Che Committed Suicide (28 page)

That was it, I thought to myself. They’ve managed to do what they set out to do. The next day, all the newspapers, the radio
stations
and the channels would be talking about the danger of the extreme right and the three youths would come to a bad end.

It was one of the few nights that before going to sleep I longed to hear the waves breaking on the shore of an island. As soon as I closed my eyes, however, I saw Yanoutsos before me, sitting in my chair, and I opened them again.

It usually means one of two things when you can’t get to sleep: either you’re full of fear and worry or of vexation and anger. In both cases, you need some kind of sedative. My sedative was my decision to square accounts with Ghikas. Instead of this bringing with it
agitation
and anxiety, it brought me relief and I managed to sleep a couple of hours.

So, at ten in the morning, I left the Mirafiori in the garage at Security Headquarters and took the lift up to the fifth floor. Koula’s replacement was there again with a magazine in front of him.

‘Inspector Haritos,’ I said, certain that he would have forgotten me as I wasn’t either a Toyota or a Hyundai.

He cast a glance at me and went back to reading his magazine. As I walked past, I saw his eyes bulging as he had his ugly mug stuck in a two-page advertisement for mobile phones.

I knocked on Ghikas’s door and went straight in without waiting for an invitation. I found him standing with his back to the desk gazing out of the window into Alexandras Avenue. This was a sign that something was eating him, otherwise he never budges from his chair. As soon as he turned round, I stood on the brake and stayed where I was. I saw a man who was tired, his eyes red from lack of sleep, looking at me as if some great misfortune had befallen him.

‘I know what you’re going to say to me,’ he said, ‘but I had no idea.’ He sat down and fixed his eyes on the matching set with the scissors and paperknife on his desk. ‘I had no idea, Costas.
Everything
happened behind my back.’

In all the years we had worked together, I had seen him enraged, indifferent, fawning, cunning, secretive … This was the first time I had seen him an emotional wreck and all my anger dissolved. I put everything I had prepared to say to him in the pending tray and sat down in my usual chair without waiting for an invitation. He slowly lifted his eyes and looked at me.

‘All these years I’ve been on the Force, I knew the political
leadership
at the Ministry had faith in me. If anyone had told me anything to the contrary, I wouldn’t have believed him. And they didn’t only have faith in me because of my ability, but because I always played by the rules, I carried out my orders without question or any
disagreement
or pretending not to have heard them. Yesterday, for the first time, I felt I was being passed over. I realised that it’s not enough just to follow orders, I have to carry them out to the letter. Not in my own way, which because of my experience is the correct way, but exactly as they are dictated to me, even if what they ask of me is irrational and compromises me.’

His voice sounded tired and weary, yet sincere. Perhaps because he wasn’t one of those people who easily open themselves to you.

‘I have another six years to go before I’m up for retirement,’ he went on. ‘And in those six years, I’m going to have to live with the doubt as to whether they’re telling me the truth or not every time. I’ll be constantly niggled by the thought that behind my back they’re issuing other orders that I won’t know about and that I’ll eventually have to deal with. I ask you, is that a way to live?’

It wasn’t easy for me to find any comforting words. Not just with Ghikas at that moment, but with Adriani and Katerina too. There are times when I pray that my sympathy shows on my face because the words stick in my throat and won’t come out. That’s how it was then. All I could say was something quite innocuous.

‘Didn’t you ask Yanoutsos for an explanation?’

‘Yes. Do you know what he replied? Orders from up above. Talk to the Secretary General.’

‘And did you?’

‘Yes, and he told me that it wasn’t his job to keep me informed and that those beneath me should have informed me earlier.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Don’t you understand?’ he cried. ‘You! They think it was you who didn’t tell me that there were orders from above to go and nab those troublemakers!’

‘Let them put themselves on the line. They won’t find a court anywhere to convict them.’

He stared at me and shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Ah, Costas. You’re right in what you say, but you don’t see clearly. They’ll put them away and they’ll start saying: “Let justice take its course.” And by the time it has taken its course and acquitted them, two years will have passed. In the meantime, the case will have been forgotten and no one will give a damn.’

He was right. At the rate that the media today come out with scandals, world-shattering revelations and exclusive reports, three times a day, like cough syrup, in two years’ time no one would remember anything about Favieros and Stefanakos.

‘You realise that I can no longer make any promises to you
concerning
your position,’ he said. ‘Whatever I say or do, it’ll be difficult to get Yanoutsos out of it.’

‘I realise that.’

He heaved a sigh. ‘Finish your sick leave and then come back and I’ll see where I can put you so that at least you’ll be content.’

I wouldn’t be content, but at least I appreciated his efforts. ‘And what shall I tell Koula?’

He shrugged. ‘As she’s on leave, let her finish it and then come back.’

Outside the office on my way to the lift I bumped into Yanoutsos.

‘Something reached my ears about you investigating the two suicides on the q.t.,’ he said ironically. ‘There’s no need for you to go on looking. The case is closed and you can take yourself off fishing.’

As I was opening the lift door, I heard his laughter behind me. I reflected on just how much we would miss Ghikas if he retired and Yanoutsos were to take his place.

Throughout the journey back home, my own problems gave way to Ghikas’s. The way I’d seen him, vulnerable and betrayed, I felt an unprecedented sense of solidarity with him. It was the second time I had felt that, and on each occasion for the same reason. The first time was when I had left Petroulakis’s house in Dafnomili Street. Once again, I was tormented by the question of whether I’d been wrong about him all those years. Perhaps yes, perhaps no. Yes, because I always regarded him with suspicion and doubted his good intentions. No, because when someone admits to you of his own accord that throughout his life he did whatever his superiors told him without ever questioning their orders, it meant that he couldn’t care less about you, his associate, and merely used you in keeping with the needs of the moment. Consequently, I was right to be
cautious
with him and to play my own game, just as he played his. Solidarity was all well and good, but those who made it their banner in the coalition government of ’89 came a cropper.

I walked into the house and found Fanis talking to Adriani. Next to them was someone unknown to me, who looked like a technician and who was looking around at the walls.

‘But, Fanis, dear, why do we need an air conditioner? I told you, I don’t like them because they dry the atmosphere in the room. We’re fine with the fan.’

‘Do I have to say it again? You have a husband with a heart problem. For heart sufferers, the heat increases the risk of death. Do you know how many cases we get in Emergency when there’s a heatwave?’

‘Maybe, but we’re leaving for a few days. We’re going to stay with my sister on the island.’

‘And what are you going to do when you get back and Athens is boiling hot?’

The technician interrupted the conversation, which was taking place in my absence, as did every conversation that had to do with me.

‘Can I just ask? Do you want it to cool the whole place?’

‘No, just the sitting room,’ Fanis replied.

‘Then 12,000 BTU will be ample.’

Fanis took the decision on his own. ‘Okay. It’s settled.’

The technician turned to leave, saw me in the doorway and halted. It was only then that Fanis and Adriani noticed me.

‘Do you have any objections to us putting in an air conditioner?’ asked Fanis. ‘It’s a special offer. You can pay in instalments and the first one is in two years’ time.’

‘Go ahead,’ I replied. With all that had been happening, I would need to take care of my heart.

Adriani walked out of the sitting room, leaving us alone. She always did that when she didn’t get her own way.

Once she had gone, Fanis leaned over to me and said
confidentially
: ‘It was Katerina’s idea, but I didn’t say anything because her mother would have gone into a huff.’

Before I had time to reply, the phone rang. It was Sotiropoulos. ‘Are your lot out of their minds?’ he said as soon as he heard my voice. ‘They think they can pin it all on those three yobs, do they?’

‘Don’t be ungrateful,’ I said ironically. ‘Those three yobs gave you the topic for your programme last night.’

He understood that the dig was aimed at his programme on the danger of right-wing extremism, and he didn’t reply straightaway. When he did at last open his mouth, it was one of the rare occasions that he sounded uptight.

‘I’ve got people over my head too, Haritos. And I can’t say “no” to them when they want to profit from some event, even if I disagree.’ He paused for a moment and went on: ‘So what do we do now?’

‘Nothing. We might have succeeded in doing something if I’d been able to talk to Andreadis.’

‘I tried, but he was adamant. I told you.’

‘Andreadis was adamant because he had got wind of what was cooking and he didn’t want to compromise himself.’

‘It’s possible. At any rate, keep hold of the material you’ve come up with. It won’t go wasted.’

Yes, I thought to myself. I could sell it to you to pay for the air conditioner.

‘Which Andreadis were you talking about? The politician?’ asked Fanis, who had been an unwilling listener to the conversation.

‘Yes, I wanted to ask him a few things about Stefanakos, but he refused to talk to me. Anyhow, now they’ve pinned it on those three yobs.’

As he was opening the front door to leave, Fanis bumped into Koula. I made the introductions.

‘So you’re the famous Koula who’s so impressed Mrs Haritos,’ Fanis said, laughing.

Koula blushed to her toes, mumbled a ‘she’s very kind’, and went into the house. When I had closed the front door, she stood there looking at me gravely.

‘No need for you to say anything,’ she said. ‘I saw it all on TV and I know.’

‘I saw Ghikas today.’

‘And?’

‘He said for you to finish your leave and then go back.’

‘That’s something, I suppose. At least I’ll get a bit of swimming in,’ she said with some sarcasm in her voice.

‘Are you upset about it?’ I asked.

She shrugged. ‘I have a father who paid dearly for his
stubbornness
and his tongue. And we paid for it along with him. It was all that upset that finished my mother off. And so I went to the other extreme. Get on with your job and whistle indifferently.’ She looked at me as if waiting for me to say something. But I had nothing to say and so she continued: ‘I came to tell you how happy I am to have met you and how much I’ll miss you. Both you and Mrs Haritos.’

Saying that, she went into the kitchen, where Adriani was
preparing
oven-baked perch. She waited patiently while she was regulating the temperature. ‘My work with the Inspector is finished and I came to say goodbye,’ she said. ‘And to tell you how happy I am to have met you.’

‘I’m happy to have met you, too, dear,’ said Adriani warmly, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘What will you do now? Go back to the office?’

‘No, I’m going to go swimming,’ said Koula, unable to hide her bitterness.

‘And we were thinking of going to see my sister on the island.’

‘You should. The Inspector needs it after all he’s been through.’

‘Keep telling him that,’ said Adriani, happy to have found an ally.

‘If I need your help now and again when I’m cooking, may I call you?’

‘Of course, whenever you want!’ Adriani replied enthusiastically. ‘And you can come round so I can show you.’

They kissed each other again and Koula rushed out, as if afraid she may change her mind and stay.

‘Wonderful girl,’ said Adriani as she watched her go. ‘And we never invited her to come and eat even once. Shame on us.’

‘Let’s have her round on Sunday.’

‘Good idea.’ But then she thought better of it. ‘No, perhaps not on Sunday.’

‘Why?’

‘Sunday is when Fanis comes.’

‘So?’

She didn’t reply, but the expression on her face made clear what she was thinking.

‘Are you in your right mind? Fanis is with women doctors and nurses all day. You don’t think Koula is going to turn his head, do you?’

She thought it over again and came out with her philosophical aphorism: ‘She’s a pretty girl and you never know.’

When I thought of it, as things had turned out for me, I was ready to believe it.

The high-speed are every Tuesday and Thursday,’ said Adriani. It was nine in the morning and she was dressed, decked out and ready to go for the tickets.

‘High-speed?’

‘The fast boats that do the trip in six hours, stopping only at Paros and Naxos. The regular boats leave every day, apart from Saturdays.’

‘Buy tickets for the fast one.’

She left at high speed lest I changed my mind and told her to leave it for later. I was about to revert to my old ways in order to pass my time till Thursday. I would go by the kiosk and pick up all the papers, then plant myself in the little square of St Lazarus, at the cafeteria with the sourpuss waiter, who brought you watery Greek coffee after you’d asked for strong and sweet.