The Golden Silence

by Paul Johnston

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Niki asked after he’d let himself in. She was standing in front of the mirror in the hall, fixing her earrings.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ he said, kissing her and taking in her black cashmere top and short red skirt. ‘You look good.’

  She returned his gaze with a mock-lascivious smile. ‘So do you. It’s amazing what putting on a clean pair of jeans can do.’

  ‘These aren’t just clean, they’re new.’

  ‘At least they were when I gave them to you last Christmas.’ Niki moved into the sitting-room. The flat she’d inherited was spacious. She was gradually replacing her foster parents’ furniture and there was a weird mishmash of styles—intricately carved traditional wooden trunks surmounted by blink-inducing abstract paintings done by a friend. ‘There’s a bottle of wine open.’

  Mavros filled a glass and joined her on the sofa.

  ‘This is cosy,’ she said, leaning against him. ‘Pity we have to go out.’

  ‘You don’t have to come.’

  ‘No, I want to. Do you really think Katia will be at this nightclub?’

  He raised his shoulders. ‘It’s not too likely, but I have to rule it out and going as a paying customer seems the safest way.’

  Niki’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Safest? Oh, you mean because of the shooting the other night.’

  ‘Mm.’ Mavros turned to her. It struck him that taking Niki into the most dangerous nightspot in Athens was an unnecessary risk. ‘Look, maybe this isn’t a good idea. I’ll go on my own.’

  ‘No way,’ she said forcefully. ‘You invited me and I’m coming. Besides, I know Katia. I’ll be able to recognise her even if she’s in a costume and covered in make-up.’

  That was why he wanted Niki along. He should have known better than try to derail her at this late stage. He took a sip of wine. ‘There’s something else.’

  Niki drew back. ‘You’re full of mysteries today, Alex. You invite me to a nightclub for the first time ever, then you tell me that Katia’s boyfriend has been murdered. What next?’

  He described his visit to the actress, watching as her jaw dropped.

  ‘So you were right,’ she said when he finished. ‘Katia was interested in going on the stage. How come she only told the boy in the wheelchair?’

  ‘Katia’s like me. Full of mystery.’

  ‘Ha. I always thought she was caught up in her studies, but it seems she had different dreams.’

  ‘La Ikonomou said she has real talent.’

  She turned to him, her expression serious. ‘We have to find her, Alex.’

  ‘Let’s get started then.’

  Niki gave him a coy look as he got up. ‘What was Jenny Ikonomou like?’

  Mavros laughed. ‘I thought you hated people like her. Painted loudmouths, you called them, I seem to remember.’

  She glared at him. ‘I didn’t mean her. She’s far above the morons you see on the TV boasting about how many cars and houses they’ve got.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, extending a hand to help her up from the sofa. ‘If you think Katia and I are mysterious, you should see our national star. I looked into those huge eyes and there wasn’t a hint of who she really is.’ He pulled Niki close. ‘It’s as if she puts so much into the characters she plays that there’s nothing left. It’s frightening.’

  ‘Oh, baby,’ Niki said, her breath warm against his throat. ‘Did she make the big, tough private investigator shiver in his boots?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, remembering the actress’s cool gaze. ‘She did.’

  If that was the effect she’d had on him, what had she done to Katia?

  Jenny Ikonomou allowed her driver to open the car door for her in the garage beneath the Pink Palace and then sent him home. She took the lift to her bedroom and locked the door behind her.

  ‘Fools,’ she said, kicking off the shoes that had been hurting her all evening and pouring herself a brandy. ‘Doltish money men who know nothing of the theatre.’ She’d been at a sponsorship event in a lavish hotel ballroom. It was a waste of time. She knew the bankers and businessmen would give as little as they could get away with to the arts.

  She picked up the phone and pressed the internal connection to her brother’s room. There was no answer. Ricardo was out, as he usually was at night. She’d see him in the mornings, his evening suit creased and the stench of cigarettes and cheap perfume coming off him in waves. He spent his time trying to impress young women. No doubt there were plenty who were taken in by his mysterious air and his heavy wallet. At least he didn’t sponge from her any more. When he was young, she’d paid more than she should have for his drugs and gambling. Ricardo had cleaned himself up, but in the process he’d become distant, his eyes allowing no access to the person within. But who was she to talk? She wore so many masks that she couldn’t remember who she was any more.

  Jenny went into her dressing-room and opened the door to the walk-in wardrobe. It was filled with haute couture, the creations of gaudy freaks who thought they were artists. But again, who was she to talk? At least fashion designers produced things that people could buy. What did she produce? The illusion of profundity, the fantasy that through the characters she played people could gain some understanding of who they were. What idiocy! Life had shown her that it was impossible to understand yourself, so how could anyone expect to get inside the thoughts and dreams of another person? She recalled all the masks she had worn, the layers of makeup that formed a barrier between her and the outside world. People thought that Jenny Ikonomou projected powerful emotions, but she was nothing more than an empty shell. What was once inside her had been eaten away by guilt.

  The actress lifted up the sleeve of a Dior gown and pressed the silk to her eyes. It grew damp, her tears soaking into the fabric like blood from a wound. How had she come to this? She’d grown up with more advantages than other children. Her father was a wealthy doctor with a house in an exclusive area of the city and an estate on the island of Aegina. She’d gone to theatre school in Paris. Then, in her thirties, she’d married the industrialist who gave her his name and, on his death ten years ago, his fortune. What more could she have asked for?

  She let the sleeve drop and backed out of the wardrobe. Independence was the answer to her question. She’d felt like she was in a straitjacket even when she was young. That was why she joined the Communist youth party, that was why she spent her evenings in interminable meetings with eager-eyed comrades. And that was how she’d met them, the people she’d admired most…the people she’d betrayed. All of them came from the small group that she’d known for less than two years of her life, but had been weighing on her ever since. Why had she been so foolish? If she’d taken her parents’ advice and concentrated on her studies, she’d never have fallen into the pit of snakes that had poisoned her life.

  Jenny sat at her dressing-table and stared into the damp eyes reflected in the mirror’s surface. You failed them all, she said soundlessly. You failed your comrades, you failed your brother and now you’ve failed that sweet child Katia. Everything you touch turns to dust. You’re a demon, a murderess, a swallower of souls.

  The star of stage and screen leaned forward until her forehead touched the surface of the dressing-table, and wished that the next sound she heard could be the whisper of an axe-blade falling.

  Mavros got out of the taxi and looked up at the huge mannequin above the Silver Lady.

  ‘Very tasteful,’ Niki said as she joined him on the pavement. ‘How did they get a permit for her?’ She moved closer to him and feigned shock. ‘Oh my God, Alex. She isn’t wearing any clothes.’

  ‘I didn’t notice.’ He took in the scene in front of them. Expensive cars were being directed into the parking area by bulky men in ill-fitting suits. There was a line of couples queuing on the red carpet that led to the club’s front door. He didn’t see either of the men who’d been with Sifis on the hillside.

  ‘This is going to be expensive,’ Niki said as they joined the queue. �
��I’ll pay my share. I don’t want you charging my expenses to Dmitri.’

  ‘I’m not going to charge him mine either,’ he said, glancing back across the road. The reports said that the sniper had been in one of the buildings across the road. The distance must have been around a hundred and fifty metres. That was nothing for a professional shooter. Rea Chioti had been lucky, unlike the two men from her entourage.

  ‘You’d hardly know there was an attempted murder here the other night,’ Niki said, handing her sequined bag to a female security operative to check.

  Mavros raised his arms and allowed a bouncer to run his hands down his body. ‘You think they can afford to close?’ he said in English. ‘They’d have fixed it with the police to clear up the scene in record time.’ He smiled at the security guy and received a suspicious glare. As they passed into the club, he wondered what kind of relations Kriaras had with the Chiotis family. He’d shown some interest when Mavros said he was going to check the club.

  Niki ran an eye round the interior as they waited to be directed to a table. ‘Not bad,’ she said, pressing close to him to be heard above the din of bouzoukis. ‘The management have spent some money on this place.’

  He nodded. Unlike most clubs, the Silver Lady’s decor was almost tasteful. The walls were painted dark blue and the lighting was surprisingly restrained. The furniture looked less impressive. Each table bore a vase in the shape of the silver lady, a single red carnation coming out of her head. The clientele lowered the tone further. Groups of young couples were shrieking at each other and dancing suggestively on a raised platform in front of the musicians.

  ‘This way, madam and sir,’ said a young woman in a tight top and short skirt. She led them to a table in the far corner. It was far from being the best seat in the house, but Mavros wasn’t complaining. He had a good view of the passage at the edge of the stage and the doors beyond. Girls in skimpy costumes were gathering there for the next act. He ordered a bottle of wine and a platter of fruit. The prices were extortionate.

  They watched the performers as they came up on to the stage. There were six of them, three blondes and three brunettes. By the end of the act, the minimal amount of clothing they’d been wearing was on the floor, only G-strings and nipple-tassels remaining.

  ‘Delightful,’ Niki said as the girls trooped off to raucous cheers from the crowd. ‘Definitely not Katia. I can’t believe she’d get involved in this kind of performance.’ She turned to Mavros. ‘I suppose you enjoyed that. Honestly, men are pigs.’

  ‘Calm down,’ he said, watching a blonde waitress at a table nearby. ‘I’m working.’ He inclined his head to the girl.

  ‘No, that’s not her. Similar, though. What are you saying, Alex? That you’re not having a good time among all this female flesh?’

  Mavros shrugged then sat up straight. Two men in dark suits were going into the toilets. One of them was almost bursting out of his jacket and the other had a pair of sunglasses pushed up on his head. He’d seen them before. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  ‘Oh, darling, don’t leave me unchaperoned,’ Niki said with a mocking smile.

  As he crossed the floor, the music started up again and a young woman in an evening gown and a feather boa approached the microphone. Mavros followed the men into the toilets, wrinkling his nose. The management had spent more money on the decor than on disinfectant. Voices were coming from one of the cubicles.

  ‘…cut the lines straight, Pano? This is like sniffing a slalom.’

  ‘Get out the way, it’s my turn.’

  Mavros could see two pairs of feet beneath the door. He went over quietly.

  ‘That fuckin’ Damis. Who does he think he is? He was one of us till a couple of days ago. Here, shift over.’

  ‘Yes, giving all that grief to the boss. Lakis is spitting blood. Here, Yanni, you don’t think Lakis could have said something about Mrs Chioti coming down here?’

  ‘’Course not, Pano. Are you out of your mind? Damis is just tryin’ to make a big impression. Got any more?’

  ‘No, that’s it. Look, I don’t want you going off on any other jobs on your own, okay? We’re in this together.’

  ‘The terrible twosome, eh?’

  The toilet flushed.

  Mavros moved quickly to the door, banged it and then bent over a sink, making a loud, vomiting noise. He ran the tap, keeping his head down.

  ‘You all right, friend?’ said the muscleman called Panos.

  Mavros let out a groan.

  ‘Keep it in here,’ the other man said. ‘This is a respectable club.’

  The men left, their laughter undisguised.

  Of course it is, Mavros said to himself. These were the guys he’d seen get into the taxi with Sifis. What was the solo job that the one called Yannis had gone off on? Could it have been the shooting of the drug dealer? He dried his hands and ran them over his hair. Even if the heavies were involved in Sifis’s death, he was no nearer finding Katia. At least they hadn’t recognised him. He went back into the club, blinking as the smoke stung his eyes.

  ‘What kept you?’ Niki asked.

  ‘Upset stomach.’

  ‘You’re a sensitive soul,’ she said ironically. ‘Were you talking to those gorillas?’

  ‘They don’t know where Katia is.’

  ‘What? You asked them if…oh, very funny.’ She gave him a threatening look and sipped from her wineglass. ‘God, this is horrible.’

  Mavros watched as two more girls came on stage, to be greeted by loud shouts of approval. They went into a clinch and started moving slowly to the sound of a saxophone. As they started undoing each other’s shoulder straps, he saw a tussle break out in the passage beyond. A tall young man in black had his hand round the throat of a much smaller individual who was mouthing words at him and moving his arms up and down like a scarecrow in the wind. The two men from the toilets were standing by, remonstrating. They looked like they wanted to intervene, but didn’t have the nerve.

  ‘How civilised,’ Niki said.

  The tall man was smiling at his victim, his feet apart and his shoulders locked solid. It was only when another man, bald-headed and frowning, appeared from further down the passage that he relaxed his grip and let the smaller man go. The music rose to a crescendo and the girls on the stage dropped their dresses to reveal red camisoles and stockings.

  ‘Christ!’ Mavros said with a gasp.

  ‘They’re not that attractive.’

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ he said, leaning forward to make sure. ‘I know that guy.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The bald one. I met him this morning. He’s Jenny Ikonomou’s brother.’

  Niki looked indifferent.

  ‘It looks like he has some influence here.’

  ‘Maybe you could ask him to do something about the wine,’ she said, picking up a piece of apple. ‘Like not pee in it.’

  They stayed another couple of hours, but saw no sign of Katia. There were no further altercations between dark-suited men. Eventually Mavros beckoned to Niki.

  ‘Let’s get out of here before our eardrums crack.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask if anyone knows Katia? Show her photo around?’

  Mavros narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Are you out of your mind? These people don’t take prisoners.’ But as they walked out into the smoke-free air, it struck him that taking prisoners might have been exactly what they’d done.

  Rea Chioti eased her feet back into the high-heels she’d slipped off earlier in the evening and went to the mirror to touch up her lipstick. She hadn’t expected to hear from the young man Damis until the morning, but he’d been so insistent that she’d invited him up to the penthouse.

  What are you doing, woman, she asked herself. You’re fifty-six years old, you haven’t had a man since Stratos lost the ability and now you’re tarting yourself up for an ex-bouncer. But she continued to apply the crimson lipstick for all the self-mockery in her eyes. It was important to impose yourself
on people. Her husband had taught her that, though she’d already understood it. She stepped back and examined her image in the glass. Her auburn hair had held its shape since the morning and her body looked firm enough beneath the layers of expensive fabric. Stratos had taught her many things about the business, but she already knew how to handle people—how to make them appreciate her power. She’d been brash and naive when she was a young woman, but she’d soon become more calculating. She had the woman she’d betrayed to thank for that, the woman and the misguided, beautiful man who loved her.

  No, Rea told herself, staring into the mirror. Keep them away. She composed her face, the smooth cheeks and curved eyebrows giving it the look of a mask. That was how it had to be, a mask that hid her from the world; a mask like the golden one she kept hidden in the villa. The young man called Damis was no different from the rest. He was in awe of her power. She would play with him and that way her weakness would be concealed.

  There was a knock on the outer door.

  Rea positioned herself in the middle of the rug. She had noticed that people tended to be more subservient when she met them standing up. ‘Come in,’ she said, knowing that her security staff would have checked the visitor.

  Damis closed the door behind. ‘Good evening, Mrs—’

  ‘It’s late,’ she interrupted. ‘What’s so urgent?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, not looking particularly contrite. ‘I think I’ve made some progress.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Rea sat down and crossed her legs, catching the way his eyes lingered on them. ‘You know who betrayed me?’

  ‘I think so.’ If Damis expected to be invited to sit, he didn’t show it. He stepped closer and gazed down at her, a loose smile on his lips. ‘There isn’t any doubt in my mind.’

  ‘You’re very sure of yourself,’ she said, examining her nails. ‘I don’t remember authorising you to hang the owner of the largest car dealership in Athens over his office balcony.’

  ‘He complained?’