Che Committed Suicide (19 page)

‘And who might Ilias be?’

‘Ilias Aristopoulos. The young guy at Domitis who helped me concerning the offshore company?’ She took a piece of paper out of her pocket. ‘His name is Athanassios Karyophyllis and his office is in Solonos Street, number 128.’

‘And what did you give him in exchange for the information?’ I asked her meanly, because I couldn’t stomach the fact that, in spite of the aubergines, she had come up trumps.

She broke into laughter. ‘A drink tonight. We’re meeting at nine thirty, and at eleven thirty, I’ll start to feel sleepy because of the heat and the tiredness and I’ll go home to bed.’

‘Smart girl,’ Adriani commented when Koula had left with her standard Tupperware container filled with food. ‘It’s in her blood, she’s a quick learner.’ She paused for a moment and then whispered, as though speaking to herself: ‘Not like our daughter.’

‘Are you all right in the head? Are you comparing Koula to
Katerina
?’ I protested angrily.

‘I’m not comparing, but it saddens me. I’m not saying there’s
anything
wrong with books, education, doctorates and the like, but it wouldn’t hurt her to learn how to make a couple of dishes.’

‘She must know how to make something. How has she survived for so many years in Thessaloniki?’

‘I’ll tell you how. With boiled spaghetti bathed in ketchup, eggs and chips. Have you ever eaten chips made by your daughter?’

‘No.’

‘Good job for you. Usually they turn out like the balls on
Christmas
trees, because in her haste she throws them in the pan before the oil is sizzling.’

‘She still has time. She’ll learn once she finishes her doctorate.’

She shook her head as if not believing it. She took it personally that Katerina had no interest whatsoever in cooking.

Fortunately the sound of the telephone interrupted the
unpleasant
conversation. It was Ghikas.

‘Can you come over or are you busy?’ he asked me.

‘Come over where?’

‘To my office.’ He realised that I was dumbfounded and he went on: ‘Get into the lift and come straight on up. It doesn’t matter if Yanoutsos or your assistants or any of the others see you. I’ll explain.’

It was the first time since my having been wounded that I made the journey to Aristokleous Street – Security Headquarters – in the Mirafiori and I was filled with a sense of emotion. A huge poster at the junction of Soutsou Street and Alexandras Avenue informed me that if I were to buy the car advertised, I would get the air
conditioning
free. The car was just right for me and I gave it some thought till the lights turned to green and I turned left into Alexandras Avenue, but I knew that these were just thoughts fuelled by the heatwave. As soon as it had passed, I would abandon my mental adultery and return to my faithful Mirafiori.

When you’ve been going up to your Chief’s office for so many years, always finding Koula at her desk outside, you take objection to seeing a uniformed hulk sitting in her place. Even worse was the state of her desk. The pile of papers had covered the entire desktop, leaving only a small square space, about as big as a cake box, in front of the chair. In this square, the hulk had placed a car magazine and was licking his fingers and flicking through it.

I told him my name as a formality but he was absorbed in
Datsun
’s new model and paid no attention to me.

Ghikas had the air conditioning on full and I felt a shiver run through me as I entered. He lifted his gaze from the
Police News
that he was browsing through and looked at me.

‘Good to see you. Have a seat.’ He pointed to my usual chair that had been occupied by Yanoutsos during my last visit.

‘Do you want to start or shall I?’

‘Why, have you found out anything?’ he asked hopefully and his eyes shone.

‘Yes, though I don’t know whether it has any direct connection with Favieros’s suicide.’

I began with Favieros’s biography, continued with the offshore company and ended with the real-estate agencies and the scam that was going on. He listened carefully to me and when I had finished shook his head resignedly.

‘We’re going to have our hands full with this business, mark my words.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because of what the papers are saying and that you’ve just
partially
confirmed. Everyone is afraid that there’s some scandal behind it all, but no one can come up with it. The government is
panicking
and is desperately trying to find a solution. This morning the Secretary General phoned me from the Ministry and asked me to recommend a trustworthy police officer to carry out an informal investigation in the hope of coming up with a lead.’

The pleasant sense of anticipation created in me following
Ghikas
’s phone call was slowly turning into a wonderful dream. I saw myself going back to my old office and Yanoutsos packing up his things and leaving for unknown destinations.

Ghikas picked up a piece of paper lying on his desk and handed it to me. ‘That’s Petroulakis’s mobile phone number. Do you know him?’

The name meant nothing to me. Ghikas understood and
undertook
to give me a profile of him. ‘Petroulakis is one of the Prime Minister’s advisers. More, he’s his right hand. Phone him and arrange to meet with him. The Secretary General is of the opinion that if the investigation is carried out off-duty, the reporters are less likely to find out about it. That’s why we came up with this plan. Officially, you’re still on sick leave and Petroulakis has no connection with the Ministry of Public Order. So we’re more or less safe.’

‘Does that mean that I’ll still be investigating under cover?’ I had been expecting a different turn of events and I felt deflated.

‘Yes, but now you are fully covered by me and you can call me and ask for my help at any time. Koula will continue to assist you. If you want another assistant, it won’t be so easy for me to find someone equally trustworthy, but I’ll do my best.’

‘Koula is fine for the time being. How much of what I’ve found out about Favieros shall I tell Petroulakis?’

‘Everything. If a scandal is about to break, as I’m very much afraid, it’s better for them to know what they’re getting into from the start. If anything else turns up later that you think you shouldn’t reveal to him, call me and we’ll discuss it.’

‘And am I to follow Petroulakis’s instructions?’

‘Come on now! What instructions can Petroulakis give you? What does he know about police business and investigations? If he gets smart with you, just say “yes” and then get on with it as you think best.’

There was nothing else I wanted to ask him and I got up to leave. As I was going towards the door, I heard him say: ‘And give my best to Koula.’

‘And I’ll tell her how much you miss her. I saw the state of her desk as I was coming in.’

‘Don’t tell her this, but it’s another reason why I want this matter cleared up as soon as possible.’

I imagined that this was the most generous compliment that Ghikas had ever made. Meanwhile, the hulk at the desk had
proceeded
from the Datsuns to the Hondas.

While in the lift, I suddenly got the urge to go down to the
cafeteria
for a coffee and croissant just as I did when I used to come to work. I was about to press the button but I thought twice about it and went straight down to the garage. If I was spotted, I would have to lie about why I was there and I preferred to avoid it.

At home, I found Adriani sitting in front of the TV. The scene with Stefanakos’s suicide had just faded from the screen.

‘You’re late and you’ve missed the special news bulletin,’ Adriani said.

‘What, not another suicide?’ I asked in alarm.

‘No, but those nationalists have claimed responsibility for the politician too.’

I didn’t have to ask what they had said, because I could imagine it word for word. They had claimed that they had forced Favieros to commit suicide because he was employing foreign workers, even more so Stefanakos, who wanted to introduce their languages into Greek schools. Nevertheless, I impatiently waited for the regular news bulletin. Even if all this was just claptrap and the Philip of Macedon organisation had its finger in someone else’s pie, it was quite likely that the announcement would confuse the situation even more and have us turning from scandals to terrorist activities.

In the meantime, I called Petroulakis on his mobile phone. ‘It’s better if we meet at my place rather than at the office,’ he said. ‘My address is 21 Dafnomili Street, in Lycabettus. Come along tomorrow at nine, but don’t be late because I have a meeting at ten.’

Just as I expected, the announcement was the main news story. Its format and logo were exactly the same as the previous one and, at first sight, the text appeared to have been written by the same person.

It began:

and went on:

I thought of Petroulakis’s face the following morning after this announcement and I felt like calling in ill and cancelling the appointment.

I found a parking spot by the French Institute and said a prayer of thanks. Number 21 Dafnomili Street was a renovated two-storey house from the time when Neapoli was still a petit-bourgeois district in the shadow of the neighbouring high-class Kolonaki. Now,
Dafnomili
Street and Doxopatri Street, parallel to it, were inhabited by artists, university professors, government officials and all those who couldn’t find a place or were unable to afford the Lycabettus ring road, but who wanted to be able to say that they lived in Lycabettus. Rather like the backside of the Hilton, an area ever growing in size.

The wooden door was painted crimson with a golden handle and golden letter box, which testified to the fact that the house dated back to the middle of the previous century. I rang the bell and the door was opened not as in the past by some village girl adopted by the household, but by a Thai girl. She neither greeted me nor asked my name, but turned her back to me and began leading the way. When we reached a door, she stood to one side and allowed me to pass, like a hotel groom showing you into a room in a luxury hotel.

The living room extended through two adjoining rooms
separated
by an open white door with glass panels. The furniture wasn’t from the same period as the house, but nor was it what you would call modern. It was Louis-style furniture, as Adriani would say; the kind that as a child you see in others’ houses and hope one day you’ll have in yours, even if it’s no longer hand-carved but is factory-made. On the table in front of the sofa, I saw the morning newspaper. I picked it up to have a quick look, but I was interrupted by a hasty and commanding voice behind me.

‘Sit down, Inspector, and let’s get on with it because I have to leave.’

I turned round and saw a man in his forties, tall and thin, with hair starting to grey at the temples. He was impeccably dressed, an exact copy of the type Adriani drools over in
Glamour
and all her other TV soaps. I conformed to his wish and sat down.

‘Inspector Haritos, isn’t it?’ he asked, as if trying to place me.

‘That’s right. Head of Homicide, on sick leave.’

‘Ah, yes. Chief Superintendent Ghikas told me in glowing terms of your act of self-sacrifice.’ He paused for a moment, a sign that he was through with the niceties and was about to come straight to the point. ‘Mr Ghikas also told me that you are a trustworthy officer and that I can talk quite openly to you.’ He fell silent and gave me a searching look. What did he expect? That I would confirm it for him? He saw that I had no intention of doing anything of the sort and so he continued: ‘This whole business of the suicides is particularly unpleasant, Inspector. We’re talking about people who are extremely well known in the political and business world. However much we were saddened by the suicide of Jason Favieros, we all believed that the reasons were most likely personal. Loukas Stefanakos’s suicide, however, has overturned that simple explanation. Stefanakos
committed
suicide just like Favieros; it’s only reasonable to suppose, then, that there’s something linking the two events. And so the
government
has been burdened with a problem that it wasn’t expecting and one whose solution is out of its hands.’

‘The newspapers are talking of a scandal.’

‘There is no scandal, believe me. But that is no consolation to us. If there were, it would come out into the open, we would deal with it and that would be the end of it. But a non-existent scandal is a
festering
wound that could remain like that for weeks, even for months.’

‘I quite understand, Mr Petroulakis,’ trying to emphasise my understanding by my tone of voice. ‘Tell me how I might help.’

‘We want you, very discreetly, to discover the reasons why
Favieros
and Stefanakos committed suicide.’

‘That might take us some time, without even being certain that we’ll come up with something.’ I reflected as to whether I should continue and I voted in favour. After all, it was better that they should know what they were getting into, as Ghikas had told me the previous day. ‘We have no idea what we might uncover in the course of the investigations.’