‘Okay, get moving,’ Ricardo said, moving to the passenger door.
‘Where to?’
‘The motorway heading north.’ Ricardo gave a dry laugh. ‘The Father and Son are entertaining out of town tonight.’
Damis reversed and carved an arc round the other vehicles. The truck’s door was open, the driver running towards a car. Panos gave Damis a broad grin as the Audi passed him. Three bodies were half-in, half-out of the second BMW, their limbs flung wide and their chests covered in slicks of blood. Damis swallowed the bitter liquid that had risen up his throat.
It looked like the latest victory in the gang war belonged to the Chiotis family, even before the Father and Son got to work.
The apartment block’s door was buzzed open a couple of seconds after Mavros rang the bell.
Niki was waiting for them on the landing outside her flat. ‘What’s going on, Alex?’ she asked, her voice tense. ‘Dmitri? What have you two been doing? God, I see what you mean about cleaners,’ she said, sniffing the air. ‘Get those clothes and shoes off out here. I don’t care what the neighbours think. You’re not coming into my flat stinking like that.’
Mavros shrugged and started to undress, signalling to his client to follow suit.
‘You can keep your underwear on,’ Niki said, handing them each a towelling robe. ‘Assuming you didn’t make a mess of that too.’ When they were ready, she went inside with a brimming laundry basket.
‘What she say?’ Tratsou asked,
‘Nothing. She thinks that men are cowards.’
‘Pah! You tell her what happened to us.’
They followed Niki into the flat. Mavros wasn’t sure if telling her was a good idea. He took his phone from his jacket, relieved that the leather didn’t have the dog muck on it that his trousers did, and found the number he wanted. He waved Dmitri into the main room and went to the bedroom.
‘Lambi, it’s Alex.’
The crime reporter gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Alex Mavros the groupie? Have you paid your respects to Jenny Ikonomou yet?’
Mavros ignored that. ‘Look, I need to ask you something.’
‘Not again,’ Bitsos groaned.
‘Have you ever heard of a couple of underworld operators called the Father and Son?’
There was silence down the line.
‘Are you still there?’
‘I’m here.’ The reporter’s voice was low. ‘Where did you hear about them?’
Mavros knew he’d have to barter information. ‘I heard a gorilla from the Silver Lady Club mention them. Are they hit-men?’
Bitsos grunted. ‘After a fashion. Look, this is not a good conversation to be having right now. I’m in a public place.’
‘Put your hand round your mouth, you old lecher. Like you do when you ring up your porn dealer.’ Then Mavros realised that Bitsos wasn’t just being security-conscious. He sounded shit-scared. ‘Who are the Father and Son?’
‘Shut up, Alex. I’m not joking, I can’t talk about this on the phone.’
Mavros raised his eyes in frustration. ‘Get in a cab then.’ He gave Niki’s address. ‘I’ll even pay your fare.’
‘You’ll pay a lot more than that.’
Mavros dropped the phone into the pocket of his robe and went into the sitting-room. Niki was standing over Dmitri, who was leaning back on the sofa with a glass in his hand.
‘Is this true, Alex?’ she demanded, her eyes wide. ‘You got beaten up by bouncers from that nightclub?’
He glared at his client. ‘Well, not exactly beaten up. Look, my delicate features are still—’
‘Stop it, Alex,’ Niki said, coming over to him. ‘It isn’t funny. I don’t…I don’t want you getting hurt.’
He put an arm round her, touched by her concern. There had been a time when she would have berated him all night, but she’d become much less spiky. ‘Don’t worry, Dmitri took more of a hit than I did.’
Niki pulled way and poured him a glass of brandy. ‘Drink that and be more careful.’
Mavros was wondering what she’d say if she heard about the body he’d seen that morning; or if she was party to the conversation he was about to have with Lambis Bitsos.
‘Alex, what do we do now?’ Dmitri asked, scratching his legs. They were so hairy that it looked like he was wearing woollen trousers.
Mavros looked at the floor. ‘I’m not sure. I’ve got a couple of angles I’m still investigating.’
The Russian-Greek sat up straight. ‘Is not good. You think you can find my Katia? I prefer to stop pay now if you don’t.’
Niki put her hand on Mavros’s shoulder. ‘You’ll find her, won’t you, Alex?’
He glanced at her and saw the trust in her eyes. She really believed he could do it. That made him feel better. ‘I’ll find her. I promise you that, Dmitri. Excuse me, I need a shower.’
He went to the bathroom. He couldn’t pass on his suspicions about Ricardo to either of them. Dmitri would march up to the bald man and provoke him, while Niki was capable of anything. She might even organise a police raid to get any under-age immigrant girls at the club taken into care. None of that would be any help to them in finding Katia. What he needed was some leverage. He hoped Bitsos would provide that.
The door bell rang soon after Mavros had finished his shower. The brandy had sent Dmitri into a seemingly deep sleep.
‘Do you think you could let me talk to Lambis alone?’ Mavros asked Niki.
She kissed him. ‘With pleasure. I can live without seeing that lecherous ghoul again.’ She went into the bedroom and closed the door. She’d only met the journalist once, in a disreputable bar. He’d described a particularly brutal murder in lingering detail, his eyes never moving from her cleavage.
‘Good evening,’ Mavros said as he opened the door.
‘Is that all I get for taking valuable time away from covering the gang war that has the nation transfixed?’ Bitsos stopped when he reached the main room. He pointed at the figure on the sofa. ‘Who’s the house guest? And why are you both wearing dressing-gowns?’
‘He’s my client. Our clothes are in the washing-machine.’
The reporter raised an eyebrow. ‘Is he the one with the missing daughter?’
‘That’s right.’ Mavros handed him a glass of brandy. ‘Niki’s gone to bed.’
Bitsos took it over to the dining-table and sat down. ‘What a pity. Still no sign of the girl?’
‘No.’ Mavros sat down opposite him. ‘Listen, I’m pretty sure Jenny Ikonomou’s brother Ricardo snatched her but I can’t prove it. Short of strongarming him.’
‘I wouldn’t recommend that, my friend.’
‘No. He’s already warned me off. Of course, that only made me more suspicious.’
Bitsos looked around the room. ‘Is there anything to eat?’
‘Jesus, have you got a tapeworm? How many times have you eaten today?’ He went to the kitchen and found a plate of stuffed vine leaves that Niki had made.
‘Ah,’ said Bitsos, his face lighting up. ‘My favourite.’
Mavros watched him eat. ‘All right, here’s what happened.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘My comatose friend and I had a run-in with some heavies from the Silver Lady tonight. As they were driving away, I heard one of them mention the Father and Son. How they could have really hurt us. So who exactly are the Father and Son?’
The reporter finished chewing and pushed the plate away. ‘Look, you don’t want to get involved with them.’ He took in Mavros’s expression. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. There have been rumours about these guys for years. Never anything more than that, mind. They work for the Chiotis family. It seems that even the enforcers in the other gangs are terrified of them.’
‘They’re executioners?’
Bitsos picked a piece of food from his teeth. ‘Not exactly,’ he said, bending forward and lowering his voice even further. ‘The word is they torture people.’
‘Like the guy we saw this morning?’
‘Could be
. The problem is no one will ever go on record about them, so the police don’t know any more than we do.’
‘How come you never mention them in your articles?’
The reporter sat back. ‘Are you crazy? I want to keep my skin in one piece, thank you very much.’
Mavros looked at the Russian-Greek. He was still slumped in the sofa, his breathing regular. ‘Do you think they torture women?’
Bitsos frowned. ‘Who knows? I’ve never heard…oh, I see, you mean your missing girl.’
‘I’m wondering if Ricardo might supply them with young women,’ Mavros said, feeling his disgust at the idea rise as he put it into words. ‘It’s not exactly unusual for gangsters to provide their hired men with women, is it? If these guys are as fearsome as you say…’ He let the words tail off. ‘What else do you know about them? Are they really a father and son partnership?’
‘Who knows?’ Bitsos raised his shoulders. ‘There isn’t much else. A couple of years ago, during the last gang war, I talked to one of the Chiotis family’s men, a former tough guy who’d been pensioned off. He was bitter that he’d been sidelined, so he tried to sell me his story. He mentioned the Father. At first I thought he was talking about Stratos Chiotis, but I soon realised he meant someone very different.’ He emptied his glass. ‘Someone even worse. In the old days the gangs didn’t carve each other up and leave the bodies in public places. Not the important victims, at least. They tied them to anchors and dumped them in the sea. So no mutilated bodies, no poor bastards with hooks in them, ever turned up. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t happening. According to my informer, the Father could get anyone to speak. It seemed to work. The Chiotis family was always one step ahead of the opposition.’ He dropped his gaze. ‘Look, Alex, you aren’t going to like this. The story was that the Father was…’ He broke off.
‘Come on.’
‘Shit, all right. The Father was said to be a torturer during the dictatorship.’
Mavros sat back, reeling. He’d started the search for Katia with a vow to give up on Andonis and here was Bitsos taking him back to the time that his brother disappeared. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘Tell you what, for Christ’s sake?’ Bitsos said angrily. ‘It’s only hearsay. The guy who talked to me was found dead a week later. Heart attack, supposedly. I got the message and kept my head down. Anyway, you know what happened with the regime’s torturers. A few of the bastards were put through show trials after the Colonels fell and the rest vanished. If the one who calls himself the Father knew Stratos Chiotis back then, he’d have had no problem setting himself up with a new identity.’
Mavros got his breathing back to normal. ‘You’re right. It’s all hearsay. There’s probably no connection with Andonis.’
‘Or with your girl,’ the reporter said, picking up another stuffed vine leaf. ‘Forget the Father and Son. They’re so well protected that you’ll never get near them. Forget Ricardo too. If he’s got your girl, she’s had it.’
‘Nice, Lambi,’ Mavros said acidly. ‘Very—’
The reporter’s phone rang. He answered it and listened, his expression hardening.
‘Right, I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ He stood up and backed away from the table.
‘What is it?’
‘There’s been a shoot-out in a parking lot in Tavros. At least three dead.’
‘Next round in the gang war?’
‘I reckon.’ Bitsos headed for the door.
‘Hey,’ Dmitri said, staggering to his feet. ‘I know you from television.’
The reporter frowned at him and kept walking.
‘Let me know if you find anything that might help me,’ Mavros called.
‘Ditto,’ said Bitsos over his shoulder.
‘This man from television is your friend, Alex?’ his client said, rubbing his eyes. ‘He tell you something about Katia?’
Mavros went towards the kitchen. ‘No, Dmitri, he didn’t.’ He wasn’t going to share what Bitsos had said. The reporter hadn’t provided any more options and Katia was as lost to them as she’d been from the beginning. What was worse, the shadows from his own family’s past were gathering again.
* * *
The Son walked into the deserted shack in the mountains north of Athens with a spring in his step. It was a beautiful night in the countryside, the stars brighter than they were in the city. And he was on his own. As far as the Father knew, they weren’t required tonight and the Son had gone whoring.
Ricardo’s face was a picture when he looked up. ‘Where’s the Father?’
‘Ill.’ The Son smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.’
The bald man studied him and then nodded. ‘This piece of shit’s an Ivan who hasn’t bothered to learn Greek, so we don’t have to ask him any questions. Just carve him up.’
The Son looked past the gagged captive who was writhing in his chair. The tall man who’d almost let the last subject escape was standing there. ‘You can wait outside,’ he said. ‘We don’t need you.’
Ricardo laughed. ‘Go and sit in the car, Dami. This is man’s work.’
The guy trudged away, trying to look like he didn’t care.
The Son started to lay out his tools on an uneven table.
‘What’s really happened with the Father?’ the bald man asked. ‘He can’t be ill. He’s harder than stone.’
The Son stepped into his waterproof trousers. ‘He’s…how can I put it? He needs a rest.’
‘Bullshit,’ Ricardo said, stepping closer. ‘The truth.’
The Son looked at him, the smile still playing on his lips. ‘Do you know how old the Father is?’
Ricardo shrugged. ‘Sixty-five?’
‘Wrong. He’s seventy. Do you really think he’s up to this kind of work any more?’ The Son picked up a gutting knife. ‘We’re wasting time. Either you trust me or you don’t. Which is it?’
Ricardo eyed the serrated blade. ‘All right. Get started.’
‘You’d better stand back,’ the Son said, the smile still hanging on his lips. ‘I think you’ll like what I’ve got in mind.’
The Son’s prediction was accurate. By the time he’d finished, the bald man looked as pleased as a kid with his first fishing-rod.
‘Dami!’ Ricardo shouted. ‘Get in here.’
The Son watched as the tall man came inside, hoping for an extreme reaction. But Damis took in the severed head that had been placed on a plastic sheet without a twitch and turned his gaze on them.
‘Congratulations,’ he said coldly. ‘Mrs Chioti will be delighted. I hope.’
Only then did it strike the Son that maybe, in his haste to impress, he’d gone too far.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MAVROS WOKE UP alone in Niki’s bed. Sunlight was forcing its way through the curtains. He stumbled towards the kitchen.
‘Too much brandy?’ Niki was sitting at the table, drinking coffee. ‘Or too many vine leaves? I was going to take them for my lunch.’
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, sitting down next to her. ‘Bitsos ate them.’
She stared at him and then relaxed. ‘Dmitri got his clothes from the dryer?’
‘Yes. I didn’t want to wake you.’
Niki bent down and put her arms round his neck. ‘How decent of you.’ She kissed his ear. ‘You are quite decent, really. Apart from arriving covered in dog-shit.’
‘Sorry about that. Thanks for cleaning us up.’
She laughed. ‘At least you didn’t ask me to clean up the journalist.’ She moved her head and looked into his eyes. ‘Did you find anything out about Katia?’
‘Not much. I’ve still got some things to check.’
‘Well, watch yourself. I don’t want you getting beaten up again.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Got to go. Can I stay at your place tonight? I’ve got a meeting in the centre first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘Call me later. I don’t know where I’ll be.’
After she’d left the flat, Mavros ma
de himself coffee and had a shower. He dressed and made the call he’d been thinking about. Then he remembered the reporter’s hurried departure and turned on the television. As Bitsos said, there had been a gunfight in the parking lot of a small business centre. The death toll was now four. The camera panned down a police line. Behind it were two black BMWs with shattered windows and pockmarked bodywork. No details about the dead men’s identities were forthcoming, and the usual complaints about the increase in gun crime were voiced.
Mavros went out and took a bus. On the journey to the city centre he ran though his options. One, confront Ricardo about Katia—that might earn him a one-way trip to the bottom of the sea. Two, tell the police about this suspicions of Ricardo’s involvement in the murder of the man with the hooks in him. He could also ask the commander if he knew about the mysterious Father and Son, but he ran the risk of being hauled over the coals for keeping quiet until now. Worse than that, if Ricardo was arrested, he’d lose that potential link to Katia. No, he had to keep all his leads alive, no matter how unpromising they were. Three, confront Jenny Ikonomou again. He had the feeling that the actress knew more about her brother’s activities than she was admitting. But how likely was it that she would condone Ricardo seizing Katia? Before doing anything, he needed more information. He hoped the man he’d called would provide that.
As the bus went up the avenue, motorbikes zigzagging around it like pilot fish shadowing a whale, Mavros thought back to the episode with the heavies last night. The one who seemed to be in charge, the one called Damis—there was something about him. The tall man hadn’t reacted to the discovery that Mavros was an investigator with the suspicion usually shown by criminals. And he’d pulled his punch. Could he be the weak link in Ricardo’s armoured guard?
Getting off in the centre, he headed for his flat. The streets were filled with shoppers and tourists. He turned off towards the Roman market and caught sight of the man he’d arranged to meet. Diminutive and thin, Pandelis Pikros was wearing jeans and a matching jacket that would have made most men over seventy-five look ridiculous. But even from behind the former Communist fighter had the bearing of a man who commanded respect. His hair was pure white and bristly.
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