Sons of Sparta: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery (16 page)

***

“May I help you?”

“Yes,
keria
. I’m here to see the man whose office is behind that door.” Andreas pointed at a dark, raised-panel, tall wooden door six feet behind the receptionist.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

Andreas handed her his card. “Please, just give Orestes this.”

She took the card, picked up her phone, pressed a button, waited, and said, “Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis is here to see you.”

She paused, looked up, and smiled. “He said to tell you to go to hell.”

“You’re too kind. I’m sure he really said to say, ‘Go fuck yourself.’”

She smiled again. “Whatever interpretation works for you, works for me.”

Andreas leaned in. “Just tell him his daddy might cut off his allowance when he wakes up tomorrow morning to find his pride and joy described in the press as the new butt boy for a certain Ukrainian arms smuggler, drug trader, and sex-slaver planning to set up operations in Greece. In the southern Peloponnese to be exact. And, please, my love, in your message, make sure to emphasize ‘butt boy.’”

The woman’s smile disappeared.

Andreas pointed at the phone. “Butt boy has two t’s, just in case you’re afraid to call his royal highness and prefer to email him instead.”

She jumped up, shuffled quickly to Orestes’ door, knocked, went inside, and closed the door.

Andreas heard muffled shouting from inside the office. Fifteen seconds later the door opened and the woman stepped out. She said nothing, but nodded for Andreas to go inside. He waved and smiled as he walked by her into the office. She slammed the door behind him.

“Touchy help,” said Andreas looking around the office. The walls were plastered with photographs of what looked to be every powerful person Orestes had ever met.

“Take your time. Take a good look. As you can see, I know everyone. Figure out for yourself how many ways I can bury you.”

Andreas kept looking at the walls, ignoring Orestes. The space was three times the size of Andreas’ office. “As far as I can tell, a lot of your pinup pals are in or headed to prison. You ought to be more careful whom you’re photographed with. Could ruin your reputation.”

From behind his ornate, Louis XIV desk, Orestes pointed at a lone straight-back chair in front of and facing him.

Andreas walked to the chair and without breaking stride lifted it with one hand above his head and continued around Orestes’ desk.

Orestes’ arms shot up in front of his face, “What are doing?”

Andreas dropped the chair inches from Orestes’ feet. “Rearranging the furniture.” He sat down. “Now, isn’t this cozier?”

“Get out of my office,
now
.”

“First, a few questions.”

Orestes played with his tie. “After screwing me in Crete, you expect me to help you?”

Andreas pointed at his own chest. “Me? I did precisely what you asked.” He pointed at Orestes and back at himself. “You and I, working together at protecting Greece from foreign predators. What more could you ask for? But don’t worry, I didn’t steal your credit. The prosecutor knows the list of suspects came from you.”

Orestes glared.

“I told him to do his best not to reveal you as the source. After all, we wouldn’t want potential clients on that list learning of your indiscretion. Might hurt business.” Andreas reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a print of a photograph captured from the DVD obtained by Petro. “Speaking of your business, what can you tell me about this?” He handed the photo to Orestes.

Orestes shrugged. “What’s there to tell?”

Andreas locked eyes with Orestes. “Short version or long?”

“Whatever version you think is going to mean more than a rat’s ass to me.”

“Fair enough. I’ll go short and let your imagination fill in the details. You and Alexander,” Andreas pointed at a face in the photograph, “saw the chance of making a lot of money by helping this dude,” he pointed at another face, “set up operations in Greece. The fact he’s high up on NATO’s shit list didn’t matter in the least to you or,” he pointed at an oversized portrait of Orestes’ father on the wall behind his desk, “Daddy.”

Orestes smiled. “You’re right.”

“Nor do you care what the Americans might think.”

Orestes smiled again. “You’re very well informed.”

“Too bad you weren’t, before you jumped into bed with Alexander and his Ukrainian mate.” He paused. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

Anger flashed across Orestes’ face but he said nothing.

“You see, if certain folks in the Mani learn you’ve been working with those two, you’d better be sure your life insurance premiums are paid up. And his.” Andreas pointed at the painting again.

“I assume you’re talking about your colleague Kouros’ cousins.”

Andreas nodded. “You, too, are very well informed.”

“I had absolutely nothing to do with their father’s murder.”

Andreas shook his head from side to side. “You’re missing the point, my dear friend. Whether or not you were involved in the murder isn’t the issue. It’s how hard you’re working at the cover-up that’s going to get you killed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and I know that either the Ukrainian killed their father or knows who did. And if I know that,” he smiled, “and Detective Kouros knows that, how long until the sons know? And when they find out…” Andreas shook his head, “I don’t have to tell you how seriously those Maniots take their vendettas.” He nodded toward the portrait, “It’s practically biblical, as in ‘An eye for an eye.’”

“You’re bluffing. All you have linking me to your bullshit story is a photograph taken at a club where every sort on Earth says hello to each other.”

“If you’re betting on Alexander riding in on his white horse to cover your ass when they start twisting his nuts, good luck.” Andreas shook his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s down there right now putting as much distance as he can between you, the Ukrainian, the deal, and him.” Andreas smiled, “And oh yes, let’s not forget the Ukrainian’s plans for the airstrip.”

Orestes bit at his lip.

“Personally, I’d rather have NATO and the U.S. gunning for me than
that
dead man’s sons.”

“Where are you headed with this?”

“Perhaps it’s time to consider taking out insurance. The kind which promises that when the sons start looking into your role in their father’s murder, a certain detective cousin of theirs tells them how you fully cooperated from the moment you realized you might know something about their father’s murder.”

Orestes bit harder at his lip. “Why should I trust you?”

Sold
, thought Andreas. He patted Orestes’ knee. “Because I’m not like you.” He leaned back and yawned. “Besides, what choice do you have?”

Orestes got up out of his chair and walked around the side of his desk away from Andreas. “I really don’t like you.”

“Old news.”

“Or the nephew.”

“I’m sure Detective Kouros would be hurt by that.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Names of anyone you think might have been involved in the murder.”

“I don’t have names.”

“Too bad, because I have yours.”

“You’re pretty stupid if you had to ask me that question.”

“I’ll live with that. Just tell me.”

“The competitors of the Ukrainian.”

“Competitors?”

“Local gunrunners operating on the Peloponnese. The kind that wouldn’t take kindly to a big player moving in on their territory.”

“But the locals use boats, the Ukrainian is into planes.”

“For now. But competition is competition, and if the Ukrainian gained a foothold in the Mani through a strong business alliance with the father, his expansion into their highly profitable sea routes would be inevitable. He presented an unacceptable risk they’d prefer to nip in the bud.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because that’s what the Ukrainian told me. In private, when that old queen wasn’t around.”

“What did he say?”

“His best guess was that the local boys somehow found out about his interest in the Mani and thought if they took out Mangas’ father, the project would die with him.”

“But how did they get the taverna owner to kill him?”

“The Ukrainian had no idea. But he doubted it was a coincidence.”

Funny how cops and crooks so often think alike,
thought Andreas. “Okay, which locals?”

“He didn’t say, and I don’t know.”

“For your sake, you’d better not be holding out on me.”

“No reason to. I’m too busy to take on this project anyway. The Ukrainian will just have to find someone else to assist him or drop it.”

“Hope he’s not disappointed.”

“Not as disappointed as when he finds out that the reason his deal is dead is because the girlfriend who spent the night sitting on his lap spent the morning talking to cops.” His lip had curled into a snarl.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The Ukrainian will.”

“Big mistake.”

“Why? Are you protecting hookers now, too?”

“No, except it wasn’t his girlfriend who talked.” Andreas winked, stood, and walked toward the door. “It was yours.”

***

Andreas didn’t bother to say good-bye to the receptionist. Nor did he wait for the elevator. He double-timed it down four flights of stairs out to the street, and jumped into the front passenger seat of a marked blue-and-white police car parked with all but its driver side wheels on the sidewalk.

“How’d it go?” said Kouros.

Andreas reached for his mobile, and hit a speed dial number. “Like charming a snake. Just drive. I’ll tell you after I speak to—Maggie, get Petro to call me ASAP in the car. It’s urgent.”

Andreas put down the phone and waited until Kouros had edged into the Formula One-style traffic on Vassilis Sofias, one of Athens’ busiest roads. “That bastard threatened to tell the Ukrainian that the girl on his lap was working with us.”

“How’d he figure that out?”

“He’s smart. But he’d do something like that even if he knew it wasn’t true, just to make us squirm.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That it wasn’t she; it was Alexander.”

“Jesus, I promised him we wouldn’t name him.”

“Yeah, I know, but Alexander can protect himself, the girl can’t. Besides, I didn’t exactly name Alexander, and that might make Orestes think twice about blaming him.”

“What did you say?”

“That it was Orestes’ ‘girlfriend’ who talked.”

“You really do like pouring gasoline on the flames, don’t you?”

“He deserves it. Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if Orestes and Alexander had balled each other.”

“Some hard-on you have for that guy.”

Andreas turned his head and studied a smiling Kouros. “I’ll let that one pass. Orestes said the Ukrainian’s best guess was that local arms smugglers had your uncle killed. They’d figure murdering your uncle would kill the deal, too, and keep the competition from moving in.”

“Ever think that maybe Orestes told you that story in hopes it would get back to my cousins and they’d wipe out the
Ukrainian’s
competition?”

Andreas looked out the windshield. “That’s possible, but a very risky play by Orestes. And the Ukrainian. Pointing a finger means three others on the same hand point back at you.”

“So, which locals are involved?”

“No idea. Tassos might have one, but it’s way outside his stomping grounds, or maybe he can get his arms-dealing buddy to give us some names once he hears he’s not being asked to cross the Ukrainian.”

“Any idea on how they got Babis to kill my uncle?”

“Nope. We’ll just have to keep following the string. Sooner or later it will end somewhere.”

“Hopefully not back at the Minotaur.”

Andreas looked again at Kouros. “My literate friend, you’ve just given me an idea.”

“What kind of idea?”

“Theseus had his Ariadne to save him when all seemed bleakest. And you have your Stella.”

“The taverna owner’s girlfriend?”

“Yep. If anyone is likely to know what drove him to kill your uncle and then himself, it’s the girlfriend. Before we go anywhere else with this I want you to find out everything she knows, even things she doesn’t know that she knows. We have to make sure Orestes isn’t running
us
instead of the other way around.”

“You’re just pissed about what I said about your having—how shall I say it this time?—an uncommon interest in giving Orestes
agita
.”

“I like that better, but my thinking’s the same. I want you down in the Mani first thing tomorrow morning. And don’t come back until you’re sure who was running her boyfriend.”

The car’s speaker squawked their car number.

Andreas reached for the handset. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to dispatch another brave knight to save a fair damsel.”

“Yeah, but all he has to do is spend five minutes warning her to be careful and lay low for a while. I could end up spending a month with Stella and still not know any more than we already do.”

“Care for a suggestion?” Andreas smiled. “Bring flowers.”

Chapter Seventeen

Kouros remembered once hearing a Navy psychiatrist say that for most of us getting through life each day was pretty much like flying a plane: takeoffs and landings presented the greatest challenges, the rest generally involved hours of routine separated by moments of sheer panic; though for some, panic might be no more than “Where’s my phone?”

If that shrink was right, Stella probably felt her plane had just been hijacked by Martian terrorists. Her man was dead, and despite the price she paid for his company, he’d provided her with food, shelter, and work. Gone, too, was the other man in her life, the one who protected her from deportation. She was back to being a stranger in a strange land.

Kouros pulled up in front of the taverna just before noon. The only other vehicle in sight was a beat-up motorbike by the door to the kitchen. She must be scared shitless, he thought. What do I say to her? I’m never good at talking to girls I like.
Like
? What am I thinking? She could be involved in two murders.

A handwritten sign on the front door to the taverna said CLOSED. Hardly a surprise. He tried the doorknob but it didn’t budge. He walked over to the kitchen door and knocked. No answer. He turned the doorknob and as he did the door pulled away from him.

“Hi,” said Stella with a brilliant smile. “I heard someone at the front door, but by the time I got there you were gone. Then I heard a knock at this door. You’re the impatient sort, aren’t you?”

“Uh, sorry, I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”

“Then I’m happy I am.” Another smile.

Kouros fought off the urge to blush.

She wore cutoff jeans and one of those t-shirts that looked as if it had been ripped from the jaws of a Rottweiler. No shoes, no makeup.

Kouros didn’t know where to look. He decided to aim for her eyes. Those deep, dark, brown ones.

She cocked her head slightly to the side and fixed her gaze on him. “Nothing to say?” She paused. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the shy sort. Come, I’ll make us some coffee.” She stepped back and waved him inside.

“I thought the place was closed.”

“It is. But I remember how to make coffee. And your uncle’s friends still show up every morning like clockwork. They bring their own pastries. I make the coffee.”

He followed her through the kitchen out to the small dining room.

“Sit wherever you want. I’ll be right back.”

He wanted to go with her, but did as she said. Everything was neat and clean. Nothing out of place. He saw a bucket and mop over by the door leading to the larger dining room. A pair of sandals at the entrance.

He yelled, “You were mopping the big room when I tried the front door?”

Stella came out of the kitchen with two cups and a pot of coffee. “Yes, I felt I should clean the place before I left.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes, for Athens. Tomorrow. I have a cousin I can stay with there.”

That was the smart move for illegal immigrants. Athens still offered the best opportunities for those willing to work hard, and a place to lose yourself among the hundreds of thousands of other illegals hiding in plain sight from immigration authorities.

He glanced around the room while Stella leaned over to pour the coffee. At least he tried to convince himself he was looking around the room and not struggling to ignore the breasts inches from his face as she filled his cup. “Have you ever thought of staying here?”

“What’s here for me? A horny local guy. Or an even hornier passing tourist? No, I have no future here.”

Kouros wondered if he should tell her the truth. But the truth took away a lot of leverage if he wanted her to talk. “You’re worried about your immigration status, aren’t you?” he asked.

She looked up at him, anger flushing her face. “What are you getting at?”

“Nothing.”

“
Nothing?
You’re an Athens cop who shows up out of nowhere at the place where I sleep, you can’t keep your eyes off my tits, and just happen to raise the subject of my immigration status when you already knows it’s illegal. What’s the matter, Detective? Are you the type of predator who prefers your victims to beg you to fuck them so you won’t turn them in? You think that makes you any better than a fuck-me-or-I’ll-beat-you-to-death rapist?” She stood up. “I thought you were different. You want to fuck me? Here, fuck me.” She had already pulled off her t-shirt and was working on her shorts when Kouros grabbed her hands.

“You’ve got it all wrong.”

She twisted away from his hands and turned away from him.

Kouros stayed where he was. “Put on your top and come back here.”

She didn’t move. He could hear her crying.

“Like I said, you have it all wrong.”

A minute passed. She reached down, picked up her t-shirt, put it on, and turned around, eyes red and nose running.

He handed her a napkin.

She took it, blew her nose, and sat down across the table from him. “I’m sorry. It’s just that since Babis’ death practically every man through that front door has tried getting in my pants. I can’t stand it.”

“I can imagine. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve always had guys hitting on me. But it’s sickening to have to face a line of Babis’ supposed friends coming by to see if they can be the first to console me with their dicks.”

“I can’t believe everyone who’s come to see you was like that?”

“No, but enough to make me sick of them all.”

“Who for instance?”

“I don’t want to talk about them.”

Kouros nodded. “Locals?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about them.”

“Anybody I know?”

“You’re not going to stop, are you?”

He smiled. “No. Because I can help you.”

She shut her eyes, drew in and let out a deep breath. “His friends from Pirgos.”

“What friends?’

“Three guys stopped by yesterday. Real nasty bastards. They said they hadn’t seen Babis in a very long time and drove down from Pirgos to pay Babis’ ‘widow’ their respects.”

“They thought you were his wife?”

“They said the words, but I didn’t believe anything they said.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I saw one of them with Babis a little more than a week before your uncle died.”

“Where?”

She pointed at the front door. “He came in after lunch, spoke to Babis at the door, and left. I thought Babis had told him we were closed, and when I said I didn’t mind waiting on the guy he told me, ‘Mind your own fucking business,’ and left. I guess to meet him.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I heard Babis yelling at someone outside. I couldn’t make out what he said, but I could tell he was angry.”

“You’re sure it was one of the same guys who came by to see you yesterday?”

“Positive. He had jet-black hair with a white streak running straight down the middle, front to back. Like a skunk.”

“What did they want?”

“It certainly wasn’t to make me comfortable. One looked and smelled like a bear, another kept licking his lips and staring at my breasts.”

“So we’ve got a skunk, a bear, and a...uh,” Kouros stared at Stella’s breasts.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t say it.”

Kouros smiled. “But he needs a name.”

“Fine.
Malaka
.”

“Too common.”

She shut her eyes. “He had a big mole on the back of his right hand.”

“Terrific. A skunk, a bear, and a mole walk into a taverna.”

“Are you trying to be cute, Detective?” She smiled.

Again Kouros almost blushed. “What
did
they want from you?”

“From their looks, to the extent it involved me it had nothing to do with my mind. But their questions were all about your family’s reaction to Babis killing your uncle.”

“What sort of questions?”

“The kind designed to learn who, besides Babis, that Mangas and your family might be blaming for the murder. They said they were concerned the family might somehow be blaming me as Babis’ wife, but I knew they didn’t give a damn about how the family felt about me.”

“What did you say?”

“As far as I could tell everything was fine and no one was blaming me for what Babis had done.”

“Did you tell them anything else?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

Her face turned very serious. “That I wasn’t Babis’ wife, but engaged to one of your uncle’s nephews.”

“You what?”

She smiled. “I was alone in here with them. I had to come up with something to make them think twice before trying anything.”

“Smart.”

“Aren’t you going to ask which nephew?” She smiled.

Kouros felt himself flush. He swallowed before speaking. “Did Babis ever mention anything to you about a Ukrainian?”

Stella’s smile vanished. “I don’t believe you asked that question.”

“Why?”

“They asked me the same thing.”

“What did you tell them?”

“The truth—no—but the bear kept pressing me on it. Scared me a bit. The skunk had to tell him to cool it. Then they left.”

“That’s it?”

She nodded. “But their visit made up my mind for me. That’s when I called your cousin Mangas and told him I’d be leaving tomorrow.”

“What did he say?”

“‘No hurry, take your time.’”

“I agree with him.”

“Between immigration and those guys from Pirgos, there’s no upside to my staying here.”

“I wouldn’t worry about the boys from Pirgos. As for immigration, well, I think that’s going to work itself out.”

She leaned across the table and stared into Kouros’ eyes. “If telling me that you’ll cure my immigration worries is your revised technique for getting into my pants, I have two words for you.”

“No, you’re wrong again. My uncle made all the arrangements before he died. He wanted to surprise you. You’ll have your ID card any day now.”

She put her finger to Kouros’ lips. “Like I said, I have two words for you.” She paused. “Not necessary.” She leaned farther across the table. “I’ve wanted to make love to you since the moment we met.”

Kouros blinked.

Stella stood up, came around, and took his hand. “Come along with me, Detective Kouros.”

And he did.

***

Brown, chestnut, soft, flowers, light, dark, smooth, touch, taste, hold, press, grasp, turn, bury, release, cling, stroke, kiss. Straddle, lift, fall, reach, touch, squeeze, race, harder, finish. Caress. Sleep. Awake. Watch. Speak.

“I’m glad you came back.”

“I’m glad you didn’t leave.”

Stella kissed Kouros on his shoulder.

He lay on his belly, his arm across her chest.

Neither spoke a word.

“Do you know about me and your uncle?”

Kouros opened his eyes and stared at the side of her head. “I don’t even want to think about what possessed you to ask me that question at this moment.”

“But you do know?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why ‘good’?”

“Because now I have nothing left to hide from you.” She brushed her lips against his shoulder and reached one hand under his body to hold him.

But Kouros’ mind was elsewhere. “Did you hide it from Babis?”

“I didn’t have to. He knew.”

“How did he know?”

She pressed her head back against the pillow and sighed. “Why are you asking that?”

“Because I’m a cop and you started it.”

She pulled her hand away. “Someone gave him a picture of us coming out of a hotel room.”

“Who gave it to him?”

“I don’t know, but it was taken at Panos’ hotel.”

“How do you know about the photo?”

“He showed it to me.”

“When?”

“About a week ago.”

“That would be a couple of days before my uncle died.”

“Yes.”

“Why did he show it to you?”

“He said he wanted me to know that he knew. And that the moment your uncle ‘was out of the picture’ he’d start turning some ‘real money’ by
peddling my ass as his whore
.” She spit at the words.

“Nice guy.”

“He was angry.” Again she sighed and turned her head away. “But in his own way he loved me.”

Why do the abused always say that?
“I’m sure.” Kouros sat up and almost fell onto the floor. He’d forgotten they were on a cot in a storeroom. The smell of onions and disinfectant hit him. He preferred the scent of Stella’s hair, the taste of her body, but this conversation was headed in the wrong direction and he did have a job to do.

“If he loved you why did he kill himself?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he ever threaten to kill himself?”

“Himself, no.” She raised her arms in the air. “Me, yes.” She slammed her arms down onto the cot.

“Anyone else?”

“All the time. It was his way of expressing anger.”

“Did he ever kill anyone?”

“Why don’t you stop with the questions and come back down here next to me?”

Kouros turned and placed his hand on her belly. “I need these answers.”

She shut her eyes and put her hands on top of his hand. “Not while I knew him, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he had before. From what he told me he ran with a rough crowd.”

“Like the crew that paid you a visit yesterday?”

She nodded. “Sometimes he’d threaten me with how easy it would be for a body to disappear in the sea. As if he knew how to do it.”

“Such as by tying a rock around your neck?”

“I heard the ancient Greeks used that as a method for committing suicide, but for Babis to do that…” She opened her eyes again. “That’s not how I would have expected him to kill himself. He’d almost drowned as a child and once told me he’d rather shoot himself in the head—several times, if necessary—than drown in the water.”

“So why did he do it that way?”

“No idea. But I guess when you decide to kill yourself, how you do it is the least of your concerns.”

Just the opposite, thought Kouros. If someone starts talking in detail about how he plans on killing himself, that’s when you know it’s serious. Suicides tended to be planned final acts, not done on a whim.

She reached out and touched his side. “So, are you done with the questions?”

He smiled. “For now, yes.”