Jeffrey Siger_Andreas Kaldis 02

by Assassins of Athens

  So, he wasn’t surprised when thirty minutes later he was sitting in her apartment doing penance.

  “…and that’s how I figured it out. They were banished and the boy was murdered because the family didn’t listen!” She sounded as excited as a schoolgirl coming home with straight A’s.

  “That’s a great theory but—”

  “I know, I know, in ancient Athens they didn’t banish the entire family and certainly would never kill a family member if the banished one didn’t listen, but there were other forms of banishment for actual crimes, ones where the entire family was banished, even the bones of dead family members were dug-up and sent away and—.”

  Andreas put up his hand to stop her. “No, that’s not what I was going to say. I congratulate you for figuring it out, I really do, but that’s not the direction this investigation is headed.”

  She glared at him. “I wondered why you went from being so aggressive to not caring enough even to call. Someone told you to stop.”

  Andreas’ temper flared, but he kept his tone in check. “No, I’m just more interested in catching a killer than playing some rich folks’ parlor game of cops and conspirators.”

  She looked down at her hands. “I guess I deserved that.”

  He said nothing.

  She looked back up at him. “No quarter, huh?”

  He still said nothing.

  “Fine, you’ll just have to settle for coffee.”

  He wondered if he should say what he was thinking.

  “Would you like a toast?”

  “Mrs. Vardi, I really must leave.”

  “Please, I said call me Lila, and you can’t leave now, it’s just not proper to come to someone’s home without even having a coffee.” She smiled.

  He’d had enough. “Mrs. Vardi, I have work to do.” He knew he should keep his mouth shut and just leave.

  “I insist you stay. At least for coffee.” Her tone was formal.

  He stared straight at her. “First you insulted me by suggesting I’m part of some cover-up, and when that didn’t get the reaction you wanted you, lectured me on manners. Don’t know how you were raised, but my parents would call that very bad manners.” His temper was showing, but he no longer cared. “Come to think of it, you probably were raised differently. I guess more along the lines of ancient Athenian traditions, where courtesy was due just to equals, and the servant-class indulged only when absolutely necessary. Perhaps with some simple benevolent gesture, like a coffee and toast with the master.” He stood up. “No need to show me out.”

  She locked eyes with him. Slowly, she raised her right hand up toward his face. It was clenched in a fist. He expected her to flash an open palm, the Greek gesture for something a lot worse than “asshole.” Instead, she held her fist in the air, brought the tips of her forefinger and thumb together, then slightly separated them.

  “Don’t you think you’ve overreacted just a teeny-tiny bit?” She flicked her fingers rapidly open and shut.

  He watched her fingers for a moment, and dropped back down onto the couch across from her.

  “Let’s start over again,” she said. “I apologize. I wasn’t suggesting you’re dishonest. I was more angry at the thought that someone had ordered you to stop doing what you knew in your heart was right.”

  He swallowed. “I’m sorry too. I get that way when I think people are talking down to me. It comes from a bad experience my father had.” He’d opened up the subject; he might as well finish it. “A minister level member of government from the supposed ‘upper-class’ set up my father—the trusting cop—to take the fall for bribes that went to the minister.”

  “I can’t believe he got away with it.”

  Andreas shrugged. “My father died soon after the accusations hit the newspapers. The story died with him.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  He appreciated that she didn’t ask for more details, like the tire blowout a year later that sent that minister’s car plunging off a mountain road and him to a nasty, officially ruled accidental death. “Anyway, about this banishment theory, yes, I agree it’s interesting.”

  “So, why aren’t you doing something about it?”

  He smiled. “Something tells me you’re this way with everyone, and so I shouldn’t take offense.”

  She blushed. “Yes, I guess I am.”

  “That’s okay, it’s refreshing.” Why did I say that? “But to answer your question, I simply don’t have the time right now to pursue it. Perhaps later.”

  She shook her head. “You’ll never have time. There always will be something else.”

  He nodded. “You might be right, but even if I had the time, I have no leads to follow. All the families with a member who might have been murdered won’t talk to police and live outside of Greece. And even if I knew any of the other families that supposedly left after receiving a warning, they’re also outside of Greece. I don’t even know where the Kostopoulos family is. Besides, I have no jurisdiction over any of them and no way to get them to cooperate.”

  She smiled. “But I do.”

  He looked surprised. “What are you talking about?”

  “The world is very small at the top. Everyone up there knows everyone else, or someone who does.”

  Andreas stared at her.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “Why are you offering to help? That’s what I’m thinking. Don’t misunderstand me, I appreciate the offer, but why would you, someone with all this,” he waved his hands at things around the room, “and part of the ‘small world at the top,’ want to get involved?”

  She stared back. “You mean why should I want to bring down my own kind?”

  He paused. “Yes.”

  She nodded. “Fair question. Because the kind you’re talking about is not ‘my kind.’ Sure, I have,” she waved her hands, “all this, but the fact I was born and raised rich and probably do things you think silly and spoiled doesn’t mean I’m a bad person.” She smiled. “Any more than your being a cop means you’re corrupt.”

  He laughed.

  She stared at a photograph of her husband. “My family was socially prominent well before the 1900s. My husband’s family never was part of that crowd and, in fact, never achieved any sort of prominence, financial or otherwise, until the 1980s. According to some in Athenian society, like the ones I’m sure you’re looking for, it was a mortal sin for us to have married. How dare I elevate one of them to our level.” She stared straight at Andreas. “They do not represent my way of thinking, or my Athens.”

  Andreas nodded. He understood why she’d kept his name. In her own way, Lila Vardi was one in-your-face tough cookie.

  Lila waved a finger at him. “If you promise not to give me any more of that ‘you’re an elitist,’” she paused as if deciding on the right word, “bullshit, I’ll try to find out what I can.”

  He smiled. “Nice language.“

  “I wanted to use a word you’d understand.”

  He laughed again. “May I have that coffee now, please.” He studied her hands as she picked up a white porcelain pitcher and poured the coffee into a matching cup. “But these…let’s call them banished…people aren’t part of your ‘top of the world crowd.’ So, what makes you think you can get them to cooperate, assuming you can find them?”

  She handed him the coffee. “Well, first of all, I don’t consider myself part of that crowd, but I am friends with some, and know many others who are. The banished people, as you say, certainly are not part of that crowd, but from what I know of the families who did move away, they were very socially conscious.”

  “Meaning?”

  “They knew who the important people were in society and loved to be even a tangential part of that crowd.”

  “Don’t you think their experiences here soured any interest in further social climbing?”

  “To some extent sure, but I tend to think not completely. From what I understand, these people kept their wealth, at least part of it,
and had children to educate. They weren’t likely to simply go off and hibernate in some cave until the day they all died.”

  He took a sip of coffee. “You might be right. One family is in Paris, and the two others we know of are in Switzerland. Plus, wherever the Kostopoulos family ends up.”

  “A lot more than three families have left suddenly. I have no way of knowing if any of them were banished but, if they were, I’d bet their children are in the finest, and most secure, private schools. Where some of their classmates, maybe even friends, are likely part of families—”

  “At the top of the world.”

  She smiled. “Exactly.”

  He took another sip of coffee, then put the cup down on the table between them. “You know this could be dangerous?”

  “It will come up as just fishing for idle gossip. Everyone does it all the time in Athens.”

  “Now you’re beginning to worry me. If people are being banished, the ones most likely behind it are from the very pond you’re about to fish in. If they find out you’re snooping around…do I have to tell you what’s likely to happen?”

  She drew in and let out a breath. “No, you don’t. I guess I’m being naïve.”

  “What you’re being is very helpful. I just don’t want you doing something that might get you hurt.”

  She blushed. Perhaps she sensed he wanted to add something more.

  “Just promise me you won’t do anything without clearing it with me first.”

  “Do you promise to return my calls?”

  “Promise.” He smiled.

  She looked at her watch. “Oh, my god, I was supposed to be at the museum fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Come on, I’ll give you a ride. Even use the siren and the lights.”

  “As long as you don’t make me sit in the back. I can imagine the field day the paparazzi would have with that picture.”

  Andreas imagined a headline: Socialite Held by Police.

  ***

  On the way to the museum they talked about nothing important…to the case. She talked about her husband, how they met while she was at college in Boston, and how his death affected her. Andreas talked about how tough it was losing his father when he was eight, and growing up watching his mother endure all the rumors. Lila spoke of how difficult it was being a single woman in Athens “even at my level.” He spoke about his sister’s children, Nikos, Mihalis, and Anna, as if they were his kids and how his life made it unlikely he’d be having a family of his own anytime soon. She said her own job kept her “safe from that sort of thing, too.”

  He wished the ride had taken longer. He liked hearing her voice. He liked talking to her.

  But for now, he was left to talking to Kouros about the four names he just wrote on the marker board on the wall behind his desk. Andreas stared at the names. “Okay, Giorgio, you’re the muscle, but what’s your connection to the Kostopoulos family, and Athens society?”

  “Maybe it’s the drugs?” said Kouros.

  “Yeah, there’s certainly drugs in that crowd, and if you’re looking to find someone to do a murder he’s the one to talk to.” Andreas hesitated. “But suppose, just suppose, that there really is a lot more going on here than an isolated murder. I don’t see bringing a notorious drug dealer onboard as a confidant in something so big-time and serious unless you’re willing to be blackmailed for the rest of your life. Whoever’s running this is too smart to take such a risk.”

  “Maybe there’s a middleman,” Kouros pointed to Marios’ name, “and he’s the link to Giorgio?”

  “Or it’s the one who forced Marios to talk to us. Marios certainly is connected to both worlds. Everyone likes the press. Especially a press that can be discreet.”

  “For a price.”

  Andreas nodded. “Linardos. What are you doing up there on my board? You’ve got a big name, big power, big money, and a big likely hate for Kostopoulos. But you also have an impeccable reputation.” He fluttered his lips as he let out a breath.

  “And then there’s Anna,” said Kouros.

  “I can’t imagine she’s anymore than what she seems, but why was she chosen? Who picked her out of all the possible—” he was about to say hookers—“choices available?”

  “It’s a strange mix.”

  Andreas got up, walked around his desk, and stared out the window. “If this really is something bigger, where’s the money coming from? This kind of muscle doesn’t come cheap. And who’s the son-of-a-bitch tying everything together? The money, the muscle, the messages. He might not be at the top of the pyramid, but he’s sure as hell making it all happen for whoever is.”

  “Which of our four do you think it is?” Kouros pointed at the board.

  Andreas turned from the window, walked back to the wall, and picked up a marker. Touching a spot in front of Giorgio’s name he said, “This one,” then drew a huge question mark embracing all four names. “Someone who links all of them together. And I don’t think we’ve found him yet.”

  “Or her.”

  “Yes, or her.” Andreas looked at his watch. “Let’s take a ride over to Linardos’ office, just drop in unannounced.” Andreas smiled. “Who knows, maybe he forgot to tell his secretary he’s back in town.”

  “And, if he is, maybe we can ask him to join us for a drink at the Ramrod.”

  “At the what?” asked Andreas.

  “That gay bar. I guess it gets its name from the long, stiff rod used to pack gunpowder, wads, and balls into the end of an old musket.”

  Andreas stared at him. “You really could use some sensitivity training.”

  Kouros shrugged.

  Great, thought Andreas. Three ramrods to deal with: a ramrod bar, a ramrod-minded cop, and a ramrod-stiff Athenian patrician. This was going to be some afternoon.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Mr. Linardos, there are two gentlemen here to see you, sir.” It was his secretary calling through on the intercom.

  “Do they have an appointment?”

  “No, sir, and I told them you just arrived from London and are very busy, but they said it’s very important.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Chief inspector Kaldis and officer Kouros of GADA.”

  It was a full thirty seconds before he answered. “Okay, I’ll see them in five minutes.”

  Andreas smiled at the woman. “Thank you for being so helpful.” She had little choice. Before she knew who they were, she’d kept them waiting by her desk while she finished some tirade with a restaurant over how it “dared” to deliver such a “horrible lunch” to “the Sarantis Linardos.” Andreas never would forget the look on her face when they identified themselves. Kouros actually had to cough to cover up a laugh.

  Andreas guessed Linardos was using the five minutes to call his lawyers. But how could he explain to them why he was afraid even to find out what the police wanted? Besides, he always could cut off the interview at any time. There was nothing Andreas could do about that.

  This guy’s life was right out of one of Maggie’s magazines. He was isolated from the day-to-day demands made of virtually everyone else on earth: valets to choose and lay out his clothes, cooks to prepare his meals, personal shoppers to obtain whatever product or service he desired, maids to launder and clean up after him, chauffeurs, private pilots, and sea-captains to whisk him door-to-door to anywhere he wanted, and assistants anxious to arrange it all. Andreas wondered if he had any idea of the efficient, ruthless nature of the oh-so-many predators lurking about in the real world. Or maybe he was one of them.

  Andreas looked at his watch; four minutes had passed. He smiled at the secretary.

  “Let me show you into Mr. Linardos’ office.” Obviously, she wanted nothing more to do with them.

  Andreas always was amazed at how elegant an office could be. Then again, most cops were from the gypsy school of interior decorating: whatever worked and was portable was fine. From the paintings, sculptures, antique French furniture, inlaid woods, and Oriental carpets in
this one, it looked nothing like a working office. More like a five-hundred-square-foot throne room for holding court.

  When they entered the office, the king was not on his throne, at least not any they could see.

  “Please, sit here.” The secretary pointed to a pair of matching, tapestry-covered chairs in front of an ornately carved, gold-trimmed desk. “I’m sure Mr. Linardos will be right with you.”

  There was the sound of a flushing toilet. The secretary looked uncomfortable. “That’s okay, we’ll wait for him here,” said Andreas facing the desk from the rear of the room.

  The desk was in front of a bank of windows, with more windows running along the length of the wall to Andreas’ right. Bookshelves lined the wall facing the desk. On the wall to Andreas’ left, between the door through which they’d entered and another door on the same wall closer to the desk, were three paintings Andreas knew he should recognize. Conspicuously absent were photographs of the rich and famous. Then again, Linardos had no reason to impress a visitor with whom he knew. He knew everyone who mattered, and anyone coming here already knew that. The only photographs were of his family, and they stood in silver frames on a small table between his desk and the second door.

  No one moved. They just waited for that second door to open. Two more minutes passed before it did.

  “Sorry, gentlemen.” Sarantis Linardos nodded to his secretary who immediately turned and left, then he shook hands with both men, pointed for them to sit where his secretary had suggested, and went to sit across from them behind his desk.

  “So, what can I do for you?” He was smiling and pleasant.

  Andreas used his most official-sounding, courteous voice. “Mr. Linardos, I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to see us unannounced. I apologize for such an intrusion, but we’re hoping you might be able to help us with a rather delicate matter.”

  “If I can, certainly.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m certain you’re aware of the Kostopoulos murder.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I am. Terrible, terrible tragedy.”

  “I know that you and the father were involved in business dispute—”