“I’ve a better idea. Call Yianni.”
Yianni did a double take at Andreas. “Let me guess. So you can sleep?”
Andreas stood and headed toward the door. “The benefits of rank, Detective. But don’t worry, now the couch is all yours. Sleep tight, guys.”
Andreas never saw the pillow coming, but felt it hit just before he made it out the door.
Chapter Thirteen
“So, what do you think of this color for the baby’s room?”
Andreas pulled the pillow off his head. “I thought you liked the Pepto-Bismol pink Tassaki and I painted it.”
“I changed my mind. Being left alone as much as I’ve been has given me an opportunity to re-think some choices.”
Andreas pulled the pillow back over his head. “It’s perfect.”
“I’d respect your opinion more if you actually took the time to look at what I’m holding in my hand.”
“I’m sleeping.”
“And I’m dealing with a color-blind painter. It’s almost noon. Aren’t you embarrassed to leave your pregnant wife to deal with tradesmen?”
“Nope, they’re no match for you. Besides, I didn’t get to bed until three hours ago.”
Lila walked to the foot of the bed. “Not my problem.” She tickled his toes.
Andreas yanked away his legs to protect his feet. “Stop that.”
“Not until you tell me what you think of the color.”
Andreas twisted his head and looked at the piece of painted board in her hand. “Brown? For a baby’s room. Ugh.”
“My sentiments exactly. What do you think of light lemon yellow?”
Andreas forced a smile. “Perfect. May I go back to sleep now?” He shut his eyes.
“If you’d like, though Yianni said to tell you to call him as soon as you were up.”
“When did he call?”
“Five minutes ago.”
Andreas swung his feet around and over the side of the bed.
“So, this wasn’t actually about the painter.”
Lila smiled. “I just wanted to have some fun. It gets lonely having a husband who stays out all night eavesdropping on other people having a good time.”
“Remind me to take you along the next time.”
“Oh, sure. You know how to show a girl a good time.”
Andreas stood and headed toward the door.
“I suggest, dear husband, that you put on a robe. I don’t think the painter will appreciate your Adonis-like nude form as much as I do.”
“You mean there really is a painter?”
“And he is color blind.”
Andreas put on his robe, walked through the foyer into the study, nodding to the paint-speckled Polish lad standing outside the baby’s room as he did. “My wife will be right with you.”
He closed the door and called Yianni.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” said Yianni.
“Of course you did. So what’s happening?”
“The meeting’s in full swing, and the only topic of conversation is what will happen if the Prime Minister goes forward with his plans.”
“What do you mean if?”
“Their word, not mine. As we thought, everybody now knows Prada doesn’t agree with the Prime Minister, and there is a lot of speculation over how that might be exploited.”
“Exploited how?”
“You name it, they’ve suggested it. Some have even gone so far as to suggest financially backing Prada to split from the PM’s party and form his own.”
“I don’t see that ever happening. Once it got out he was the military’s candidate, he’d be dead. Possibly literally.”
“Yeah, that wouldn’t sit too well with his leftist buddies.”
“Besides, I don’t see him as the charismatic type that appeals to the electorate.”
“That’s what the air marshal said. His thinking is to get the media involved. Play up how dangerous is Greece’s Mediterranean neighborhood, and that the waves of illegal immigrants streaming across our borders calls for an even stronger, better-equipped military presence. That way, instead of battling the Prime Minister over cuts, the Prime Minister has to fight public opinion calling for an increased military budget.”
“That approach might have worked in the past,” said Andreas, “but I don’t think it’s going to play well these days. The people are numb to preachings of disaster. All they’ve heard over the past couple of years in one election after another is sanctimonious politicians preaching milk and honey if you voted for them and utter disaster if you didn’t. But no matter which party won, nothing changed, things just got worse. They don’t believe a thing they’re told by a politician or the political parties’ mouthpiece media outlets. Political promises are meaningless, facts are made up, lies are everywhere.”
“Have you been listening to the recordings?” said Yianni.
“What are you talking about?”
“You just repeated the essence of what practically every senior officer said in that meeting. ‘The times are different,’ they say. ‘The old ways won’t work.’”
“So what are the young ones suggesting?”
“That’s what they’re debating now.”
“How big is the difference of opinion between the general and senior officers?”
“I wouldn’t call it a mutiny in the ranks, but considering how carefully politic these senior officers must have been to get this far, I’d say it’s a rather dramatic development for them to be openly expressing their differences with the general officers.”
“Sounds like they took the message Prada delivered from the Prime Minister to heart,” said Andreas.
“For sure. Both levels of officers see Prada as the key. The question is, how to use him to turn the Prime Minister.”
“Let me know if they come up with an answer.”
“Right now they’re trying to come up with the right person to approach Prada.”
“Approach him for what?”
“To feel him out, see if he’s willing to try again to change the Prime Minister’s mind. If not, they have to come up with a different angle.”
“Hate to drop the word, but any talk of a coup?”
“Not even a hint. A cynic would say it’s as if they know they’re being recorded. I’d say it reaffirms the military’s loyalty to the nation and its recognition that any talk of that sort is treasonous,” said Yianni.
“You sound like you might want to re-enlist.”
“As hard as it may be to believe, I think I actually got more sleep as a Greek Navy commando than a cop.”
“I get the hint. I’ll see you in about an hour. You can catch some sleep then.”
“Can hardly wait.”
“Good. And while you’re at it, make a list of the officers you think are most enthusiastic about using Prada.”
“Why?”
“Just a hunch. But if a painter can be color blind, maybe we’re missing something too.”
“I won’t even ask what that means. Bye.”
Andreas put the phone back in its cradle. Not sure I know either.
***
“Francesco, what are you doing?” said Petro.
“Just what it looks like. I’m getting ready to head out for a walk.”
“To where?”
“Anywhere. I’m going stir crazy. I spent all last night cooped up in a van listening to military types rattling plates, and for the last five hours to them rattling sabers.”
“Don’t you have to help Dimos?”
“It’s all under control. Right, Dimos?”
“Gotcha covered. Just don’t stay away too long, your wife might call.”
“Cover for me. Tell her I’m out chasing terrorists.”
“On Santorini?”
&nb
sp; “Okay, tell her they’re price-gougers. She dislikes them even more.”
“Did you guys rehearse this routine or what?” asked Petro.
“Don’t worry, Dimos will cover for you with Sappho, too.”
“Damn, I forgot to call her. What time is it?”
“Nearly four,” said Francesco.
Petro reached for his phone.
“Hold on guys,” said Dimos. “You’re going to want to hear this. I’ve got it going live to the chief, too.”
Petro and Francesco crowded in next to Dimos and listened through a pair of shared earphones.
Dimos nodded at the phones, “It’s the air marshal and a rear admiral alone in the admiral’s villa,” said Dimos. “That’s the admiral talking now.”
“—you’re right, a real tragedy. I knew the girl. Really nice kid. Not at all like her mother.”
Laughter.
“Too bad the father wouldn’t join us,” continued the air marshal. “If there’s anyone who might be able to convince our dinner guest to straighten out the Prime Minister’s thinking, he’s our man.”
“The two of them are that tight?”
“They go back to childhood school days. One went into the military, and the other into leftist politics, but they stayed close friends right up until a couple of years ago.”
“What happened?” said the admiral.
“Not sure, but I heard it was our dinner guest who steered his buddy’s daughter into her passion for leftist causes.”
“How’d he do that?”
“No idea.”
“And now she’s dead. I see why there’s not much of a chance of getting him to ask his old friend to convince the Prime Minister to change his mind.”
“You got it…Now, if you’ll excuse me, Admiral, I must head back to my quarters for a nap. That is, if I want to have any chance of keeping up with our late-night partying colleagues.”
“Are they going out again tonight?”
“No idea, but I want to be ready in case they do. Can’t let them see the old man sweat.”
Laughter, and the sound of a door opening and closing.
Dimos looked at Petro. “Does that make any sense to you?”
Petro bit at his lip. “I’m sure it will to the chief.”
***
Yianni stared across Andreas’ desk at his boss. “Son of a bitch.”
“I think what we just overheard calls for something more like, MISERABLE MOTHER FUCKER,” shouted Andreas pounding his fist twice on his desk. “The asshole’s daughter was murdered and he’s holding out on us.”
“‘Holding out’ is a colossal understatement. The bastard never bothered to mention a word about his relationship with Prada.”
“Sort of makes you wonder about how much of what went down in Babis’ office was staged.”
“And how much of what he told us in the cafenion was true.”
Andreas ran his fingers through his hair. “But why tell us about the meeting on Santorini at all? He had to know it could lead us to discover his history with Prada.”
“Maybe he didn’t think it would come up?”
Andreas picked up the phone, looked at a number written on a pad on his desk and dialed. “I’m tired of maybes.” He began tapping a pencil on the desktop.
“Hello, Brigadier, this is Andreas Kaldis.”
Pause.
“I’m fine, but I need to see you right away.”
Pause.
“I know you’re busy, so am I, but this is urgent.”
Pause.
“No, I can’t talk about it on the phone and this time I’m afraid you’ll have to come to my office.”
Pause.
“I must insist. Get here as soon as you can. Goodbye.” Andreas thrust the phone back onto its cradle.
“So much for being politic with the military brass,” said Yianni.
“I thought I was rather restrained.”
“Since he’s coming, I’d say you got the message across.”
“That we know about his relationship with Prada?”
“That we know something not nice about him. You didn’t exactly sound like an investigating cop talking to a grieving father.”
Andreas scowled. “If he wants to be treated like a grieving father, then he should start acting like one and cooperate with the investigation.”
Yianni got up and headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To get a quick bite to eat. I don’t want to sit through what’s coming on an empty stomach.”
“Just be here when he arrives.”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t miss this for the end of the world. Which in fact it may turn out to be, considering the Brigadier’s temper.”
“I can handle his temper.”
“The question is, can he handle yours?”
Yianni ducked as Andreas launched a pencil across the room at his head.
***
Andreas sat silently at his desk, nibbling at the spanakopita Yianni had brought back for him from the cafeteria. The most difficult thing about preparing for confrontation was determining how best to deal with all the competing scenarios playing out in your head. No matter the outcome, you wasted substantial time and attention on things that would never happen. That’s why Andreas decided to stop thinking about the possibilities, and concentrate on how to put what he knew straight to the Brigadier. Whatever happened after that, he’d deal with it. At least that was the plan.
Maggie’s voice came crisply through the intercom. “Chief, the Brigadier is here.”
“Show him in.”
Yianni shifted on the couch.
Andreas stood up as the door opened and the Brigadier walked into the office wearing civilian clothes. Andreas extended his hand, but did not move from behind his desk. “Brigadier, thank you so much for coming.”
The two shook hands and Andreas pointed at one of the two chairs in front of his desk. “Please.”
The Brigadier sat down and crossed his legs. “I’m not at all happy about your dragging me down here on a weekend.”
Andreas forced a smile. “I don’t like working weekends either, but sometimes we have to if we want to catch bad guys who do bad things to other people’s children.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The Brigadier uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his chair.
“Precisely what you think it means. We’re trying to find out who killed your daughter, and we think it’s time you started telling us the truth so we can do our job.”
The Brigadier’s face turned crimson. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“No, I’m saying you don’t seem to give a shit about telling us what we need to know if we’re going to find who’s responsible for murdering your daughter.”
The Brigadier lunged out of his chair, swinging his right fist across the desk at Andreas’ face.
Instead of ducking, Andreas deflected the punch across his body with his left forearm, and used the Brigadier’s momentum to yank him sailing over the desk and into the wall behind him.
Yianni leaped off the couch and raced around the desk to help.
“No need, Yianni,” said Andreas gripping the Brigadier’s right hand in a firm wristlock. “I’m sure the general sees the wisdom of learning to control his temper and behaving in a more civilized manner.”
The Brigadier tried to wrestle out of the wristlock, but Andreas gripped tighter and pressed hard against his elbow, drawing a noticeable wince from the larger man.
“Have you had enough yet or would you like a bit more pain?” Andreas pressed harder at the elbow.
“Enough. Okay. Stop.”
Andreas released his grip. “Back to your chair, please.”
The Brigadier shuffled to his fee
t and rubbed at his arm and wrist as he walked toward the chair. “I—I’m sorry. When it comes to my daughter…”
“Apology not accepted.”
“What is it you want from me?”
“Here’s a hint. Sorry your flight over my desktop didn’t end as comfortably for you as the one you sent your buddy on in the Minister’s office.”
The Brigadier drew a deep breath, shut his eyes, exhaled, and dropped into the chair. He opened his eyes. “If you know our history, then you know throwing that bastard across the desk was the least of what I’ve been wanting to do to him for a very long time.”
“What do you mean if we know your history? You sent us off to Santorini to eavesdrop on some hush-hush military powwow that has your childhood friend turning up as its guest of honor and you thought we wouldn’t find out about your relationship?”
“He was there?”
“Don’t toss me any more bullshit. You knew he’d be there.”
“No, I didn’t. I swear.”
Andreas shook his head. “You had to know that sooner or later we’d find out about your past together. How could you be so stupid as not to tell us? Or did you think we were too stupid to figure it out?”
The Brigadier dropped his head and stared at the floor. “I didn’t want to open a can of worms.”
“A can of worms? We’re trying to find out who murdered your daughter and you’re worried about a can of worms.”
“He had nothing to do with her death.”
“How can you be so sure?”
The Brigadier bit at his lip. “He was her godfather.”
Now Andreas drew in and let out a breath. Agreeing to be a godparent was a serious undertaking in Greece. By accepting, you gave your word to raise the child as your own should something happen to the parents. If Prada had been involved in the assassination, it would have been like killing his own child.
Andreas waited until the Brigadier raised his head. “What’s the can of worms?”
The Brigadier rubbed at his forehead with the fingers of his right hand. “I didn’t want my wife traumatized any more than she already is.” He looked Andreas in the eyes. “We were lousy parents, and I didn’t want that to become public. The media would chew her up.”
“What do you mean by ‘lousy?’”
Santorini Caesars Page 14
