The Green Lady (21 page)

‘My wolf,' the young woman said in a low voice. ‘Do you really think we have a chance against the HMC?'

‘Of course. They can't pollute land, sea and sky, and destroy the health of people including their own workers without retribution. The HMC will be brought under control. My aunt will help us even if her party doesn't.'

His phone rang.

‘Mavros has pulled up outside,' Akis said. ‘There's no one else around.'

‘OK. Come down and get some sleep.'

‘I'll sleep when this is over.' The connection was cut.

Lykos went to the front room and looked through a gap in the shutter. Then he unbolted the door.

‘Welcome, Alex.' He admitted the investigator and closed up after him.

‘Are you all right?' Mavros asked, peering around in the gloom. There was a glow from a candle beneath the statue of Demeter.

‘Yes, thanks to Akis.' Lykos told him where the fisherman was.

‘Idiot. If he's got a concussion, he'll collapse at some point.' He caught sight of Angeliki. ‘Hello. Relax, both of you.'

‘Has the man with the gun been caught?'

‘Not yet. But I doubt he'll try again, at least immediately.'

‘Really?' the young woman said. ‘Our experience is that the enemy doesn't give up.'

Mavros gave her a blank look. He asked them about the incident in more detail, taking notes under a desk lamp. Then he said he needed to sleep, leaned back in the battered office chair and was out in seconds.

Lykos and Angeliki went to the Lady to make their devotions.

Mavros was woken by his phone at six a.m.

‘Rise and shine, long-haired freak,' said the Fat Man. ‘I've just put a tray of
kataïfi
in the oven.'

‘Congratulations,' Mavros grunted, not even vaguely tempted by the idea of shredded wheat in honey. ‘And goodbye.'

‘Wait a moment. We've got important things to talk about.'

Mavros looked at the young couple. They were leaning against the wall beneath the statue of the ancient goddess, heads touching as they slept.

‘Shit and piss, Yiorgo, couldn't you have waited an hour. I've spent the night in a chair Procrustes would have been proud of.'

‘All the more reason to get up, lazy bones.'

Mavros rubbed his eyes and opened his notebook. ‘All right, spill your guts.'

‘Be careful what you wish for,' the Fat Man said, with a guffaw. ‘So, Professor Epameinondhas Phis.'

‘Who?'

‘I told you yesterday – the guy Maria Bekakou went to visit.'

‘Oh yes. Sorry, I had a hard night even before I hit the chair.'

‘Did you now? Anyone I know?'

Mavros considered telling him about the gay deputy commissioner he'd passed the evening with, but decided against it. Yiorgos had the old communists' distaste for homosexuals, as well as their hatred of the police.

‘Actually, I got beaten up.' His back and belly were still aching.

‘Shit, who was it?' his friend asked. ‘Do you want me to come down and sort the fucker out?'

‘It's a nice thought, but no. I seem to have got my back pretty well covered.'

‘Really?' Yiorgos sounded disappointed. ‘Anyway, do you want to know about Phis or not?'

‘Get on with it, then.'

‘He's been professor of ancient religion at Athens University since 1973—'

‘So his appointment would have been ratified by Junta-supporting academics.'

The Fat Man was silent for a few seconds. ‘I suppose so. What, you think he might be a fascist?'

‘Tell me more first.'

‘Actually, his title is emeritus now as he's seventy-seven, but apparently he still has an office in the faculty building. He's an international authority on the Olympian gods and he still attends conferences around the world – last year he was in Minnesota and Cape Town.'

‘The Olympian gods,' Mavros repeated, glancing at the image of Demeter.

‘Those very ones. Among his publications are
The Twelve: Heirs of Cronos, Olympians and Mortals
,
Zeus, Poseidon and Hera, Half-Gods and Their
—'

‘Anything about Demeter or Hades?' Mavros felt the ecologists' eyes on him.

‘Em, no. Unless
The Olympian Goddesses: Powers Beneath the Throne
fits the bill.'

‘It might.'

‘But if you're thinking that Professor Phis is one of those nutters who worship the old gods and demonstrated against the Olympic Games, tough luck. I've got an article here from
The Free News
this May where he rips into believers in ancient religion, accusing them of being – I quote – “nothing more than children with no conception of ancient religion's complexities”. There's a picture of him too. He's a crooked old specimen with his hair all over the place and skin like poorly tanned leather.'

‘Hang on, will you?' Mavros turned to the young couple. ‘Hey, do you know a guy called Phis – Epameinondhas Phis?'

Lykos was immediately on the ball, making Mavros wonder how much he'd heard.

‘Professor Phis? Yes, of course. His book on the goddesses is a classic.' He disentangled himself from Angeliki and went to a shelf. ‘We've got a copy here.'

Mavros nodded. ‘Anything else?' he asked the Fat Man.

‘Just a hoard of inestimable value.'

‘Just the facts, please.'

‘The gratitude. He's unmarried – and never has been – but he's well-connected, sitting on the boards of numerous charitable foundations and museums, both here and abroad. Oh, and he has a personal collection of ancient relics concerning the Olympian gods – figurines, pots and so on – that's worth over two million euros.'

‘I thought you said he lived in a back street off Kifissias.'

‘His block certainly doesn't look like anything special from the outside. Maybe he has a gallery somewhere else.'

‘Check that, will you? I still don't understand what he and Maria Bekakou could have in common.'

‘Me neither. Maybe she likes a bit of geriatric.'

‘Please.'

‘No, seriously. You know that magazine
Theophrastus
? They ran a piece accusing him of being a randy old goat. Apparently he got into naked sunbathing in a big way when he was staying at some shipowner's villa on Naxos last summer. The daughter and her friends complained and he was packed off back to his hole.'

Mavros was about to dismiss that when he thought of Ourania and what Rovertos Bekakos had done to her. ‘What age were these girls?' he asked.

‘Hang on. Here it is. Fourteen.' Yiorgos paused. ‘Ah, shit. Same as the missing girl.'

And Ourania, Mavros thought, his stomach churning.

‘So what are your orders for today, partner?' the Fat Man asked.

‘For a start, lose the lip. Let me think. It's either Maria Bekakou again or the professor. At his age, he probably doesn't go out much. Do you fancy going back to Kifissia?'

‘Your wish is my etc.' Yiorgos sounded very upbeat.

‘Be careful. Park in a different place. This'll be the third time you've been up there. You mustn't get spotted. If you are, pedal to metal, OK?'

‘I can hardly wait.'

Mavros closed his phone and sat back in the chair. Could Lia Poulou's disappearance have to do with child abuse? Was she being kept as a sex slave? If so, who by?

His thoughts were interrupted by another call.

‘This is Bitsos. Are you alone?'

Mavros moved to the front of the room. ‘Yes,' he said, in a low voice. ‘You sound like
Nipples of the Week
has handed out free samples.'

‘No, but you'll be providing me with a life subscription when you hear this.

I'm on my way back from Trikkala, where . . .'

Mavros listened as the journo went through what he'd heard about the murdered woman, a professor at Athens University like Phis. The pomegranate seeds and the savagery were definite links to the other killings – and, he was sure, to the Son.

‘Not a word to anyone,' Lambis Bitsos said, when he'd finished. ‘Especially not your obese friend. There's a heavy-duty blackout on this story – supposedly because of the Olympics, but I'm not buying that.'

‘Neither am I. Some rich and influential people's posteriors are on fire.'

‘You should be a hack, Alex. But, yes, I agree. What I don't understand is the ritualistic traits of the murders. Any thoughts?'

‘Actually, yes, but I'm not sharing them on the phone. I suggest you get down here as soon as you can.'

‘What, to Neapolis?'

Mavros realised he hadn't said where he was. ‘I'm still near Paradheisos in Viotia?'

‘Why?'

‘I'll tell you when you get here. If you look on the map, you'll see there's a village called Kypseli on the coast five kilometres further west. The stone killer we've been talking about was very likely here last night. I think he's still in the vicinity.'

‘Viotia, land of cows, Muses and bumpkins, here I come.' Bitsos rang off.

Mavros put his phone in his pocket. He was taking a chance involving the hack so directly in the case. Then again, Lambis didn't know what his case was – and he was very good at digging the dirt. Opening the shutter slowly and seeing no sign of the Son, Mavros looked out across the polluted bay. In this neck of the deforested mountainsides, there was no shortage of muck at all.

A
ngie Poulou slept fitfully, as she'd done since Lia had gone, and finally got out of bed at six thirty. Paschos's bed was already empty. She heard the shower in the ensuite bathroom and remembered the first time she'd seen the house in Ekali, only a street away from the then prime minister's private residence. She had been married for a few months and they'd spent the previous weeks in the Grand Bretagne in Syndagma Square, waiting for the final touches to be applied. She had never seen so much luxury, even after the hotel. Their room contained two double beds, but there was still enough space to house several families.

‘We'll need it when we have five kids charging around,' Paschos had said.

But Angie had never wanted more than one and when Lia arrived that feeling grew stronger. Her daughter was perfect, there could never be another one like her, and Angie didn't want her deprived of anything. She didn't want to spread her love thinly. Paschos never knew, but she went on the pill after she stopped breastfeeding Lia. After years of sex that decreased in frequency and quality – her fault, she knew – her husband gave up trying. He wasn't angry. Paschos never displayed anger. He was happy enough with one child, though she knew he was disappointed there was no son. She satisfied her own desires without resorting to the lovers that many of her fellow wives took. The fact was, sex had become insignificant to her after Lia. She had been fertile and had given birth to the most beautiful child. She wanted nothing more.

Paschos came out of the bathroom, a towel round his thick waist. He looked at her quizzically. ‘We're attending the athletics this evening, you remember?'

Angie nodded without enthusiasm. She would be overjoyed when the Games were over. The sight of muscular young limbs did nothing but make her think of Lia. How was it possible for the child of one of the country's richest men to disappear without trace? She had addressed the question to Paschos so often that he had banned it, saying the authorities were doing all they could and she should be patient. She wasn't the only one hurting, didn't she realise that? When Angie had hired Alex Mavros, she had been careful not to change her demeanour or patterns of behaviour. In truth, she no longer trusted Paschos, let alone his oleaginous lawyer. She didn't even trust Maria Bekakou, though at least she still expressed concern about Lia.

She watched as her husband came out of his walk-in wardrobe with a pale blue suit and white shirt. He was fastidious about his clothes, a characteristic she had once found endearing but which now irritated her. How could he care about what he wore when his wonderful daughter was missing?

Suddenly Angie was seized by a burning desire to call Alex Mavros. She managed to conceal it by wishing Paschos a successful day and walking into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Something was very wrong and she had begun to suspect both Rovertos Bekakos and her husband. She had been thinking about it for days, trying to conjure up images that would provide clues, looks that had been directed towards Lia, terms of endearment spoken – not by Paschos, of course, he never used anything but the most conventional language with both his wife and his daughter. Could the unthinkable have happened? After refusing to consider such an obscenity and then gradually allowing the thought to rise from her subconscious, she was now convinced that Lia had been the victim of an awful act. She couldn't prove anything, she didn't have the slightest evidence, but she was sure.

Angie Poulou came back out of the bathroom, checked that Paschos had left in his chauffeur-driven Mercedes and quickly got dressed. There was a public phone less than five minutes' drive away.

Mavros was flicking through Professor Phis's book on the Olympian goddesses, the chapter on Demeter being particularly well thumbed, when he got the call. He went outside and walked towards the small harbour. His client was struggling to express herself.

‘Take deep breaths,' he said.

Angie Poulou did so and managed to calm herself. ‘I'm sorry, I must have been having a panic attack. Listen, Alex—'

‘No names on the phone, remember?'

‘Yes, of course. Listen, there's something I have to tell you.'

‘It normally works the other way.'

‘Well, have you found anything?'

‘Some leads that I'm checking, but don't get your hopes up yet.'

‘Are you still down in—'

‘Yes. Now tell me what you were going to say.'