Sons of Sparta: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery (17 page)

“Good,” she spread wide her arms. “Come. Make me forget all my other lovers.”

Kouros rolled his eyes. “Sounds like quite a challenge.”

She laughed and grabbed his cock. “I think you’re up to it.”

***

Andreas felt the vibration in his pants pocket. He adjusted his position in the chair and reached in without taking his eyes off the television. The riots in Syntagma threatened to turn more violent and tear gas-saturated than usual. Another peaceful demonstration in Parliament Square successfully hijacked by masked anarchists and mobsters. The former sought any excuse to battle police with Molotov cocktails and rocks; the latter were happy to vandalize and rob neighborhood shops under cover of whatever government action triggered the current massing of angry protestors.

He put the phone to his ear. “Yes.”

“It’s Yianni.”

“What’s up?” said Andreas

“You sound busy.”

“Just watching the latest episode of Greek democracy in action.”

“Is it bad?”

“Not yet, but heading there. Not sure how much longer our guys on the front lines are going to take this shit without someone losing it and seriously busting a few heads.”

“Too bad it’s always the wrong heads.”

“On both sides.”

“Isn’t that just the way it is? Big bastards making decisions that have little bastards taking all the risks.”

Andreas shifted his look from the television to his office windows. “Why do I sense there’s something you want to tell me?”

“I spoke to the girl Stella. Yesterday she had a visit from three very nasty characters out of Pirgos.”

“Her late boyfriend’s hometown.”

“Precisely. They were particularly interested in whether my cousins thought anyone other than Babis might have been involved in the murder.”

“How thoughtful of them.”

“And whether Babis ever spoke to her about a Ukrainian.”

Andreas leaned forward in his chair. “Sounds like some folks are nervous.”

“With reason. Stella said one of them paid a visit to Babis about a week before my uncle’s murder, putting him in a bad mood.”

Andreas thought for a moment. “That would have been around the time of your uncle’s first death threat.”

“Orestes might actually have been telling you the truth about Peloponnese gunrunners wanting my uncle dead. And it fits with what the Gytheio harbormaster told me of rumors about ‘people up north’ worried about a ‘war’ breaking out on the Mani over a ‘project’ involving my uncle.”

“Well, if the girl is telling the truth, for sure they had something to do with her boyfriend.”

“And his suicide.”

“They’d need a hell of a lot of leverage to get him to kill himself. Maybe they threatened to kill the girlfriend if he didn’t do himself?”

“I don’t think that would have done it.”

Andreas heard Kouros draw in and let out a breath.

“He’d seen a photograph of my uncle and Stella coming out of a hotel together.”

“How do you know that?”

“Stella told me he’d shown it to her a couple of days before my uncle’s murder, and threatened to pimp her out like a whore once my uncle was out of the picture.”

“He actually said, ‘out of the picture’?”

“According to her.”

“Who took the photograph?”

“No idea. But I guess the Pirgos boys gave it to him.”

“I wonder if Babis planned on killing your uncle when he showed Stella the photo?”

“From my run-in with him, I’d say his temper controlled his tongue. And he definitely lacked a sense of humor on the subject of messing with his girlfriend. I’ve no doubt that photo would have fired him up big-time.”

“Fine, but if what drove him was love triangle rage, that’s usually a murder-murder-suicide scenario, not something like this where the angry one kills the third party and himself but lets the girl live.”

“There’s more. She said Babis was afraid of drowning and she couldn’t believe he’d kill himself that way.”

“Sort of makes you wonder.”

“Especially since he still had the vial of poison he’d used to kill my uncle hidden away in the taverna. But what’s really bothering me is, after all those years of my uncle’s protection, what made the Pirgos boys think they could get Babis to turn on my uncle now?”

“From what you’re telling me, the likely answer has to do with your uncle screwing Babis’ girlfriend.”

“But how would the Pirgos guys know about that? Who would have told them?”

“Sounds like you’ve got some more interesting questions to ask.”

“There’s no one in the Mani who’s going to admit to turning on my uncle. It would be suicide.”

“Start with the photograph.”

“Like I said, Chief, who’s going to admit to taking it?”

“If you find who took it, my guess is you’ll get an answer to why Babis killed your uncle.”

“The only ones who knew about my uncle and Stella were his morning coffee buddy Panos and the chief of Gytheio’s port police. And at the moment they’re both dead ends, motive-wise.”

“What about someone at the hotel?”

“Possible. I’ll see what I can find out, but how would a chambermaid or porter know what to do with the photograph unless someone put them up to taking it? My uncle and Stella weren’t exactly a
paparazzi
quality couple.”

“Since it ended up in Babis’ hands, likely via Pirgos, it had to be someone who knew she was Babis’ girlfriend and of Babis’ past link to the Pirgos mob.”

“How are we ever going to get a lead on that?” said Kouros.

“Start at the end. The three guys from Pirgos would know who gave them the photo.”

“Can’t imagine how we’ll ever get them to talk.”

“Let’s begin with their names and see where that takes us.”

“Don’t have any. Just descriptions. A bear, a skunk, and a mole.”

“Come again?”

“‘A bear, a skunk, and a mole.’”

“I’ll pass it along to Tassos to see what he can do with it. He’d said that without something more specific than what Orestes called ‘local guys,’ his friend wouldn’t be volunteering names, but maybe, with Stella’s description, we’ll get lucky and find ourselves an arms dealer among them. To me, though, they sound more like something out of Winnie-the-Pooh.”

“I see you’ve been watching television with Tassaki.”

Andreas looked back at the television screen. “It beats real life.”

Chapter Eighteen

Kouros’ afternoon of asking questions at Panos’ hotel yielded nothing. No one had seen his uncle at the hotel with any woman other than his daughter Calliope for lunch. If nothing else, Uncle knew how to be discreet. Or Panos’ employees knew how to keep their mouths shut.

Kouros sat alone at a seaside table in Gerolimenas, sipping coffee and staring out across the harbor toward Panos’ hotel. No way to take that picture of Uncle and Stella from here. He looked north at the high cliff face running out to sea. A goatherd’s shed at the base of the cliff offered a clear sight line to the front door of the hotel room in the photo. But you had to know how to get out there, and you’d be visible to anyone looking in your direction for practically the entire time.

Maybe someone took it from inside the hotel complex? Without some fix on at least the approximate date of the photo, from the number of camera-armed tourists passing through Gerolimenas each season, potential photographers numbered in the tens of thousands.

The lanky priest he’d been thinking about the other day kept pacing the thirty-foot stretch of pavement between Kouros’ table and the taverna across the road. Long, dark, unwashed hair, a dark scruffy beard, dusty cowboy boots, and a priest’s black cassock loosely buttoned at the top and bottom over a faded, red plaid shirt and worn blue jeans served as his form of priestly dress. Then again, this was the Mani.

Every few seconds the priest stole a quick glance at Kouros without breaking stride.

Kouros decided to end the priest’s curiosity and waved for him to join him.

“Me?” said the priest pointing at his chest without slowing his pace.

Kouros nodded. “Yes.”

The priest stopped and turned his hands palms up in a pleading gesture. “Why?”

“I need the company of a holy man.”

He nodded and walked quickly toward Kouros. The passing waiter muttered loud enough for Kouros to hear, “I see he’s caught another one.”

The priest dropped into the chair across from Kouros, flashed a quick nervous smile, and said, “My name is Father Carlos. How can I be of service, my son?”

“What would you like to drink?” said Kouros.

“That’s most kind of you, but I never drink coffee. It is a stimulant born out of the labor of oppressed workers.”

“Tea?”

“Even worse.”

Kouros smiled. “Orange juice.”

“Only in the mornings.”

Without being asked, the waiter came by and set a half-full bottle of bar scotch on the table together with a single glass. “He doesn’t believe in sharing, just in
not
paying,” he stage-whispered to Kouros before walking away.

Carlos ignored the waiter’s words, twisted off the bottle top, and poured four fingers of scotch. He lifted the glass. “To your health, most kind stranger.”

Kouros tipped his coffee cup against Carlos’ glass. “
Yia sas
.” He watched him drain a third of the glass before putting it down.

“Bless you, my son.”

“Why were you looking at me?”

“What do you mean?” said Carlos.

“Like I said, why were you looking at me?”

“I thought I recognized you.”

“From where?”

“Your uncle’s funeral.”

“So you know who I am?”

Carlos nodded and took a more measured gulp from his glass. “You’re the nephew from Athens, the one who became a cop.”

“Since you have the advantage on me, who are you?”

“Just a humble man serving God.”

“Yeah, but God’s not paying for your drinks, and neither am I if you don’t start giving me answers.”

“I have served my Lord in many ways, official and otherwise. At present I am between ecclesiastical engagements and so I returned home to the place of my roots.”

“You’re from the Mani?”

“From this very village.” He pointed at Panos’ hotel across the harbor. “My grandfather and great grandfather both worked there when it was a place of trade. Now it is a place of sin. Where the unwed run to cohabitate. Where sodomites practice their evil ways. Where—”

“I get the picture,” interrupted Kouros. “Anybody I know among those sinners?”

Carlos shrugged. “My vows forbid me from disclosing their names anywhere but in my prayers for their forgiveness and redemption.”

“Do you ever pray aloud?” Kouros struggled to maintain a straight face.

“When in the right state of mind.”

“And how far away from that are you at the moment?”

Carlos picked up the bottle. “About another liter and a half.”

Kouros picked up the bottle, used it to catch the waiter’s eye, and said, “Another one.”

The waiter rolled his eyes and crossed the street to the taverna.

“So, start praying,” said Kouros.

Carlos took another drink. “The one you’re interested in was your uncle?”

“Why do you think I’m interested in him?”

“If not, who?”

“Tell me about my uncle.”

“I live here,” he pointed at the taverna, “above that notable establishment. The property belongs to my dear mother, may she live another thousand years.”

“And?” said Kouros.

“Your uncle often came here with women. I’d see them driving by. No one ever notices me. They think of me as part of the place. You didn’t notice me at the funeral did you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“But I wasn’t dressed like this. Mother said I could not wear my cassock since I wasn’t officiating at the service.”

“Did you recognize any of my uncle’s women?”

Carlos picked up his glass and smiled. “I assume you mean with him here, not at his funeral.”

Kouros simply stared.

“Just trying to lighten the moment.”

Kouros kept staring.

Carlos averted his eyes. “Most were the kind of women whose company one pays for.”

“Mostly?”

“A few divorced locals.”

“Ones with jealous boyfriends or ex-husbands?”

“Not that I knew of.”

“Are you sure?”

Carlos hesitated as the waiter arrived and placed the bottle on the table. Carlos reached for the bottle, but Kouros grabbed it first.

“Like I said, are you sure?”

Carlos bit at his lower lip. “That girl from the taverna. The one whose boyfriend committed suicide.” He crossed himself three times.

“Did you ever tell anyone about them?”

Carlos vigorously nodded no. “Never.” He crossed himself again.

“Did you ever happen to pray for their souls?”

“I may drink too much, but I wasn’t insane enough to risk making your uncle my mortal enemy by talking about things he’d know could only have come from me. Besides, I went to school with your cousin, Calliope. She is a friend and I would never do anything to harm her or her family.”

“Was there anyone else who knew?”

“I can’t say. With the others he’d come in broad daylight in the middle of the afternoon, almost as a macho demonstration.”

So much for getting truthful answers out of Panos’ hotel staff, thought Kouros.

“But with this one he came late at night,” Carlos continued.

“And you saw them?”

“God’s work permits little sleep. I was meditating along the beach by the turn at the end of the harbor when they drove in, and they were gone when I awoke at God’s brilliant light.” He took another gulp of scotch.

“When was that?”

“Several weeks ago.”

“Did you ever see them here again?”

He gestured no.

“Did you ever see someone take a photograph of them together?”

Again he gestured no.

“Did you ever tell Calliope you saw them?”

With one hand still on his partially full glass he reached for the bottle with his other. “As I said, no. I would never do anything to upset her.”

Kouros let go of the bottle.

“You heard her
mirologia
at the funeral?”

Carlos nodded yes.

“Why do you think she thought someone murdered her father?”

“I have no idea.” Carlos drained the glass. “Why don’t you ask her?”

***

Kouros found Calliope dressed head-to-toe in black, her hair drawn back in a tight bun, sitting on a straight-back taverna chair at the edge of the hardscrabble garden thirty feet or so outside the kitchen door. At her feet sat a large basket filled nearly to the top with potatoes. She balanced a brown ceramic bowl on her lap, deftly stripping the skin off a potato in a continuous strand with a short-blade knife gripped in her right hand. A small basket partially filled with peelings lay on the ground to her right.

“Hi, Calliope.”

She didn’t look up from her peeling. “I see you’re back.”

Kouros picked up a milking stool by the back door, brought it over by her, and sat. “How are you doing?”

She raised her eyes, stared into his for a second, and looked back at the potato.

“It must be tough,” he said.

With her left hand she dropped the potato into the bowl on her lap and reached down to pick another out of the large basket, shaking the strand of peel encircling the blade off into the other basket as she did.

“Very.”

Kouros nodded. “Would you like some water? Or coffee? I can make it.” He smiled. “After all, I am a cop.”

“Nice try, but I think you best leave the kitchen to professionals.”

“So, you’ve heard about my coffee?”

She sighed. Put a half peeled potato and the knife into the bowl, and handed it to Yianni. “Here, hold this. I’ll make us some coffee.”

He watched his cousin labor off into the kitchen. She showed no signs of energy in her walk. Perhaps she was medicated? That would make sense. Her whole life had been about taking care of her mother and father. Now both were gone. Kouros tried to remember how old she was. Probably her late thirties, maybe older. Never married. Always lived with her parents. If she wasn’t on medication, she certainly should be.

Kouros heard Calliope yelling from inside the house. “Yianni, come inside. It will be easier to have coffee at the table.”

He put the bowl on the chair, and went inside. His cousin had set the table neatly with the finest of her parents’ china, a plate of cookies in the middle.

“There was no need to go to all this trouble.”

She shrugged. “Why not? What else do I have to do? Besides why have the china if you don’t use it?” She poured the dark Greek coffee into two cups. “You take it
metrio
, right?”

“Yes, medium sweet.”

They sat across from each other, Calliope watching Kouros as he sipped his coffee. “So, cousin, what’s on your mind?”

“What do you mean?”

“You may be a cop, but I’ve lived among the paranoid all my life. I know when there’s something behind the eyes.”

Kouros smiled. “Do you know a Father Carlos?”

“From Gerolimenas?”

“Yes.”

“We went to school together.” She looked down at her cup. “He once had a crush on me.” She looked up. “My father said that was what drove him into the priesthood.” She gave half a laugh.

“Not sure I follow that.”

“His mother did not want her only child marrying the daughter of a…well, you can guess what she said.”

“What about the father?”

“He died at sea when Carlos was a baby.” Calliope smiled. “Some say he killed himself to escape his bitch of a wife.”

“How did you feel about Carlos?”

“It wasn’t to be, so I moved on.”

“What happened to him?”

“He drinks too much. Cost him his every chance in life. Now he is what he is. And his mother is still there, still making him suffer.”

“Do you trust him?”

“What does that mean?”

“Do you think he’d ever do anything to harm your family?”

“By that do you mean my father? Do you think that he had something to do with his murder?” Her voice was rising.

“No, absolutely not. I’m just interested in your take on him.”

“All right, Yianni, enough with this bullshit. What are you getting at?”

Kouros swallowed. “Did you know that your father was seeing women?”

“I would certainly hope so, considering the alternatives.”

“I mean women who had boyfriends, maybe even husbands.”

Her lips grew taut. “My father could take care of himself.”

Kouros looked down at his cup. “Come on, Calliope, work with me on this.”

“Okay, so my father was screwing Babis’ girlfriend. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. I lived with the man, I could tell from the way he took extra care getting dressed and preparing for his morning coffee at the taverna that he was interested in someone. And the only one down there was Stella.”

“Someone showed Babis a photograph of your father and Stella coming out of a room in Panos’ hotel.”

“And you think that’s why Babis murdered my father?”

“It sure gave him a motive.”

“And you think Carlos took the photograph?”

“Or knows who did.”

“I don’t see why you think that.”

“You’ve already given a reason to believe that he could. He’s a drunk. He’d do anything for a drink. And probably not remember in the morning that he had. Look, someone took a photograph that ended up in the hands of the man who murdered your father.”

She slammed her hands on the table. “NEVER. Not Carlos, I cannot believe he would betray me or my family.”

“Okay, then, who would?”

“How would I know?”

“You practically named names in your
mirologia
. Who did you mean?”

She crossed her arms and began to rock.

“Are you all right?”

No answer.

“Do you need something? Medicine perhaps?” There was real worry in Kouros’ voice.

She stopped rocking and shook her head. “No, but thank you. The doctor wants me to take pills, but I can’t. I don’t want to lose my visions.”

“What visions?”

“Of those responsible for my father’s death. Yes, Babis was the assassin, but there are others. Of that I’m certain.” She started rocking again, then stopped abruptly. “My father would say, ‘Stop, enough. The killer is dead, end it there.’”

“And he would be right. But I am a cop. I don’t have to end it. I don’t want to end it. Tell me who you think did this to your father?”

She dropped her head and shook it. “Father never should have started up with the Ukrainian and this hotel business. I told him not to.”