“You can’t be serious.”
“You sound like you know him.”
“Know him.” Andreas rolled up his sleeve. “Look at the goosebumps crawling up my arm. He’s in the deep shadows behind virtually every major criminal activity in Greece. Drugs are just part of it. He’s involved in everything from bank fraud to smuggling embargoed terrorist oil from the Middle East into Greece through Turkey. No one talks about him, but even serious bad-asses know not to cross him. They give him a piece of any big deal that goes down in Greece. How could you not have heard of him?”
“You mean he’s the Despot?” Yianni slapped his forehead. “I only knew him by his nickname. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection.”
“Don’t feel bad. Truth is, I’m more familiar with his real name than are most Greeks, including cops, because I come across it a lot, thanks to Lila. Despotiko’s wife is a big-time socialite, and Lila and she sometimes end up on the same committees. Whenever there’s a social event that might have me rubbing elbows with her husband, I manufacture some excuse not to attend. It aggravates the hell out of Lila, but I don’t want anyone getting the idea I’m friendly with Marcos Despotiko.”
“Is that your way of saying you want me to interview him?”
“It’s my way of saying I wish you could. But I’m afraid there’s no choice now. Besides, I think he’ll be more cooperative if I’m along for the interview.”
“Even if he has something to hide?”
“This guy has been hiding things for so long it’s second nature to him. If he’s involved, I doubt there’s anything or anyone out there to link him to it.”
“Anyone alive, you mean.”
Andreas nodded. “Which further explains why the restaurant owner won’t budge from his story. He’s far more afraid of upsetting Despotiko than of anything we could do to him.”
“That leaves us only with Despotiko for answers.”
“Precisely. Here’s hoping he wasn’t involved, and that he’ll be angry enough at the thought of someone setting him up as a suspect to give us a lead on who might be involved.”
“What makes you think he’ll cooperate with us rather than take revenge on his own terms?”
“I have no way of knowing how he’ll react. All we can do is question him and hope for the best.”
“While wearing a ballistic vest.”
Andreas picked up his phone. “I’ll have to get Despotiko’s home number from Lila.”
He called, and after deflecting a barrage of questions as to why he wanted the number of a man he so often went out of his way to avoid, he got it.
He dialed, and a male voice answered, Andreas introduced himself and asked to speak to Mr. Despotiko.
“I’m Kurt, Mr. Despotiko’s personal assistant. He said to tell you when you called that he’s been expecting to hear from you and is available to meet with you here at his home in Paleo Psychiko at your convenience any time this morning.”
Andreas said he’d be there in thirty minutes, hung up the phone, and stared stone-faced at Yianni. “He was expecting my call.”
“How could he have known?”
Andreas stood up and started toward the door. “That’ll be my first question for him.
Chapter Two
Just north of Athens and west of Kifissias Avenue, the suburb of Old Psychiko stood as a refuge of peace, greenery, and high walls for foreign embassies, exclusive private schools, and the upper echelon of Athenian society. A few more northern neighborhoods and one or two to the south might claim to be equally desirable, but none would dare argue to be greater.
Psychiko’s confusing array of one-way streets, winding every which way about its tree-lined slopes and hills, was designed that way for a reason: to keep out casual passersby. But it hadn’t worked as well on the new-money crowd. They flocked to the neighborhood, sending prices through the roof for houses they often tore down to build grander homes than their neighbors.’ At least until the financial crisis hit.
To Yianni’s eyes, this wealthy enclave must seem like a different universe compared to the modest suburb in which he’d spent his morning traipsing about a restaurant parking lot.
For Andreas, it was a reminder of how he’d overcome once-nagging thoughts of being unworthy of the elevated lifestyle that came with his marriage. He no longer lived in the working-class neighborhoods of the Athens that he’d known as the son of a cop. Instead, he now lived in a penthouse apartment on the city’s most prestigious avenue, next to the Presidential Palace and across from Greece’s National Gardens.
He’d grown comfortable among the crème de la crème of Athens society, in large part because of his wife’s down-to-earth attitude toward pretentious societal trappings. In part, too, because of his own merit-earned appointment to a stint as Minister of Civil Protection in charge of all police in Greece—a position he’d relinquished in order to return to chasing bad guys as head of Special Crimes.
Although familiar with the neighborhood, Andreas managed to get lost on the way to Despotiko’s house. Ultimately, he found their destination, close by the highest point in Psychiko, on a property more befitting a park than a residence. Between the road and a white stucco house the size of many an apartment building stood a ten-foot-high wrought-iron fence spanning the length of the property. Ten meters of manicured grass separated the exterior fence from an even taller concrete-and-stucco wall mounted with cameras encircling the house.
“Wow, this place is more secure than Korydallos,” said Yianni. “Funny how someone who should be in prison ends up living as if he already is.”
“I’m sure his accommodations are a bit more upscale.” Andreas parked on the sidewalk in front of a double-wide iron-spear gate in the exterior fence. Before he and Yianni left the car, a steel gate in the interior concrete wall sprang open, and two burly men dressed in black walked briskly in the direction of their car.
“Morning,” said Andreas, walking up to the gate toward the two men.
“State your business, please,” said the taller of the men.
“We have an appointment with Mr. Despotiko. The name’s Kaldis.”
The man nodded and spoke into his earpiece microphone.
“May I see identification, please?”
Andreas and Yianni showed them their police IDs.
The smaller man unlocked the wrought-iron gate with a key and motioned for them to follow him. The taller man let them pass, locked the gate behind them, and trailed them toward the steel gate.
“These guys even follow prison lockup procedures,” whispered Yianni to Andreas.
“Probably comes from firsthand experience.”
When they reached the interior steel gate, the shorter man stopped and turned around. “Your weapons, please.”
Andreas smiled. “Sorry, no can do.”
“Then you can’t come inside.”
Andreas turned and stepped back so he could see both men and Yianni. Yianni mirrored Andreas’ maneuver.
Andreas looked from one man to the other. “Then permit me to make a suggestion for you to pass along to your employer. Either he honors his invitation and allows us to enter on our terms, or please ask him for the name of his attorney, so we can arrange for Mr. Despotiko to turn himself into GADA for questioning.” Andreas shrugged. “Of course, I can’t promise that we can keep a meeting at GADA regarding your employer’s possible involvement in the murder of an ex-police colonel out of the headlines. But, then again, Mr. Despotiko already knows all that. It’s why he suggested we meet him here in the first place, away from the media.”
The two men looked at each other, pressed at their earpieces, and listened without speaking.
The shorter man glanced at the taller. “It’s okay.” He stared at Andreas. “Follow me.”
Andreas winked at Yianni, waved at the camera above the gate, and said a
loud, “Thank you.”
Yianni whispered to Andreas. “When did you figure all that out?”
“Like most things in life, as I was saying it.” Andreas leaned in and whispered into Yianni’s ear. “Considering how hard he works at keeping out of the press, it’s the only thing that made sense to me. But there’s a downside to being right. It makes the most sense if Despotiko’s completely innocent.”
They passed through the gate into a courtyard filled with elaborate plantings and classic and modern sculptures, revealing an eclectic but clearly expensive taste.
A short, trim, olive-skinned woman dressed in a pale blue maid’s uniform stood between four rose-and-gold marble pillars framing the front entrance to a massive house. “Mr. Despotiko said to show you to his study. Follow me, please.”
Andreas and Yianni did as she asked. The two bodyguards did not follow.
She led them into a grand marble foyer bordered by well-cared-for plants, potted in classic Greek shapes, encircling an array of sculptures more delicate than those in the courtyard. An elegant, understated reliance on nature continued inside the house, with plants, organic shapes, and natural fabrics carefully arranged everywhere. Someone with taste had been at work here.
Just beyond what some might call a living room, the maid stopped and pointed to a doorway. “Mr. Despotiko is inside.”
“Thank you,” said Andreas, clearing his throat and motioning for Yianni to enter first.
It was as if they’d stepped into a different world, one cluttered with mismatched overstuffed furniture, heavy Persian rugs, mounted trophies from foreign hunts, books arranged more for appearance than content, cut crystal decanters filled with varying shades of brown whiskeys, and a pervasive odor of cigar smoke burrowed deeply into the room’s walls and fabrics.
“Welcome,” said a well-fed, clean-shaven, bald-headed, bear of a man. He sat behind a massive mahogany desk, framed by a world globe on one side and a Tiffany desk lamp on the other.
As Andreas walked toward the desk, Despotiko struggled to his feet.
“Sorry for not standing sooner, but my old knees aren’t quite what they used to be.” At his full height he stood equal to Andreas but looked easily twenty-five years older. He extended his hand across the desk and Andreas shook it.
Andreas pointed at Yianni. “This is my colleague, Detective Kouros.”
Yianni and Despotiko shook hands.
“Please sit.” He pointed at two well-worn Chesterfield chairs in front of his desk.
Andreas sat and looked around the office. “Nice arrangement.”
“It works for me.”
“I’m sure.”
Despotiko smiled. “But not for my wife. She calls it my lair. I get to do whatever I want to do in here; she gets to do whatever she wants to do everywhere else.”
“A wise arrangement.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’ve come to the same conclusion. I think our wives spend their time together planning such things.”
Andreas smiled.
Despotiko picked up a humidor from his desk and held it out to Andreas. “Cigar?”
“No, thank you.”
He made the same offer to Yianni, who gestured no.
Despotiko put down the humidor, selected a cigar, and launched into an elaborate massaging, dampening, snipping, and lighting routine. “Cigars are a vice I just can’t give up.”
Andreas took that as his cue to get to the purpose of the meeting. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”
Despotiko nodded, his eyes fixed on lighting his cigar.
“Why don’t you tell me why you knew we’d want to speak with you?”
He drew in and let out a tiny cloud of smoke. “Oh, it wasn’t all that hard to figure out. As soon as I heard that poor Colonel Aktipis had been murdered at a meeting with that restaurant owner, Pepe, I had no doubt you’d be knocking on my door. I’ve done nothing wrong, mind you, but as you accurately described to my men, I don’t want my name dragged through the mud by the press over this.”
“Understood. So, how were you involved in what happened?”
He shut his eyes and sniffed at the cigar. “In what happened, nothing at all. In introducing the Colonel to Pepe, everything. That’s what comes with doing a favor for someone.”
“What sort of favor?”
He sighed. “My wife loves Mykonos. She spends a lot of her time over there, especially during the summer months. Pepe met her at some chichi island place, and when he said he planned on opening a club on Mykonos, she told him he’d need security. He asked for a recommendation and she said she’d ask me. It was such a no-brainer question for me that I straightaway named the Colonel when she asked.”
He fixed his eyes on Andreas. “In retrospect, it was so much of a no-brainer that I wonder why he went to the trouble of having it put to me when anyone on Mykonos could have answered it for him.”
“It being a no-brainer because...?” Andreas gestured for Despotiko to finish the answer.
“Because everyone on Mykonos knew security on the island was controlled by the Colonel.”
“But aren’t there a lot of different companies offering security on Mykonos?” said Yianni.
Despotiko drew in a puff, leaned back in his chair, and let the smoke drift out. “Many people would like to get into the security business there because it offers a lot of side benefits, including money laundering.” He drew another puff. “At least that’s what I’m told. But on Mykonos every security operation was owned by the Colonel. He just made it look as if he had competition.”
“Are you saying the restaurant guy meant to somehow set you up?”
“No, I’m saying that once again my wife got mixed up with a fast-talking idiot. I doubt the man had the brains or balls to try to set me up.” He leaned forward. “However, I do think that whoever wanted to eliminate the Colonel used the idiot to set up the meeting and added my name to the mix in order to vouch for the idiot’s bona fides with the Colonel.”
“Any ideas about who that might have been?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me if you did?”
“No.”
“Are you going to look for him?”
“That’s your job, not mine.”
“I’ll take that as a maybe.”
Despotiko stared at Andreas. “What do you want me to say? I’m a responsible citizen with an unblemished record. I’m surrounded by lawyers paid handsomely to protect me from all sorts of scurrilous charges. Why would I possibly be interested in hunting down someone who presents no threat to me?”
Andreas stared back, waving his hand at the trophies mounted on the walls. “Because it’s in your blood.”
Despotiko laughed. “I like you. We really should get together with our wives.”
Andreas smiled.
“Perhaps on Mykonos,” said Despotiko.
“Why Mykonos?”
Despotiko studied the glow on the expanding ash of his cigar. “Because we both know you’ll be spending quite a bit of time there looking for the person or persons behind the Colonel’s assassination.” He paused. “At least that’s where I’d be looking if I were the hunter.”
“But you’re not in on this hunt.”
Despotiko kept his eyes fixed on his cigar. “True. But there’s always fishing.”
“And you undoubtedly have a knack for casting precisely the right bait in the direction of whatever you’re trying to hook.”
Despotiko shifted his gaze to meet Andreas’ eyes. “If by that you’re suggesting I’m trying to lure you into concentrating on Mykonos, it’s only because things there are not as they seem.”
“Since when have they ever been?”
“This is different. I get the sense that the island’s undergoing a changing of the guard, with the assassination only a
start. And no one has any idea who’s behind it. Yes, there’s the usual gossip-mongering rubbish, accusing everyone from the mayor to the CIA, but no concrete information. And before you ask exactly what I’ve heard, trust me, whatever I’ve heard, you’d pick up in your first five minutes on the island.”
“Sounds to me like you’re overloading your hook with Mykonos bait.”
Despotiko shrugged. “It’s your case to run, but just ask yourself this question: What do I have to gain by helping you at all?”
“Good question. And one I won’t be able to answer unless I start looking.”
Despotiko smiled. “So, bite already.”
Andreas smiled back. “I just might.”
Back in their police cruiser, Andreas and Yianni sat for a moment, staring at the estate.
“How much do you think a place like that costs?” said Yianni.
“The more interesting question is how many places just like that does he have elsewhere?”
“You mean in Greece?”
“I mean around the world. Our wealthy Greek brethren are prone to acquiring homes in places they like to visit.”
“Haven’t they heard of hotels?”
“They buy those too.” Andreas turned on the engine and eased off the sidewalk onto the street. “So, what did you make of all that?”
“Quite a performance. Despotiko acted as if he didn’t care about what was happening on Mykonos. He acted as if he were doing us a favor encouraging us to get involved in whatever mess is over there.”
“A bit of an overplayed hand, I’d say,” said Andreas. “The guy never has to earn another euro to continue living like a king, but that’s not what drives him.”
“Control?”
“Bingo. He’s been the man in Greece for what seems forever, and now someone is challenging his rule.”
“At least on Mykonos.”
“Mykonos generates a big slice of all the vice money he makes off tourism. He also realizes that whoever is muscling in on Mykonos isn’t likely to stop there.”
“Hard to imagine he hasn’t tried to figure out who might be the new bad guys. Maybe they’re not from Greece?”
The Mykonos Mob Page 3
