The letter was typed single spaced on the publisher’s personal stationery, with a blue-and-gold coat of arms emblazoned across the top of the page. Andreas rolled his eyes at the crest. Of course he has one. He looked at the coat of arms more closely, trying to discern what the publisher’s family had chosen to portray about its history to the world. On one side stood a ship honoring the fortune his family had made at sea. On the other side, a printing press paid homage to the family’s current financial engine. And in the central place of honor, the goddess Athena stood upon the pedestal of an open book. He wondered what the book represented and tried to make out what was written on its pages.
He casually tinkered with enlarging the words the family had thought important enough for Athena to stand upon.
One page of the book read,
JSS
GTS
AKS
Its facing page read,
KSM
RIM
BZ
Andreas bolted out of bed, yelling, “Yianni, Tassos, wake up. The world as we know it is over.”
* * *
“I can’t believe this,” said Yianni, staring at the coat of arms on Andreas’s phone.
Tassos sighed. “We’ve either hit upon a one-in-a-zillion coincidence or an explanation that ties everything together.”
“Not quite everything, but a hell of a lot,” said Andreas. “I asked Lila if she knew whose initials they might be. She said she’d ask her mother, the source of all knowledge about old-line Greek society.”
“If the publisher’s tied into this, he’s involved in at least three murders.”
“Plus two attempted murders,” added Yianni. “Make that three, if you count Zagori’s terminally unsuccessful plans for Nikoletta.”
“It also explains how Nikoletta and you became targets. The day after her editor forwarded Nikoletta’s sixth notebook to the publisher, Zagori showed up on Naxos to kill her. When that failed and you began retracing her steps, someone panicked, likely over your potentially discovering what she’d learned, and put out a casting call for local bad guys to take you down immediately.”
“In the notebook covering her meeting with the hacker, Nikoletta wrote down the names of some persons who’d used his services,” said Yianni. “But I don’t recall any name fitting those initials, and certainly not the publisher’s name.”
“So that notebook isn’t likely what set this off.”
“Something in the sixth notebook is what did it,” said Tassos. “And if those initials represent the members of some sort of cabal, there are at least six involved in this.”
“But none of those initials is the publisher’s,” said Yianni.
“Which means it could be more than six. I know it looks like a perfect match to us, but with all the powerful players potentially implicated, we can’t afford the slightest misstep. That’s another reason I asked Lila for help.”
“I don’t mean to rain on anyone’s parade,” said Tassos, “but as the resident cynic in this trio of cops, do you think it even matters what we prove? Whoever’s behind this undoubtedly has both the money and the power to literally get away with murder.”
“As I see it,” said Andreas, looking at Tassos while motioning for Yianni to give him back his phone, “my job is to chase down bad guys. After that, it’s up to prosecutors and courts to seek whatever justice is called for. If I started thinking about what actually happens to so many of the bad guys I bust my ass to catch, I’d go crazy.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, Chief,” said Yianni, handing Andreas the phone.
“Hmm,” said Tassos. “It makes you wonder whether the corruption among our brethren on the force is the cause of this sort of thing or the consequence.”
“A bit of both, I suspect,” said Andreas. He felt the phone vibrate in his hand and put the incoming call on speakerphone. “Hi, darling. We’re all gathered around the phone to hear the results of your research.”
“You mean my socialite efforts?”
“I knew you didn’t like it when Nikoletta called you that, but I very much admired your self-control.”
“I’ve since explained my feelings on that subject to her, and all is now fine in the fortress. She’s even offered to do a feature on our Fresh Start initiative.”
“That’s great.” He paused. “But could you please explain to us what those initials represent?”
“My mother’s a better search engine than Google.”
“No argument here.”
“Okay. Let’s start with the matriarch of the family. Her name was Athena.”
“Well, that explains her namesake’s presence on the coat of arms,” said Yianni.
“Her father was a very rich and powerful foreign shipowner with vast investments in land across Greece, and one of the first twentieth-century off-islanders to invest in Naxos. He married a Greek who passed away when Athena was born, and he never remarried. He raised Athena to share his penchant for acquiring land—and his passion for collecting antiquities. When he died between World Wars I and II, she was in her twenties and inherited everything he owned.
“She had six children by three different husbands, and the initials are those of her children. All are male, except for RIM and BZ.”
“But how does the publisher tie into this?” said Yianni. “His last name begins with none of those initials.”
“His mother was BZ, and she took her husband’s last name when they married.”
“So, what are the names of these folks?” asked Tassos.
Lila slowly recited the names, including those of their spouses and children.
“Oh. My. God,” said Tassos.
“You can say that again,” said Andreas. “That’s a veritable Who’s Who of Greek politics, real estate development, shipping, and society. Not to mention publishing.”
“And just to spice up your lives a bit, Mother said that for as long as she can remember there’ve been rumors of the family illegally trading in antiquities to finance their projects. Part of that comes from the family’s uncanny success at gaining permission to develop real estate in areas where others were forbidden to even sink a shovel. ‘Mining antiquities to finance modern development’ is what Mother said should be written across that family crest.”
“Oh,” said Andreas, a look of dejection spreading across his face.
“What’s wrong?” said Tassos. “We’ve got the bad guys in our sights and a motive.”
“But if all of Athens already knows about their operation, why would they panic if a reporter threatens to do a story on it? Surely it can’t be the first time. They’ll just have their lawyers and friends in Parliament deal with it and continue on with their lives as if nothing happened. To that extent I agree with our resident cynic.”
“Are you saying the publisher wasn’t involved in trying to kill me and Popi?”
“No. I’m saying there must be a different motive. Something that the publisher and his network saw as so potentially explosive in that sixth notebook that they had to resort to murder to keep it from going public.”
“And what, pray tell, could that be?”
“If I knew, Yianni, you’d be the first I’d tell. All I can say is that I don’t think it’s anything linked to what we know so far.”
Tassos shook his head. “You have a unique ability for plunging us from a state of utter euphoria into abject frustration in a heartbeat.”
“Now, now, that’s my husband you’re talking about.”
“Then you know that even better than we do,” chirped Yianni.
“Enough, guys. The answer lies in Nikoletta’s sixth notebook. Somehow we have to get a copy of it.” Andreas heard a muffled conversation on Lila’s side of the phone. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I was just asking Nikoletta again whether she might have a copy of th
e notebook, perhaps photos of the pages taken with her camera.”
“And?”
“She said no. She was so pressed to get it to her editor in a hurry that she didn’t think to make a copy.”
“Put her on the phone, please.” Andreas sat so that his right elbow was on the table, with his right thumb against his cheek and fingers against his forehead. He held the phone out in front of him in his left hand.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Nikoletta, it’s Andreas.”
“Tassos.”
“And Yianni.”
“You must be as stunned by the news as we are,” said Andreas.
“Stunned is an understatement. My own publisher trying to kill me? Utterly unbelievable. Made even more so by the fact it has to be true. It explains why he’s been so desperate to let the world know I disappeared. He needed to find me to kill me. And for the literal life of me, I can’t figure out what could possibly have made me his target.”
“That’s precisely where I need your help. You’re the only one besides your publisher who knows what’s in your sixth notebook. I’m convinced the answer’s in there. The fact that you can’t put your finger on what that is means it’s only obvious to someone who knows the risk it presents. I’d like you to concentrate on any possible reference or thought you put in that notebook that conceivably could have triggered such a violent reaction in a guilty mind.”
“Honestly, I’ve been trying all morning, ever since Lila told me about the initials.”
“Forget about the initials. Forget about the real estate projects, forget about the antiquities smuggling. What else did you mention in your notebook?”
For thirty seconds, only the sound of slow and deliberate breathing came through the phone.
“I can’t think of a thing.”
“Empty your mind and start again.”
This time it was a sigh, followed by more calm breathing, but as the silence went on, the breathing intensified until a rushed voice said, “I thought of something.”
“What is it?” Andreas’s voice was now as intense as Nikoletta’s, his right hand pressed hard against the tabletop.
“At some point I read in a guidebook or brochure that the extraordinary library, furnishings, and priceless archives once housed in the former School of Commerce that is now the Naxos Archaeological Museum were completely destroyed by occupying forces during World War II. That struck me as strange, because those forces were well known for pillaging, not destroying. Indeed, in the case of Germany, occupying forces were often under orders to send such treasures back to the homeland. I made a note to myself in that notebook to look into how many other Greek libraries, museums, and similar repositories were destroyed as opposed to pillaged. And I put a star next to it along with the words, ‘Could be great story.’”
Andreas looked at his buddies. “Start your engines, folks. We’re back in the race.”
Chapter Twenty
Andreas dispatched Maggie to reach out to her army of contacts developed through shared lifetimes of service in the trenches of Greek bureaucracy. Her network ran deep, into all ministries of government, fueled by a camaraderie and transcending loyalty to one another born of knowing that they, not those blown in and out by shifting political winds, kept their ministries running. He wanted any information on valuables destroyed by occupying forces during World War II and any mention of the publisher’s family in connection with those valuables or their destruction.
Maggie suggested they also ask for similar reports involving the opposing sides in the Greek Civil War that had followed.
Andreas asked Lila to dig up whatever other information she or her mother could find on Athena, matriarch of the publisher’s family.
He called Dimitri for the twenty-five-year-old police records of the car accident that took the life of the project manager.
Andreas sensed they’d discovered the skeletal frame of a time line tying everything together. Athena, assisted by her project manager, had shepherded the family’s business dealings through World War II (1940–45), Greece’s Civil War (1946–49), and the Junta Years (1967–74). At some later time, she turned over control to her publisher grandson, and on the project manager’s death in the mid-1990s, Honeyman replaced him. All Andreas had to do now was flesh out the frame. Whether the result would be an angel, a devil, or something in between remained to be seen.
Andreas looked at Yianni and Tassos. “Anything else you can think of?”
“Yeah,” said Tassos. “Start carrying a bigger gun. Like a howitzer. You do realize that by putting all this out there, word will undoubtedly get back to the publisher, and in his state of advanced paranoia, I don’t see him missing where you’re headed with this.”
Andreas nodded.
“Seriously. The guy could be unstable enough to come after you.”
“He could be.”
“Or your family,” said Yianni.
Andreas nodded again. “I’m sure he can justify that to himself, what with me going after his family.” Andreas leaned back and stretched. “Years ago, I decided that anyone who threatens my family gets no quarter. Should he decide to take that route, he damn well better not miss.”
“You’re starting to sound like those vendetta guys up in Apeiranthos,” Tassos said with a smile.
“They’re not always wrong.”
“Chief, your phone’s vibrating.”
“My mind’s elsewhere. I still haven’t switched it to ring.” He picked it up off the table. “Hello.”
“Hi, it’s Dimitri. I found that file and took a look through it.”
“Anything interesting?”
“Not in the file.”
“What’s that mean?” said Andreas, picking up a pencil.
“It’s a routine report, describing the cause as excessive speed into a sharp turn on a treacherous mountain road and a subsequent loss of control sending car and driver on a terminal roll down the mountain.”
“What about outside the file?”
“The person making the report was a detective at the time, and that wasn’t the sort of thing detectives generally did. More significantly, he left the force under a cloud.”
“What kind of cloud?”
“He was notoriously corrupt.”
Andreas began tapping his pencil on the tabletop. “When did he leave the force?”
“Fifteen years ago.”
“Where’s he now?”
“He lives over by where you’re staying. In a house almost as nice as yours.”
“I guess police pensions are better on Naxos.”
“For him, at least.”
“Do you have an address? I’d like to pay him a visit.” Andreas gestured to Yianni for a piece of paper.
“Would you like me to come along?”
“If you think it would help.”
“He hates me.”
“Perfect. That way you get to play bad cop. Can you pick me up?”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Bye.”
Andreas hung up. “What do you think?”
“At the pace you’re going,” said Tassos, “I’m changing my firepower recommendation to a howitzer and a Sherman tank.”
* * *
The ex-cop lived in a neatly maintained beach house on a wide and deep, bamboo-ringed parcel of land about a kilometer due north of where Andreas was staying. A white late-model BMW SUV sat on the gravel driveway connecting the house to a public dirt road running alongside the property.
Dimitri parked beside the BMW. “I think we should sit in the car for a few minutes, so Bear has time to notice we’re here.”
“Bear?”
“That’s his nickname.”
“And just what do you think he’ll do if we show up at his front door unannounced?”
“With this guy, th
ere’s no telling.”
“Well, in that case…” Andreas leaned over and pounded on the horn.
Ten seconds later, a gray-haired bear of a man, wearing nothing but khaki shorts draped beneath a huge belly, came charging out the front door headed directly for the marked police car.
“I see why they call him Bear.” Andreas got out of the car and walked toward the man.
Bear stopped a pace in front of Andreas, stuck his finger in Andreas’s face, and shouted, “Who the fuck do you think you are, asshole?”
Andreas fixed his eyes on Bear’s and grinned. “Dimitri, why don’t you make the introductions?”
Dimitri came around to the front of the car. “Permit me to introduce you to Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis, head of GADA’s Special Crimes Unit.”
“I don’t care if you’re the damn archbishop; neither of you are welcome on my property. So get the hell out of here.”
“Would you care to get dressed?” asked Andreas calmly.
Bear hesitated. “I said get off my property.”
“Then I assume you’re willing to come with us dressed as you are.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Andreas shook his head. “You’re an ex-cop. Do I have to tell you the potential consequences of resisting arrest?”
“Arrest?”
“Why do you think we’re here? I’m sure you’re a fun guy to hang out with, but we’re not here on a social call. So play nice, turn around, and put your hands behind your back.” Andreas stepped back a pace, uncrossed his arms, and reached behind his back for handcuffs.
Veins popped on the man’s forehead and he lunged for Andreas. Andreas sidestepped the charge, dropped his left shoulder, and thrust the heel of his left hand hard up against the side of the man’s head. Bear stumbled for an instant, then spun around, looking for Andreas. But Andreas found him first, or rather the hard heel of Andreas’s shoe found the exposed top of the man’s bare foot.
A roar of pain, followed by a fall to the ground, had the man cursing but no longer fighting. “You miserable bastard, you broke my foot.”
A Deadly Twist Page 23
