Brushing past shoppers with his hands in his pockets, the Son relished the contact his elbows made. No one paid much attention. It was every man for himself here, every man and every woman. The old women were the worst. They pushed through the crowd with their wire trolleys, indifferent to the damage they did to people’s legs. He went into a small café and ordered. The heavily sweetened coffee appeared on the tiny table a few minutes later. He sipped it and the hubbub around him faded.
He was thinking about his future. He always was these days. The Father was getting to be a liability. He’d seen how the old man’s hand trembled as he fixed the hooks last night. He needed to break away. He needed to do something to show the Chioti woman how much better things would be if the Son worked on his own. But how was he to do that? The Father and Son had a reputation. People in the business were afraid of them. The accountant had pissed himself as soon as he heard who they were. Would the Son be able to command the same respect on his own? Of course he would. All it needed was the right job. All it needed was independent action. The Son was man enough to set that up.
Suddenly he was back in Kastoria, a kid in a borrowed black suit that didn’t fit him, walking to the cemetery behind his mother’s coffin. The Father was beside him, but he wasn’t holding his hand. There weren’t many people in the procession as the family had few friends. The Son looked up at the rooftops, to the storks’ nests and the uneven television aerials. Above them, the sky was a pale blue colour that reminded him of the duck eggs he found in the reed beds—pale blue that was obliterated when he crushed the eggs and felt the sticky mess leak out between his fingers.
The old woman who cleaned for them bent down and whispered in his ear, keeping her eyes off the Father, ‘Your mother has gone to a better place.’
The Son nodded. He knew she had. He’d seen the Father send her there, shoving her down the stairs so hard that her head split and her brains spattered across the flagstones below. He saw the Father do that, and the Father saw him watching. He turned and raised a finger to his lips, then gave a conspiratorial smile that made the Son feel warm inside.
There was a jolt as someone banged into his table.
‘Watch out, fool!’ the Son shouted, his fist clenched.
The elderly man backed away, eyes bulging in shock.
The Son lowered his hand. ‘Excuse me,’ he mumbled.
Then the television was turned up and everyone in the café concentrated on the corpse that had been found hanging outside a warehouse in the northern suburbs.
Mavros sat on his sofa and watched as the reporter described the crime scene.
‘We’re at the Black Eagle Transport Company headquarters,’ Lambis Bitsos said, his expression grim. ‘Workers made a horrendous discovery here this morning.’ The camera panned across an asphalt area in front of a modern two-storey building. Police tape fluttered in the breeze and figures in uniform and white protective clothing were moving about. ‘The body of an as-yet-unidentified man was dangling from the company sign behind me. Cause of death has not been determined but the body was severely mutilated, raising fears that this is the latest in the series of gangland murders.’
Mavros lowered the volume and sipped his orange juice. The newshound was certainly being kept busy. Bitsos liked to think he’d seen everything, but even he looked startled by this killing. The body wasn’t shown. The van driving away with a police escort was all that the ghouls in the channel’s newsroom were allowed this time. The victim must have been in a hell of a state. He wondered if the dead man had any connection with the attempted shooting of Rea Chioti at the Silver Lady. Things were really hotting up in the Athenian underworld.
He turned the television off and forced himself to concentrate on Katia. He needed to focus on the missing girl’s circle of acquaintances.
The phone rang.
‘You’re awake. Amazing.’
‘Good morning, Niki. Everything okay?’ Her tone suggested it wasn’t.
‘What have you been saying to Dmitri?’
He thought back to the conversation he’d had with his client at the building site. ‘Ah. Well, it’s a question that had to be asked.’
‘Let me get this straight. You asked him if he’d abused his daughter?’
‘Normally I’d have asked his wife, but—’
‘Are you completely insane? You can’t go around accusing people like that.’
‘Calm down. I didn’t accuse him. Have you any idea how many kids run away from home because their parents or other relatives—’
‘Actually, I do. I’m a social worker, remember?’
‘And I’m an investigator. You have to let me run this.’
She laughed. ‘You’re lucky Dmitri didn’t flatten you, Alex.’
Mavros took his notebook from his jacket pocket. ‘Listen, there’s more to your friend Dmitri than meets the eye.’ He told her about the weapon he’d seen. ‘Do you know anything about the fights you told me he got into in the camp?’
There was a pause. ‘Shit,’ Niki said, her tone less combative. ‘No, I don’t. No one brought charges. I assumed they were just outbursts of frustration. The con ditions weren’t—’
‘You assumed?’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Dmitri seems to be quite well off for a recent immigrant. He’s got a reasonable flat, he could afford to send Katia to evening classes.’
‘So?’
Mavros raised his eyes to the ceiling. Niki always gave people the benefit of the doubt. ‘It’s never occurred to you that he might be dirty?’
‘Dirty? You mean criminal?’
‘Yes, I mean criminal. He’s got a handgun that I’ll bet is unlicensed.’
There was another pause. ‘No, I can’t believe that. Maybe he’s worried about his safety. I imagine it’s dangerous on those big sites.’
‘Give me a break, Niki. We’re talking about the northern suburbs, not the Wild West.’
‘Ask him, then,’ she said abruptly. ‘But I’m telling you, Dmitri’s a good man.’
‘I’ll see. In the meantime, don’t mention any of this to him.’
‘All right. Where are you with Katia?’
He gave her a quick rundown, missing out the episode with Sifis and the hard men. ‘You never heard anything about her being interested in the theatre or TV, did you?’
‘No, why?’
He told her about the flyer the old gossip had picked up.
‘Come on, Alex. That doesn’t sound like Katia. She’s the most serious kid I’ve ever met.’
‘And she had a dope-dealer boyfriend she kept quiet about.’
‘You’re right.’ Niki gave a sharp laugh. ‘We all have secrets, don’t we, Alex?’ Bye.’
Mavros put the phone down, shaking his head. That was a reference to the terrorism case last Christmas. He couldn’t tell Niki about it, but she knew something serious had happened and resented being kept at arm’s length. She was difficult, she often drove him crazy, but he loved her. They’d been getting closer lately, but now Katia had got between them. He should have known better than to let Niki put him on to a client. He knew from bitter experience, not least on the long and fruitless search for his brother, that he had a tendency to concentrate on people who were no longer there rather than those he could reach out and touch.
After he’d showered and dressed, Mavros headed for Katia’s neighbourhood. There were a couple of names on the list of her contacts that he hadn’t yet spoken to. The first was a seamstress she’d worked with occasionally on wedding dresses. The woman was tiny, her body permanently hunched. She wiped away a tear when she started to talk about Katia, saying the girl was as sweet as honey, but she didn’t have any idea where she could be.
Mavros went back out into the sunlight. That left only one name on the list: Makis Nikolaou. The address was nearby, a couple of streets above Katia’s. As he walked up the steep incline, he asked himself if he was wasting his time. None of the rest of her friends had a
clue why she’d left home. There didn’t seem much chance that he’d strike lucky with this one. Anyway, if he was Katia’s age, he’d be at school.
‘I’d like to speak to Makis, please,’ he said into the speaker by the street door.
‘Really?’ said a surprised male voice. ‘Come up to the third floor.’
When Mavros got there, one of the doors was open. A young man in a wheelchair was waiting for him. He was overweight, his face covered in acne, but there was a pleasant smile on his lips.
‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘I don’t get many visitors. Well, I don’t get any at all now.’
Mavros said he was a friend of Katia’s family. ‘Can you tell me anything about her?’ he asked, as he followed Makis inside.
The boy swung his wheels round in the main room. All the furniture had been moved against the walls to allow him maximum space. ‘What do you want to know?’
Mavros wondered if he was simple. The smile was still in place and there was a childish innocence about him despite the fact that he must have been about eighteen. ‘You know she’s left home? Disappeared.’
‘Katia? Of course she hasn’t.’
Mavros looked around the room. There were the usual family photos, some of which showed Makis on his feet in basketball strip.
‘I broke my back playing for my club,’ the boy said, seeing the direction of his glance. ‘It happened a year ago. Katia used to come and see me in the hospital. We were in the same class.’ He gazed up at him. ‘I don’t go to school any more.’
Mavros saw the pain in his eyes. ‘Why do you say Katia hasn’t disappeared?’ he said, after a pause. ‘Her parents don’t know where she is and neither do any of her other friends.’
Makis laughed. ‘That’s because they don’t know her like I do.’ He pushed himself closer to Mavros. ‘Sit down. My mother will be back soon and I can’t talk about Katia when she’s here.’ He winked. ‘It’s a secret.’
‘Really?’ Mavros still wasn’t sure about the state of the young man’s mind, but he couldn’t deny he’d been hooked. ‘What’s the secret?’
The smile widened. ‘Katia and I tell each other everything.’
‘That’s nice,’ Mavros said, catching his eye. ‘So you knew about her boyfriend?’
‘Sifis? Oh, yes.’ Makis laughed. ‘Naughty boy. He sells drugs.’
‘When did you last see Katia?’
‘Four weeks and two days ago,’ the young man said without hesitation.
‘And you aren’t concerned that she’s vanished?’
Another laugh, this one accompanied by the smack of hands on immobile thighs. ‘No, I told you, she hasn’t.’ He leaned forward and whispered, ‘She’s going to be a star.’
Mavros felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The flyer that the old neighbour saw. ‘What do you mean?’
Makis gave him another wink. ‘She doesn’t really want to be a doctor. She wants to be an actress. Not like the idiots you see on the TV, a real actress, one who does the classics. Sophocles, that kind of thing.’
Mavros sat back and studied the young man. ‘Has she gone to a stage school?’
‘That’s her plan. I’m going to lend her some money.’ Makis put his finger to his lips. ‘Don’t tell Mama. She’ll go mad.’
‘That’s very generous of you.’
‘It’s nothing. Katia saved me when I came out of hospital. I couldn’t face it, you see, I couldn’t face the idea of life in this chair. She helped me. She made me understand that we live in our minds and souls, not in our bodies.’ He laughed. ‘Sounds stupid, I know. But I believe it, thanks to Katia. She’s a wonderful person.’
‘Yes, she is,’ Mavros said, keeping up the pretence that he knew her. ‘So, can you tell me where she is?’
‘Maybe.’ Makis gave him a sly smile.
Mavros kept his cool. ‘Have you heard from her since the last time she was here?’
‘Maybe.’
Mavros moved closer. ‘Listen, I know what happened. Katia got hold of a flyer advertising a stage school…’
‘Don’t be silly, Katia isn’t a fool. Everyone knows those places are a rip-off.’
‘What was she planning to do, then?’
Makis looked round to check that his mother hadn’t come back. ‘You seem like a good guy. But you have to promise not to tell her father.’
Mavros thought about that. He probably wouldn’t tell Dmitri until he’d checked the lead, but he’d have to come clean eventually. He felt bad about deceiving the boy in the wheelchair. ‘I promise,’ he said, dropping his gaze.
‘Good.’ Now Makis was bursting to share the news. ‘She went to study with Jenny Ikonomou at her house.’
‘What?’ Mavros was struggling to believe what he’d heard. ‘Jenny Ikonomou, our national star?’
The boy nodded happily. ‘That’s right. She went to stay with her.’
‘What?’
‘Yes,’ said Makis, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. ‘She was having lessons.’
Mavros ran his hands through his hair. To say that the case had just taken an unexpected turn would have been a major understatement.
* * *
Rea Chioti spread the newspapers out across the table in front of the settee in the living-room of her suite. The afternoon editions had covered ‘the hanging body case’, as it was being called. She wasn’t interested in the details. All that mattered was that the coverage was extensive.
There was a knock. Her personal assistant Maggi appeared.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Chioti, but Mr Frixos is here.’
Rea looked at her watch. ‘He’s half an hour early. Tell him to wait.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘Diplomatically.’ Frixos was a member of parliament who was useful to the family.
Maggi nodded and withdrew. The MP was no doubt panicking about the family’s recent high profile. He would calm down when she upped his monthly retainer. He’d earn it by creating a storm about the influx of foreign criminals into Greece. That would give her time, which was what she needed. Time to gain the upper hand over Fyodor. She was sure the shadowy Russian, never seen in public, was behind the shooting at the Silver Lady and the death of her middle-ranking drugs controller. The police still hadn’t worked out the identity of the body that had been found in the motorway construction site in the northern suburbs. Would they discover that of the man she’d consigned to the Father and Son? Only if the Russians leaked it. They were unlikely to do that. They’d be too busy working to change their systems and safeguard their operations because of what the guy had spilled. Her people were already taking advantage of that.
Rea stood up and went to the desk. She looked at herself in the gilt-framed mirror. Her hair and make-up were as flawless as ever, the expensive clothes sheathing the ageing body effectively, but she could see the unease in her eyes. She paused, extending a hand. For a moment she’d thought she was in the study in the villa, reaching for the secret door behind the painting. The mask. Even when she was away from home, it exerted its power over her. The mask—golden, silent, an image of pain and endurance. It was her life but it was also the life of the other woman, the one she’d betrayed. Why was the part of her life that she’d suppressed for so long coming back to haunt her?
She lowered her gaze and touched the sheet of paper on the desk. It was a copy of the list she’d given to the bouncer Damis Naskos. It was a risk, but she thought that her husband would have approved. He’d told her often enough that he always shook the family businesses up when they were under pressure by bringing in fresh blood. Stratos was an innovator, that was how he’d stayed at the top for so many years. There was definitely something about the tall young man that made him stand out from the other foot soldiers.
Rea ran her finger down the names. All that Damis had to do was scare the traitor into making a false move. Then the Father would have another body to work on.
An icy finger ran up her spine. Pain, she told herself, pain was the ru
ling principle. Not belief in a political cause or faith in a religion, not love or any of the other empty words that people used to deceive themselves. Pain was destiny. You couldn’t escape it. The only way to survive was to make sure you dealt more pain that you received.
Maybe she’d learned that too early in her life, but the lesson had stood her in good stead ever since.
* * *
Mavros got off the trolley-bus near the Parliament building and walked past its yellow walls into Syndagma Square. The traffic was at its midday peak and the air burned in his throat. As usual, tourists and Greeks from the provinces had gathered around the kilted honour guards at the memorial to the unknown soldier. Waiting for the lights to change, he thought about the boy in the wheelchair. His first reaction had been to treat what Makis said about Katia being involved with the actress Jenny Ikonomou with profound scepticism. It was like a kid in late-fifties Los Angeles saying that his friend had been taken under Marilyn Monroe’s wing. No, not Monroe, she was too young and her range as a performer wasn’t so great. Maybe Bette Davis. Jenny Ikonomou displayed a similar haughty disdain to the world outside her profession. But the naive boy had held real conviction in his voice. Maybe it was true that he was Katia’s sole confidant about her acting ambitions. The flyer seen by the old neighbour suggested she was interested, even if she hadn’t been taken in by it. But Jenny Ikonomou? How could a self-effacing Russian-Greek girl have got anywhere near the country’s most reclusive star?
Mavros went into a café on a side-street and approached a table at the rear. ‘Hello, Anna.’ He always spoke English to his sister. Their mother had insisted that her children use that language at home and the habit persisted when they were on their own. ‘Sorry I’m late.’
She put down her magazine and presented a smooth cheek to him. ‘Alex. How nice of you to dress so appropriately.’
The Golden Silence Page 11
