The Last Symphony

by Tonia Lalousi

  The secretary raises her eyebrows. Maybe it is the first time she meets such an impatient police officer. Maybe it is the first time she meets someone like Peter.

  ‘‘How did you conclude that I am smart?’’ she boasts for herself as if she has heard the most beautiful compliment in her life.

  ‘‘From the fact that you focused on my name in the ID card?’’

  The girl lowers her eyebrows, trying to hide a smile, while her eyes exhibit a feverish shine. Bold. Maybe a little provocative as well with a nightgown several inches above her knee.

  ‘‘Peter Deligiannis.’’ Two words. One piece of information.

  She makes a quick inspection of his neck and hands. ‘‘I was his secretary for about a year. I was never his girlfriend, nor do I know if he was confronting such a type of erotic confusion…’’ she clarifies, waving her fingers emphatically.

  ‘‘Why are you mentioning this to me? Do you believe that such an erotic adventure could be related to his suicide?’’

  ‘‘I’m saying that because it would be the first thing you would ask me if you did a regular interrogation, Mr. Deligiannis. Is there an affair between the secretary and her boss? Classic question…’’ she answers looking at him parsimoniously.

  ‘‘Wrong reasoning, my lady. The first question I would like to pose you is if he had as a customer or if he had any contact with Aris Nomikos.’’ Surprise is one of his favorite weapons.

  The girl loses her relaxing style for a few seconds and her look hardens. ‘‘The politician?’’

  ‘‘When we refer to a person, whose name and surname doesn’t have a worldwide recognizability scope, such as Albert Einstein, then yes, my lady, we are obviously talking for a well-known person in the local community, otherwise how should I expect you to know him?’’ A small explosive outburst. Manageable.

  ‘‘You’re on the clock, but you don’t miss the chance to offend me…’’

  ‘‘It is part of the interrogation,’’ he silences her, offering her an ironic smile that conveys the message: you are tiring me.

  She shakes her hair back and lifts her flattened chin. ‘‘I will tell you but give me your word I won’t get involved.’’

  ‘‘Not more than you already are.’’

  She crooks her lips. She has understood the criminologist’s game and decides to play with his rules. ‘‘The other day, after I had left the office, I returned to get my umbrella and I saw Nomikos entering Maniatis’s office. In the beginning, I didn’t recognize him, but I was curious to see what this secret appointment that I didn’t know of was about. They locked themselves in the office and I eavesdropped on them. Maniatis was blackmailing him. He was asking for money to keep his mouth shut. I took out my mobile phone to record their conversation, but they stopped talking and I quickly left the office.’’

  ‘‘When did this happen?’’

  ‘‘Three days ago.’’

  ‘‘Why did you want to record him?’’

  Her blue eyes shine again. ‘‘Are you seriously asking me now? To blackmail him of course!’’

  ‘‘So, blackmail for blackmail.’’

  ‘‘When you are dealing with people like Maniatis it is good to have such a trump. Illegality wants unlawfulness. However, it doesn’t matter now. Did Nomikos confess? Is he the murderer?’’ she asks directly as if her level of familiarity with the police officer has increased. ‘‘If you want my opinion, it is impossible for him to have done it.’’

  ‘‘He didn’t convince you as a murderer or have you got other secrets to reveal to me as well about Maniatis?’’

  ‘‘Mr. Deligiannis…’’ a seductive smile is formed on her face. ‘‘Apostolos was involved everywhere. The only thing I can say to you for sure is that I exclude the scenario of suicide. He loved himself too much to do such a thing. Basically, he loved only himself. What he only cared about was his pleasure in everything.’’

  Every word of hers is a small revelation. Peter takes a deep breath and arms it with patience. He exhales with confidence. ‘‘Thank you for the information.’’ He gets up and fixes the collar of his coat, when his gaze localizes a handcuff with a pink, fluffy wristband in between the couch and the armchair. He dries coughs.

  ‘‘You…’’ she approaches him as he heads towards the door. ‘‘Are you interested only in the case? Don’t you want to relax a little? You are very tight…’’ She looks at him lustfully and straightens his shirt.

  ‘‘It is not necessary. I madden my wife and relax. Good night!’’ he closes the door and disappears at the stairs.

  He gets in the car in a great mood. He lowers the roof mirror and meets his reflection. He distinguishes a reddish hue unevenly folded on his face. Pleasant overstimulation. He imagines himself entering the commander’s office and standing in front of him, boasting of his abilities. He will look at him sullen gloomy and will be forced to admit that his accusations were unjust, irrational and groundless. He ignites the engine and drives to his next destination.

  He parks exactly outside the block of flats where the lawyer’s office was. He locks the car and throws a look at the area. A car passes by so close to him that he has to stick his body on his own to avoid collision. He shakes his coat to remove the dust that was grasped on him. He spots with the tip of his eye the mini-market and feels satisfied when he sees it is still open. He checks the time on his right hand and advances his stepping.

  It is past midnight and the particular area in Zografou seems to have sunk in total silence. Darkness had thickened even under the streetlamps. He assumes that in this dry from every sound environment it would have been easy for the owner of the mini-market to hear the politician’s shouts the previous night. He does not allow his mind to be lost into other thoughts and approaches the store’s entrance, tightening the coat around his neck to protect himself from the unexpected cold of March.

  The door is open. There is no one inside. On the left, there is a desk with chewing gums and other sweets, while in the corner there is a pile of cigarette packets; all of the brands available. The place smells old wine. The white ceiling light makes the environment dull, like a warehouse. In the centre and on the right there are shelves with products, a few of each. He bets that several of them have already expired. On top of the front corner, an old TV is firmed, which plays softly on a channel he has never seen before.

  ‘‘Hello, young man!’’

  Peter turns abruptly and comes face to face with a rather eccentric figure. He evaluates the man’s age opposite to him. His tormented face makes him add ten to fifteen years to the fifty that was his primary estimation. He is wearing an olive shirt that is at least two numbers larger than the one that fits his skinny body. His face is for sure the most negative element on him. A sloppy beard, a pair of huge glasses and uncombed hair, caught in a rough braid.

  ‘‘Do you want anything?’’ he continues with a thin but hoarse voice. Peter continues to observe him while casting scattered glances at the space. He observes even the smallest detail on him. On the right hand he is holding a beer bottle and he is approaching the table, where the cash register is. His large glasses are so dull and cracked, that it would be better not to wear them at all, even if he has great myopia. With a simple - but representative - characterization Peter would present him as a castaway on an uninhabited island.

  ‘‘I am a police officer. I want to talk with you about what you saw last night.’’

  He sighs with a sharp laugh and sits on the chair. ‘‘After all, no matter what I say you are not going to believe me, why do you bother asking?’’

  ‘‘I assure you that I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t believe that your deposition to my colleague had a hypostasis. I want to hear it myself.’’ He approaches the desk and stands on its edge. ‘‘Well?’’

  The middle-aged man hesitates. He drinks a fair amount of the bottle’s content, he wipes his lips with the edge of his shirt and looks outside the window. ‘‘There… Right there he was… A
t the entrance of the apartment building…’’ he stutters, and Peter realizes that his voice is not hoarse, but he has a problem in articulation or in his set of false teeth. The words he pronounces are not clear.

  ‘‘There was a man there last night around eleven…’’ Peter stresses and waits for his reaction.

  ‘‘No…’’ the man turns confidently towards him. ‘‘It was exactly a quarter to one….’’

  The certainty of the drunk middle-aged man is paradoxically very convincing for the criminologist. ‘‘May I assume that you were ready to close the store?’’ he asks him, and the witness nods his head positively, bringing the bottle to his lips.

  ‘‘Listen, young man… My appearance may look like of a homeless man, I may drink and get drunk, but I am not crazy. Simply, life didn’t bring me a lot of good things…’’ he states with the knowledge of a situation only he knows.

  ‘‘I believe that our choices determine our course. Nothing is prescribed…’’ Peter responds with emphasis. The ragged man smiles at him playfully and drinks a little more beer, or whatever the inside of the bottle he is holding in his hands contains.

  ‘‘It is easy for you to say…’’ he comments pointing to Peter’s suit.

  ‘‘I could easily do that too…’’ Peter responds pointing to the beer. ‘‘Where do you live?’’

  The last drop lands awkwardly on the man’s lips. He shakes the bottle in the air and shows a small door in the background. ‘‘Did he kill him?’’ he asks with a steady voice, surprising Peter.

  ‘‘Aris Nomikos?’’

  ‘‘The rich people don’t have names. They are simply rich. This is how they outstand.’’ He takes off his glasses and tries to clean them in his battered shirt. His eyes are round with intense outlined circles. Peter thinks he might be over sixty years old. He is very curious about his age, as well as every detail of his life, but he does not have this timeline margin.

  ‘‘How are you so sure that it was him?’’

  ‘‘Because he came here.’’

  The Last Symphony

  ‘‘A coffee for Peter…’’ I leave the plastic on the top of the desk. My short-term memory recalls the time he returned home yesterday and I hastily change my thoughts. ‘‘Two cups of coffee for Peter…’’ I place the second plastic on his side as well and I return to my place, falling unconscious on the chair.

  ‘‘Did you spend the night with Peter? Are you going for a third child?’’

  ‘‘Do I look like a woman who’s had an erotic night with her husband?’’ I am ironic towards her and I make every effort to keep myself from falling asleep.

  ‘‘The little one woke you up again…’’

  ‘‘No, you didn’t understand.’’

  ‘‘Good morning!’’ Peter enters the room happily holding a few pages in his left hand. ‘‘Who left two cups of coffee for me? I don’t want any! You should drink them, Magda…’’ He arranges his jacket on the back of the chair and straightens it on the shoulders with a huge, bright smile.

  I want to express my anger, resentment, and despair but his proposal is quite tempting. I doubt if I slept one hour in full, as we sacrificed the night talking about a hero of the Caribbean Pirates and a politician - ghost of the night. I need a lot of caffeine to be able to follow the others, actually everyone but Peter. He is not reached by anyone.

  ‘‘Mr. Leonidis was right. Indeed, Aris was there last night…’’ he states with excited enthusiasm. Another suicide case that seems to be hiding a murder.

  His favorite.

  ‘‘Who is Mr. Leonidis?’’ Antonella starts questioning and I feel unable to listen to the story from the beginning.

  ‘‘The witness who told you he saw Nomikos shouting the lawyer’s name under his office. You despised him so much, that you didn’t stay to listen to the rest of the story…’’ I hear him protest while my eyelids declare resignation. ‘‘Wake up, Magda!’’

  I open my eyes. His voice is ringing in my ears. Antonella dry coughs and unsuccessfully tries to show a rudimentary interest for the continuity. The dazzling sun is shining brightly on light poles in our office and I am trying to steal a little of its shine.

  ‘‘Mr. Leonidis told me that once Aris hit frantically the bell looking for Maniatis, he then went to the mini market and asked about him. He said he looked terrified.’’

  ‘‘Honestly, did you take this man seriously?’’

  ‘‘We really need to stop judging others from their external image…’’ he disapproves of her, but I agree with him this time.

  ‘‘I spoke with his secretary. She had a love affair with Maniatis. She didn’t admit it, but she confessed it in her own way…’’ he explains to us and I pass to the second coffee. ‘‘She also said that the lawyer was blackmailing Nomikos and was asking for money from him.’’

  Some neuron activation seems to be taking place in Antonella’s mind picturing a lightning of surprise in her eyes. Then she raises her eyebrows. It is clear that she has no desire to learn more. She doesn’t admit it, but she confesses it in her own way.

  ‘‘Why should we believe her? Is there any evidence?’’ she asks reluctantly.

  ‘‘It is an assumption which fits in with Nomikos’s behavior yesterday.’’ He tosses his pen in the air, to attract our attention. ‘‘And now let’s go to the case. What did Maniatis know and threatened him? Probably something that would burn his upcoming candidacy.’’

  ‘‘If Nomikos killed him why should he go there again? It makes no sense…’’ I observe with an emerging limpidity.

  ‘‘Maybe he wanted to bluff, Magda…’’

  ‘‘As Antonella said, we can’t be sure that his secretary is telling the truth. You said she had an affair with him. He was married. So, there are others, males maybe females too, who would want to see him dead. Maybe his wife learned about their secret relationship.’’

  He looks at me suspiciously but does not reject my claim. ‘‘The moment doesn’t fit, Magda… The moment doesn’t fit… Nomikos is the key to this story.’’

  ‘‘However, we must also speak with his wife and get all the information from the forensic medicine report. We may be talking about blackmailing and illegal relationships, but we can’t exclude the obvious: the suicide.’’ My rational way of thinking shoots his excitement.

  ‘‘I agree as well.’’ Unexpected advocacy from Antonella. Go and talk to her, I add for her.

  My husband sighs. ‘‘Let’s talk with his wife. And I suggest we keep Aris under our radar for a few days. If I am right, he will soon do the next wrong movement. He may have already done it.’’

  ‘‘At eight you have an appointment with Mr. Leonidis and at nine with the person in charge of the advertising campaign for Cinderella.’’

  She leaves the cup of coffee on the glass surface of the desk and adds carefully two spoons of honey. Cutters. Measured on the special spoon. His eyes are fixed on her. A small mistake and he will send her make the coffee all over again. The girl is stirring the content of the cup and is holding the spoon in her fingers. ‘‘It is ready, Mr. Marinakis.’’

  He tries it and the muscles on his face relax. She succeeded it. ‘‘Do we have anything else?’’ he asks her with a quick look, giving her the impression that she is abusing his precious time.

  ‘‘No, Mr. Marinakis.’’

  He makes a gesture with his left hand indicating her to leave and takes another sip of his coffee. ‘‘For the next hour, I want nobody to disturb me. Don’t pass me any telephone call,’’ he informs her before the girl closes the door carefully.

  He lies back his head and opens the first drawer of his desk. He takes out a cigarette and the golden lighter which his boss had given him many years ago. In a few seconds, the smoke fills the place suffocatingly.

  When the inner door opens, he makes a gesture to the man to pass and sit in front of him. ‘‘I want you to see something…’’ he tells him and drags the mouse nervously on the desk. He turns the com
puter screen towards the man.

  ‘‘An unprecedented influx of people assembled last night at the awarding of the platinum record of Ioannis Vasilikos. Many celebrities inside and outside the field were there to congratulate the new phenomenon of the Greek music industry. Shiny appearances, statements that will be discussed and the forthcoming participation in the Eurovision Song Contest, made the night unique. Ioannis couldn’t hide his excitement and was taking photographs with his fans through the whole night. They all gathered in Metro city hall to show him their love and support. But, dear viewers, for one more time we didn’t see the face of the unknown composer who signs the young singer’s successes. The mystery and the dark silence around his name, make us imagine a lot. We want to get to know him, to finally see the composer who touches the most inaccessible corners of our soul. Undoubtedly Vasilikos’s success is thanks to him, something he himself confirmed in the exclusive statement he made to our reporter. Among others, he said music is the first contact of the audience with the artist and that strengthens the relationship between them. However, what we are most interested in remains unanswered. What is hidden behind his favourite partner? Why isn’t his name revealed? Many questions will probably not be answered soon, however one is for sure: the unknown composer came to stay, and together with Ioannis they seem ready to conquer the music world! Let’s move on now to yesterday’s appearances of celebrities…’’

  The video is completed, and the screen turns black. The music producer puts out his cigarette in the glass ashtray and lets the last smoke go along with a sigh from his lips. ‘‘Top!’’ he says and in seconds he lights another cigarette. ‘‘I want this composer here,’’ he declares and points with his index finger to his desk. ‘‘How much do you want? Tell me how you want. I can give you as much as you want and even more, as long as you bring him here to me.’’ He aims the glass again, catching the eye of his interlocutor on this. ‘‘The shares of the company are constantly falling. Everyone is talking about the impending collapse of my record company. Capital exists, but it can’t save me. Only he can.’’