Zanni's expression did not change. His face had turned to stone since Andreas first said his son was dead. Ginny was frozen in place, her breathing increasing rapidly, as if about to hyperventilate.
They were in shock, a normal and expected reaction.
'Thank you, Chief, for your concern.' Zanni sounded as if tipping a waiter.
Andreas thought perhaps he hadn't made his last comment clear enough or they may have missed it in their grief. 'Mr Kostopoulos, did your son or your family receive any threats? Or can you think of anyone who might have done such a horrible thing as a message to your family?'
Zanni stared straight ahead. 'No, sir.'
Andreas pressed him harder but got no better an answer than an interviewer trying to force genuine beliefs from a politician. Nor was there a hint of Zanni's legendary temper; no matter how hard Andreas pushed him it was always the same: 'No, sir.'
Zanni eyes stayed focused somewhere in the middle-distance while Ginny stood with hers fixed on the floor, clutching her arms across her chest and swaying from side to side. She said not a word and was no longer crying.
The chief of Athens Special Crimes Division had just asked the parents of a murdered boy if their son's death was a message to their family, and neither asked what the hell he was talking about. Shock or no shock, Andreas knew their silence definitely was not normal. They were sitting in their car in front of the Kostopoulos home. 'So, what do you think?' It was the second time Andreas asked that question in the three minutes since they'd left the house.
Kouros' first answer to the question was a summary of what the boy's parents and the household staff told them: Sotiris was almost seventeen, into girls not guys, and well-liked. He'd been playing backgammon at home with two male classmates until eleven when all three were picked up by a taxi for some late-night clubbing. He hadn't been expected home until late Sunday afternoon, at the earliest. Those weren't unusual hours for him or for his friends on weekends, and, yes, they were underage for the clubs, but so were a lot of kids from fancy neighborhoods who hung out there. They got in because they could afford it or some family celebrity-status made them attractive customers. Some, like Sotiris, got in for both reasons.
This time Kouros' answer was, 'About what?'
'Mr and Mrs K.'
Kouros shrugged. 'They were pretty much out of it. Especially her. Until that doctor got there with a sedative, I thought she was going to lose it big-time.'
'Me, too.' Andreas stared at the gate. 'Something's not right about this. They couldn't name one person with a possible grudge against their son or them. All they needed to do was open a newspaper, any newspaper, and find Linardos spelled in capital letters. But they didn't even mention the name. It was as if that family didn't exist.'
'He had to be thinking the same thing we were. The most obvious suspect was someone tied into the Linardos family.'
Andreas nodded. 'For sure, but he's never going to tell us. It's not in his DNA. He can't ask for help. Certainly not from cops.'
'The wife seemed pretty close to saying something. I thought she was going to explode.'
'What I'd give to be a fly on their wall when she wakes up and starts tearing into him.' Andreas gestured for Kouros to start the car. 'May as well stop hoping for miracles and get back to police work. Let's find those two friends of the boy. We'll come back here in a day or so, after the funeral, and try to get her to talk. They're not going anywhere.' Andreas learned early on as a cop that sixteen-year-old boys lived forever. They all knew that rule. It applied to all boys, not just those with doting parents forgiving all trespasses, indulging all whims, and setting no boundaries. It was a hormonal thing, so every cop knew they were at the core of the most dangerous age groups to predict. Children died of war, famine, disease, and other, far too remote causes, to raise even a passing thought of personal mortality in most sixteen-year-old minds. Thankfully, most grew up unscathed in any serious way.
He also knew not all were so lucky. A few died, some survived close calls, and others were left to grieve the fates of their peers. But even the most personal of accidental tragedies, a friend's horrific, deadly motorcycle crash, rarely had but short-term influence on their behavior. In their minds, they were protected from a similar fate by greater skills, better judgment, and the ever-intoxicating bravado of their hormones.
But that rationale would not help Sotiris Kostopoulos' friends deal with his death. Perhaps, if he'd died in a car or boating accident, or they were kids from a violent neighborhood where crime on the streets many times brought death, it would be different for them, but murder was outside the experience of the Athens Academy crowd.
Andreas and Kouros spent hours speaking separately to the boys in the presence of their parents. That was the quickest way of gaining the parents' cooperation. Now, though, it was time to speak to the two boys individually, and away from hovering adults. When the parents objected, Andreas courteously explained their choices: one, accompany their children to police headquarters for a formal interrogation with stenographer, lawyers, and all; or two, allow the police to complete the questioning, informally, in a private home.
Andreas thought that would get him the desired cooperation, but Greeks were notorious negotiators, even with police, and the father of one of the boys would not relent. Andreas was certain the two friends weren't suspects and knew if he pressed it to the point of involving lawyers it might be days, perhaps longer, before he got to speak to them. So, they compromised: no parents, but the boys remained together.
The home they chose was only a few blocks from the Kostopoulos residence, but settled in another world, one far more familiar to Andreas. He sat on a straight-back dining room chair in what he knew could be the home's only living room, facing two boys seated on a plush-cushion bright-red and green floral-pattern couch. The boys looked about to be devoured by the pillows. Kouros sat off to Andreas' right, at the end of the couch, in another straight-back chair.
Theo Angelou and George Lambrou were dark-skinned, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and pimply. Theo, at five-feet five inches tall, was noticeably overweight. George, though the thinner of the two, was only an inch or so taller. No doubt blond, blue-eyed, six-foot Sotiris Kostopoulos had been the face-man of this crew. The two struggled to sit up straight on the couch. It was obvious from their faces what was going through their minds: there-but-for-the-grace-of-God-go-I.
Andreas spoke to them as men, not boys, aiming to create camaraderie and attain a hoped for franker discussion of a very important — stunningly attractive — detail they'd been sheepish to talk about in front of their parents.
'A taxi driver you knew, from the car service you always used, picked you up at Sotiris' house and took you straight to the Angel Club off Pireos Street in Gazi?'
Both nodded.
'That's been your hangout for the past four months?'
More nods.
'And every weekend night it's open there's a specific table reserved just for you whether or not you showed up?' Andreas hoped his tone didn't show what he thought of high-school kids with private tables at one of Athens' hottest clubs, and of the parents who paid.
Perhaps he hadn't masked it well enough or, perhaps, the glamour of claiming such privilege was gone, but the boys didn't nod. George looked at Theo, then back at Andreas. 'Yes, sir, that's right, but really it was Sotiris who had the table. Everyone knew they could find him there after midnight.'
'Ever go to any other clubs, like in Kolonaki?' Kolonaki was Athens' most fashionable and expensive downtown neighborhood, and where Andreas expected these kids to gather, rather than in the dicier clubs of Gazi.
'Not really, Angel was our place. We didn't want to hang out in Kolonaki clubs with everyone else from around here. Once in a while, maybe, if there were a special party somewhere else, but most of our friends came to party with us at Angel.'
He looked at Theo.
'Yes, sir, that's right.'
Andreas paused. He almost was up to what he wante
d to cover most, but first, a subject he hadn't raised in front of their parents. 'I understand Sotiris didn't have a girlfriend?'
'That's right,' said Theo.
'Was there some special girl in his life? Anyone?'
'Not that I knew of.'
Andreas looked at George. 'Did he ever have a girlfriend?'
'No, sir.'
'Okay, guys.' Andreas leaned forward. 'I've got to ask this question. Was he gay?'
There was genuine surprise, even a flash of anger on Theo's face. Perhaps because of what the question suggested about the three of them.
George spoke. 'No way, he was the best there was with girls. They were all over him. We'd hang around waiting for the ones he tossed back.'
Andreas shook his head. 'You're not convincing me, guys. You tell me he had no girlfriend and yet girls were all over him. Doesn't sound to me that he liked girls.' Andreas knew he was pushing an uncomfortable subject on already traumatized boys and didn't like it, but he had no choice.
George stared at a photograph of his parents on the coffee table next to Andreas. 'I don't know what else to tell you. He didn't have a girlfriend.' The boy paused, as if emphasizing what he was about to say. 'None of us did.' Then he looked at Andreas' eyes. 'But Sotiris wasn't gay. Neither is Theo.' No disclaimer for himself.
Interesting kid, Andreas thought, he's implying he might be gay to establish his murdered buddy was not.
George continued. 'He didn't want to be tied down to any one girl. That's the way a lot of guys are these days. If you have sex with the girl she thinks it's serious, and if you have it with her regularly she thinks you'll marry her.'
This I'm hearing from a high-school kid, thought Andreas. He smiled at how much simpler his own teenage years might have been had he known that little secret then. Even now, it might be useful.
Time to see if his challenge to teenager machismo resulted in an among-us-guys discussion of his real subject of interest. 'Okay, George, so tell me more about this hot girl Sotiris met last night at the Angel.'
'We never saw her before. As I told you, she looked about twenty, light brown hair, green eyes, great figure. Taller than me.'
Andreas smiled. 'So, guys, now tell me exactly what you said when you first saw her. Let's start with what Sotiris said. Don't worry, I can handle it.' He leaned over and gave Theo a man-to-man smack on the knee.
'"Look at those tits." Those were Sotiris' first words. "Fantastic ass," were mine. George said, "She must be Olympiakos" — we're big fans of soccer — because she was wearing red.'
George added, 'Not just red, Olympiakos red. The dress, an Armani, drapee mini, and Jimmy Choo stilettos perfectly matched in our favorite team's color.'
Andreas nodded. 'Theo, anything to add?'
As if consciously trying to distance himself from whatever impression George may have been trying to create about his own preferences, Theo said, 'George's parents are in the fashion business; he knows that sort of stuff. Personally, I thought she was the greatest piece of ass ever to walk alone into that place.'
'We all agreed on that, Theo,' said George. 'But Sotiris said she had to be a hooker. "Nothing that beautiful could be in here for free," he said. We thought she was waiting for someone. But she sat alone at the next table just listening to the music. Didn't even try starting a conversation with us.'
'Was that unusual?'
'Well, a lot of people tried breaking into our crowd. They'd do whatever they could to get noticed by us,' said Theo.
He wondered if these kids had any idea how the other half — make that 99.5 % — lived. Andreas actually felt a little sorry for them. In a few years they'd be breaking into a new crowd, one the Greek media liked to call 'the 700ers,' kids raised among the clothes, cars, money, boats, and vacations of their (often debt-strapped) parents, thinking life always would be easy for them, until running head-on into the typical Greek university graduate's starting salary of seven hundred euros per month. Hardly enough to pay one night's bar bill at the Angel Club.
'So, how did they hook up?'
'Sotiris leaned over and asked if she wanted to join us. She said, "No." He asked if he could buy her a drink. She said, "No." He asked if he could marry her, and she laughed.'
'That's when he made his move,' said George. 'He slid out of his chair and onto the one next to her.'
'He was the best at picking up girls. A super-kamaki,' said Theo.
They were talking more naturally than they had in front of their parents, and it made them sound like bravado-driven sixteen-year-olds; but he couldn't fault them for being so naive. Most men, make that virtually all, would be the same in pursuit of a woman that hot. And once there's booze involved, every guy thinks he has a shot. It's the Greek man's mentality. They take great pride in what they imagine to be their skills at pursuing women, even describing their 'whatever-it-takes' behavior by the name for the little trident their ancestors once used to hunt octopus: kamaki.
'Did anyone else talk to her?'
'Not that I noticed,' said Theo.
Andreas looked at the other boy. George gave a quick upward jerk of his head in the Greek style for 'no.'
'How long was she sitting there before Sotiris said something to her?'
'Maybe ten minutes,' said George.
Andreas shook his head. 'Come on guys, the "greatest piece of ass" ever to walk into one of the biggest kamaki joints in all of Athens is sitting alone at the table next to you, and no one but Sotiris talked to her? For ten seconds, maybe. For ten minutes, never. Someone must have. Think harder.' He raised his voice a bit.
Theo shook his head. 'No, I never saw anyone talk to her.'
George shut his eyes. 'I'm trying to remember, but neither of us ever spoke to her, either. And, once Sotiris joined her, the table was off-limits.'
'What do you mean, "off-limits"?'
George opened his eyes. 'We knew he was doing his thing and we didn't want to interfere. So we started talking to other friends and left them alone.'
'And the bouncers kept everyone else away from her table.' It was Theo.
'What bouncers?'
'Two guys in club tee shirts.'
'Was that before or after Sotiris was with her?'
'After.'
George added, 'But I saw them stop a few different guys heading toward her table before Sotiris spoke to her. I remember, because I was trying to guess who she might be waiting for.'
'Why did the bouncers stop them?'
George shook his head. 'Don't know, but our table and hers were in a section of the club set off from the rest of the room by a velvet rope. The club decided who got past the rope and where they could sit. Maybe she told them she wanted to be alone.'
Andreas looked at Kouros, rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, then dropped his hands to smack his thighs as he focused back on the boys. 'So, can you describe the two bouncers?'
George answered. 'Probably late twenties, both about six-four, two hundred-forty pounds, shaved heads, close-cropped beards, dark. They looked like every other gorilla-bouncer you expect to see in a club.'
Andreas had the boys run through the rest of what they remembered. Sotiris had left with the girl about forty minutes after they started talking, telling his friends he wouldn't be back that night and if his parents called the next day to ask where he was, they should say he was 'asleep at Theo's house.' It would not be the first time they'd told that story to Sotiris' parents. Andreas made them repeat everything three more times, with Kouros getting in some practice in the bad cop role. He shook them up a bit, but what they said remained essentially unchanged: nothing seemed out of the ordinary to either of them, although George recalled one of the bouncers disappeared shortly before Sotiris and the girl left the club. They never saw their friend again.
4
They took the back streets of Psychiko into Athens. It was evening rush hour and, though at times it seemed they were following roads laid out by pavers chasing wandering goats, this was the f
astest way back to headquarters.
'I think we should stop by the Angel Club before it gets busy.' Andreas hadn't said much since getting in the car.
'That won't be until after midnight.'
'I meant before it opens. I doubt the two gorillas with the girl worked there or, if they did, they're still around, but the ever-charming Angel Club staff is our only lead to them.'
Kouros glanced in the direction of their office as he drove across Alexandras Avenue onto a road leading to one that wound around Lykavittos, Athens' majestic sister hill to the Acropolis. This was a long way to get to the club, but potentially quicker in traffic. On the east side of Lykavittos lay Kolonaki, where wealthy Athenians preferring a more citified lifestyle lived among post-World War II apartment buildings and the rare traditional home not yet sacrificed to developers.
Kouros dodged his way through Kolonaki and the bustling back streets of old Athenian neighborhoods aiming for Pireos Street.
'I think we better be ready for trouble,' said Andreas.
'Should we call for backup?'
Andreas shook his head. 'No, then we'd have to behave.' He grinned and shot a light jab at Kouros' arm. 'We're better off if they think we're as nasty as they are. That way they might try to make a deal. If we come in with backup, they'll just call for a lawyer.'
'Someone at that club had to be in on-' Kouros slammed on his brakes as a motorcyclist shot in front of them out of a garage. 'Malaka! The bastard never looked!'
'Nice language.' Andreas nibbled at his lower lip. 'Yeah, it was a setup from the start. An irresistible girl at the next table, gorillas keeping everyone else away.' Andreas shook his head. 'I just find it hard to believe that someone from a family as prominent as the Linardos family would be behind such a premeditated, cold-blooded killing of an innocent sixteen-year-old boy.'
'To get back at the father for what he did to the Linardos girl?'
'I understand the motive, Yianni. It's just that killing a child as revenge for the sins of the father…' he let the words trail off. 'How could anyone be so naive or arrogant not to realize a Linardos would be our number-one suspect?'
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