of anyone, who may have wanted to harm your daughter? Or, anyone who she may have been seeing besides Mike Ahmed? Maybe someone at work who she would have met after seeing Mike Friday night?” They both shook their heads
no
. There was no one that they knew of. No one. Jill stood up. There was unfinished business, but she wanted to let things rest for the moment. She had other people to talk to. She wanted to interview the night shift workers at the hotel as soon as possible and needed to allow these two to get back to Dearborn where they could begin the process of planning for their murdered daughter’s funeral. The other officer opened the door and Jill followed the Parkers out.

Chapter 6

Gus Zannos was the youngest of seven children. He and Jill were the only two who stayed in Detroit. Aunt Maria was always bugging Gus to move west, get out of the city. But he couldn’t imagine leaving the store. The Friday that Gretchen Parker went on her last date, Jill was sitting in the grocery store having coffee with her boyfriend Alex, her dad, and her cousin. Gus’s nephew Andy, a former CPA, drove the forty minutes in from Novi to work with Gus every day. Gus could see the love of the place in Andy’s eyes. Jill thought he was crazy.

“Explain something to me,” she argued. “Why would you go to college, get a Master’s degree, and then turn down a job in finance to work in a rundown store in Greektown?”

“Hey!” Gus interjected. “I resent that! This is a spiffy neighborhood as far as the rest of the city goes. When’s the last time you were out of Detroit? You have nothing to compare it to.” But Jill shook her head.

“Okay, so it’s not rundown as much as, shall we say,
outdated
? Anyway, don’t make this about me. I knew from the beginning that I was stuck here; why else did I go to the
Detroit Police Academy
?” She said with emphasis. “Come on, guys! You both left town to go to school! It’s not like you went to Wayne State,” Jill laughed. “Trust me. I understand the familial pull that would drive someone to try to keep the family business alive. But why not move it to the ‘burbs?” She secretly hated that idea; she’d be so lonely if Gus ever moved the store. And where would her dinner come from? Her oven hadn’t been turned on except to cook a frozen pizza. She’d starve to death if her dad left town. As she talked, Andy was shaking his head
no
.

“Every morning when I wake up, I think,
I get to go to the store today
. I stand where our grandfather stood, get to learn the ropes from my Uncle Gus here, speak Greek all day long.” Andy looked at Gus. “I remember when I was a kid living in Dearborn, coming into the city with my dad each Saturday so we could go shopping at the Eastern Market together. I was scared to death of the dead animals, skinned, hanging upside down from hooks in the butcher shops.” He shuddered. “Now of course, I feel deprived if I don’t eat lamb I’ve butchered myself at least three times a week.” They all laughed.

“When your dad left the city, our father and mother cried for a week,” Gus said. “He was the first child to leave. But I understood. It was too hard for your mother. She lived in Dearborn all of her life, her parents were there, her sisters. Your dad loved Detroit, but he loved your mother more.”

“I thought Auntie Anna came from Syria,” Jill said, confused. Gus nodded at Andy since Anna was his mother, but Andy wanted to hear the story from Gus, who chuckled.

“That’s a common misconception about Arabs around here. Don’t ask me why. There’s been a Middle Eastern community in Dearborn since the early 1900s. Your grandparents, Anna’s mother and father, were born here in Detroit,” he said to Andy. “So Anna is more American that we are.”

“Who left Detroit next?” Jill asked.

“Your Uncle Pete. Let’s see, they went to Northville first. He worked at Ford. It was the farthest west anyone had gone. We would drive there on a Sunday and I thought my mother would have a heart attack. She kept her chair turned to the east the entire visit. She said it made her feel safe, looking toward the city.”
So mental illness does run in the family
, Jill thought.

“Then Nick graduated from the Police Academy and joined the Michigan State Police. My parents were so proud of him! Each child moved farther west. My mother was superstitious; she was convinced that she was being punished by God for her,” and here he cleared his throat, “powers.” Andy had never heard any of the stories and asked, “What powers?”

“Your grandmother was a mystic.” Gus spoke in a low voice, looking from side to side to make sure no one overheard him although they were alone in the store. It was an old country village thing, making sure you weren’t being spied on. “You have to remember that back in those days’ people didn’t understand spirituality like they do today. We were called gypsies; can you imagine if they knew some of us had a greater, shall we say,
understanding
of events around us? It was bad enough that my father was a socialist.” He was pensive for a moment.

“We had friends who were Jews; very religious, Torah-reading Jews who were superstitious, even more so than us Greeks. They believed that my mother, Eleni, could see the past, and some of the future.

“All our beef was purchased kosher back in those days; the butcher I went to at the Eastern Market was also a Rabbi. That’s why we kept meat separate from the dairy. But it didn’t make much difference because our kitchen wasn’t kosher. They really came to see my mother. They would drive over from Oak Park on Thursday afternoon to buy meat for the weekend. My mother would serve them a lavish tea, with homemade baklava and almond paste cookies. After they ate, Mother would have them sit in a circle with their eyes closed. She would stand on the outside of the circle and slowly walk around them. When a thought about one of them would come into her head, she would pause behind them and whisper in their ear. It was very nice, no showmanship or anything like that. I noticed that much of what she told them was simply wisdom. If the woman was newly married or going to have a baby, she would whisper to them about eating healthy. Your grandmother was way ahead of her time in the nutrition department. She ate a mostly vegetarian diet. They didn’t have a lot of meat in their village in Greece because it was a rocky island. A few sheep and some chickens roamed around and not much meat was shipped in from the mainland like they do today. When we came here, she was overwhelmed at the abundance of food, but she didn’t change the way she ate.