‘Yes, a forty-five. Will you let me read this?’
‘I’ll save you the bother. The only thing linking “the Bat” to Crete is a trip he made there in 1995. He was given a hero’s welcome in Kornaria.’
‘What a surprise.’
‘During which he met that well-known agent of imperialism David Waggoner.’ The Fat Man mangled the Englishman’s surname with relish.
Mavros stared at the extract, which said that Kondoyannis had visited the house of the ‘wartime British commander’, along with the Mayor, Vasilios Dhrakakis.
‘Are you still awake?’ Yiorgos demanded.
‘What? Of course I’m awake. Thanks, Fat Man, this is useful.’
‘No chance of you telling me in what way?’
‘Er, no. Talk to you tomorrow.’ He knew his reticence would drive his friend to distraction.
Too bad. He was even more convinced that everything he was doing on Crete was linked, but he couldn’t see exactly how. The idea that the highly decorated former SOE man had got involved in the international drugs trade was surprisingly easy to swallow.
Then his mobile rang. Niki’s number was on the screen. He answered with apprehension.
EIGHTEEN
As it turned out, Niki didn’t give him a hard time.
‘Still busy?’ she asked pleasantly.
‘Even more than before,’ Mavros replied, fingering the dressing on his neck. When she saw that, he’d get several earfuls. ‘But I hope to be home in a day or two.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Niki said. ‘I’m busy too.’
‘Everything all right?’ he asked, remembering how disaffected she’d been.
‘Oh, the usual stuff, but I can cope. See you soon, my love.’
To his surprise, she rang off. He looked at the phone and tried to work out what lay beneath her strangely buoyant tone, then gave up. He swallowed a couple more of the painkillers, had a shower with a towel round his neck, and collapsed into a dreamless sleep . . .
. . . until the early dawn, when he heard the bell of a nearby church and found himself in the limbo between wakefulness and oblivion. Faces flickered before him – David Waggoner’s with its craggy features; Rudolf Kersten’s contorted death mask; Hildegard’s soft skin; and his father, eyes flashing and lips set in an unmoving smile. Then Waggoner reappeared, leaning forward avidly as he had been when he was with Tryfon Roufos in the taverna. Waggoner, that was what Spyros was telling him – concentrate on the SOE man, who spread lies about me . . .
Mavros sat up with a start. Waggoner had told him he had a place in Chania. With the filming in progress, it seemed likely he would be staying there. Early morning would be the perfect time to catch him unawares. But how to find where he was? The obvious thing would have been to call Rosie Yellenberg, aka Tzannetaki, but he couldn’t trust her. There was one person on the production crew he thought was reliable.
‘Alice Quincy.’ The voice was faint and full of sleep.
‘Alex Mavros. Sorry it’s so early, but I really need to find David Waggoner.’
‘What?’ the young woman mumbled. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘You don’t have to understand, Alice. It’s to do with Maria Kondos going missing again. He may have seen her.’ Phrasing the untruth that way reduced his guilt.
‘Ah, right. Hang on.’ He heard her fingers fly across a keyboard.
‘Sarpaki Fourteen,’ she said. ‘Do you want the phone number?’
‘Yes.’ He entered it into his mobile’s memory. ‘Thanks, Alice. Could you do me a favour? My talking to him is a bit sensitive. Could you keep this between us?’
‘Oh. OK.’
He cut the connection before she could ask more, then dressed quickly, pulling on a classy striped shirt of his brother-in-law’s that flapped about his thin frame.
Odhos Sarpaki was only a few minutes’ walk away. Mavros thought about calling Mikis in as back-up, but decided he could handle the old soldier on his own. He’d also borrowed one of Nondas’s kitchen knives, one with a worn handle but a very keen edge. He reconsidered ringing Waggoner first, but decided warning him wasn’t a good idea. Not for nothing did the police make house raids in the early morning – catch the bad people at their most befuddled.
A seagull took off from the deserted street when he turned the corner, leaving behind a partially consumed chicken carcass. The scent from the flowers on the plants hanging from the wooden balconies covered the whiff of decay. Mavros found number fourteen, which had Waggoner’s name neatly printed on a card, and pressed the bell for over half a minute. Then he started pounding on the door.
‘Who is it?’ came a shocked voice from behind the door, in Greek.
Mavros kept thumping away.
The door opened to reveal David Waggoner in a striped silk dressing gown and leather slippers.
‘Morning,’ Mavros said, brushing past him. ‘You and I need to have a chat.’
‘What do you mean coming—’
‘What do you mean consorting with known drug traffickers and antiquities thieves?’
That put a stop to the old man’s protestations.
‘You’d better come up,’ he said, heading for the wooden staircase.
The house contained floor tiles and ornate ceilings that suggested it was several hundred years old. On the first floor, a double door led into a large open space, furnished at one end as a saloni and the other as a dining room, both full of antique pieces. There were several vases of cut flowers.
‘Do you own this place?’
Waggoner nodded.
‘And the house at Kornaria? Your army pension must be very generous.’
The old man looked at him combatively. ‘I went into business after I left the forces.’
‘Yes, that’s one of the things I want to talk to you about.’
‘What makes you think I’ll take part in any conversation?’
‘This,’ Mavros said, pulling the knife out from under his shirt.
Alarm flashed across Waggoner’s face. ‘You . . . you wouldn’t . . .’
‘Strange you haven’t asked about this,’ Mavros said, pointing at the dressing on his neck.
‘What . . . what happened?’
It was clear he was prevaricating. ‘You know exactly what your friend Tryfon Roufos ordered.’
Waggoner’s head dropped. ‘He’s not my friend.’
‘Business associate, then. You know how untrustworthy he is, don’t you?’
‘I . . . I’ve heard things, yes.’
Mavros plunged the knife into the wooden table between them and left it vibrating to and fro. The former SOE man’s eyes followed it like those of a small jungle creature being hypnotized by a snake.
‘I’m not leaving till I find out what you’re doing,’ Mavros said, glancing at the knife. ‘If you don’t want your throat to end up with a deeper cut than mine, start talking. Now!’ His anger surprised him – the Cretan urge to violence had taken him over again. Then he remembered that Waggoner had killed many times in the past and watched him even more closely.
‘I . . . Roufos made me a proposition.’ He hesitated, but continued when he saw the intensity in Mavros’s eyes.
‘He knew I had free access to the Heavenly Blue – and he found out what I thought about Rudolf Kersten.’
‘What was the proposition?’
‘That I – what’s the expression? – case the joint to see how Kersten’s coin collection could be stolen.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Mavros smiled tightly. ‘You know that Roufos was using Rudi Kersten’s grandson for the same purpose?’
Waggoner’s jaw headed floorwards. ‘What? I wasn’t aware there was a grandson.’
‘Oskar Mesner. He’s here in Chania. Coincidentally, he knows the neo-fascist shit-heads Roufos got to tickle my throat. In fact, your pal Roufos contributes to an organization of far-right headbangers who go around goose-stepping and giving Nazi salutes as they beat up immigrants. What do you feel about that?’
Waggoner was clearly taken aback. ‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘I always find it’s a good idea to do basic research on people before you go into business with them.’ The words rung hollow in Mavros’s ears – he’d only recently discovered essential information about Luke Jannet and his sister. ‘Anyway, what was your interest? You’ve been blackmailing Kersten for years. Did you want to take every single thing of his, even via a bastard like Roufos?’
‘The man was a hypocrite and a murderer. He deserved to die on the street.’
‘As opposed to an orange grove not far from where you were watching the massacre shoot.’
Waggoner glared at him. ‘What are you implying? I had nothing to do with his death.’
‘Don’t worry, I saw where you were sitting. But maybe you got one of your bandits from Kornaria to do the deed.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ the Englishman blustered, but he lowered his gaze again.
‘Or maybe Roufos used your inside knowledge of the set to send one of his heavies in. I saw you speaking on your phone while you were on the platform.’
There were beads of sweat on Waggoner’s forehead. ‘That’s all speculation, Mavros. Kindly leave.’
‘I’m not finished. Besides, Inspector Margaritis will get to you and your phone records soon enough.’ Mavros doubted that, given the official feeling that it was suicide, but even imaginary leverage was useful.
‘Now,’ he continued, ‘let’s talk about Kornaria. I know you used the village as one of your bases during the war.’ He waited till the old man confirmed that with a nod. ‘So it’s perfectly reasonable that you built a house there – even if the money you used to do so resulted from blackmail, which is a crime even in Crete.’
‘Get to the point.’
Mavros smiled. ‘I was hoping you would. No? Well, allow me.’ He leaned forward and pulled the knife from the table.
Waggoner stood up unsteadily. ‘Now look here, you can’t—’
‘I can!’ Mavros yelled, stepping round the table and pushing the old man on to the sofa. ‘I can do anything I fucking well like, you murdering, thieving, lying piece of empire detritus. You want to know something? The EAM man Kanellos you said betrayed you to the Germans, he was my father.’
‘What?’ Waggoner gasped. ‘Your father?’
‘And, as you know very well, he had nothing to do with the betrayal of your band. You executed that man yourself.’
Waggoner’s face was now slicked with sweat and his thick-veined hands were trembling. ‘Your father?’ he repeated. ‘How can that be?’
‘It’s a small country,’ Mavros replied. ‘Sooner or later, everyone knows everyone else.’ He raised the knife. ‘As you can imagine, I’m seriously pissed off about the lies you spread. There’s only one way I’m leaving this house with you still breathing – tell me everything I ask.’
‘I have nothing to say,’ the Englishman said, his lower jaw protruding like the bow of a battleship.
Eventually Mavros turned on his heel and left.
Mikis drove Mavros to the Heavenly Blue.
‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ he asked. ‘They are your employers, after all. And mine.’
Mavros shrugged. ‘You can leave me at the gate if you want.’
‘What? Like they don’t know I was with you in Kornaria and in the fight afterwards? No, fuck ’em. I’m coming with you.’
‘Thanks.’ Mavros was relieved, but he would have gone through with his plan on his own. As they approached the resort, he made a call.
‘Hi, Cara, good morning.’
‘Same to you, Alex.’ The actress sounded like she was ready to take on the world. Then she remembered his raison d’être. ‘Any news about Maria?’
‘I’m working on it. Can you do me a favour?’
‘Anything.’ She laughed. ‘Within reason.’
‘Let Luke Jannet and Rosie Yellenberg know that I need to talk to them in your suite.’
‘OK. When?’
‘Ten minutes?’
‘Consider it done. I’ll offer them breakfast. If that doesn’t work, I’ll threaten to stop working again.’
‘You’re good,’ he said, in admiration. ‘Really good.’
‘Why, thank you, sir.’
Mikis parked as near the hotel entrance as he could. ‘Am I bringing hardware?’
‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary.’
‘What about that knife you’re carrying?’
‘I may need to cut some fruit.’
As they crossed the reception area, Renzo Capaldi stepped forward from the door to the Kerstens’ apartment.
‘Mr Mavros,’ he said, smiling ingratiatingly. ‘Everything is fine. I had a man patrolling outside all night. I spoke to Mrs Kersten a few minutes ago.’
‘How is she?’
‘Calm, I would say.’
‘I’ll call in to see her soon.’ Mavros led Mikis to the stairs.
‘Race you,’ the Cretan said, disappearing round the first corner.
Mavros, worried about stretching the stitches in his neck, let him go and took the lift from the first floor. He found Mikis on the fifth with his chest expanding at a normal rate.
‘Is that natural fitness or do you work out?’
‘Both.’
‘Arrogant Cretan shit,’ Mavros said, nodding at the gorilla outside Cara’s suite. They were allowed in.
‘Alex!’ the actress said, when she saw the dressing on his neck. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Yeah,’ Jannet added, from the armchair he was slouching in. ‘Cut yourself shaving?’
‘Something like that.’ Mavros looked around. Alice Quincy was sitting behind her boss, but there was no sign of the producer.
‘Don’t worry,’ Cara said, giving him a cup of coffee, ‘Rosie’s on her way. Who’s your friend?’
‘Mikis Tsifakis,’ the Cretan said. ‘Driver.’
‘You brought the hired help?’ Jannet asked contemptuously.
‘Why not?’ Mavros replied. ‘That’s what I am, isn’t it?’
Mikis smiled and went over to one of the windows. Shortly afterwards, the external door opened and Rosie Yellenberg came down the hall. She looked at Mavros, but made no comment. He watched as she cast an expressionless glance at her brother and then caught Cara’s eye.
‘What’s this about? Some of us have got work to do.’
‘Aw, chill out, will you, Rosie?’ Jannet said, looking up from his phone.
‘Was she always like this?’ Mavros asked. ‘I mean when you were kids.’
There was silence while people exchanged surprised looks.
‘Well, lookee here,’ the director said, his eyes narrowing. ‘We’ve got ourselves a dick who knows how to dig.’
Mavros wondered if that was a reference to what he had put Oskar Mesner and Roufos’s skinhead through last night. It seemed unlikely as even Waggoner hadn’t seemed to know about it.
‘You and Rosie are brother and sister?’ Cara said, in astonishment.
The producer directed an icy glare at her. ‘Something wrong with that?’
‘Well, yes, actually,’ the actress replied. ‘Like why you’ve kept it secret.’
Jannet looked at his sister. ‘Any reason why we shouldn’t? That is, any reason we have to share personal stuff with you?’
‘It’s weird,’ Cara said.
‘Like everything else in the movie business isn’t?’ the director returned.
‘It’s more than weird,’ Mavros said. ‘What they’ve also failed to mention is that their father, Eugene Tzannetakis, came from the notorious drug-producing village of Kornaria and that he was jailed for drug trafficking in the States.’
‘Kornaria?’ the actress said. ‘That’s where Maria was held, isn’t it?’ She moved towards Jannet. ‘What have you done to her, you animal?’ she demanded, her voice rising.
‘Whoah.’ The director raised his arms. ‘I haven’t done anything to that bitch.’
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Cara kicked him on the shin. Given that she was wearing pointed boots, he must have been in pain, but his face didn’t show it.
‘Sit down,’ Rosie said, with authority. ‘And calm down as well.’
Mavros took Cara back to her place at the end of the sofa. ‘Leave this to me,’ he said quietly. He went back to centre of the room. ‘Let’s be clear about this, Mr Jannet,’ he said formally. ‘When you hired me, did you or your sister know where Maria Kondos was?’
The siblings exchanged glances.
‘No,’ they said, in unison. The effect was reasonably convincing.
‘OK,’ Mavros continued. ‘Are either of you involved in the drugs business?’
Again, they looked at each other.
‘Not exactly,’ Jannet said.
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘Cool it, man,’ the director said, with a wry smile. ‘Here’s how it is. Yes, our old man was sent down for trafficking. That’s one reason why I changed my name – as well as the fact that no fucker could pronounce the full version.’ He looked around but received only stony stares. ‘Anyway, when we came to Crete, we decided to keep away from the village in case any weasel journalist picked up a scent.’
‘If you’re not involved in anything illegal, why would that have been a problem?’ Mavros asked.
‘Now your naivety is showing like a pole dancer’s tits,’ Jannet said. ‘You any idea how hard it is to raise money for pictures these days, especially ones with foreign locations? Tell him, Rosie.’
The producer nodded. ‘Everything in Hollywood is about surface appearance, from Cara’s pretty face and beautiful . . . chest, to the people with the money. As long as investors can say to their shareholders that everything looks all right, we can do business.’
‘Obviously you knew that Maria Kondos’s father was a mobster,’ Mavros said, glancing at Cara.
‘What?’ she shrieked. ‘What the fuck is going on here?’
‘Michael “the Bat” Kondoyannis,’ Jannet said. ‘He’s some piece of work. I heard he had a snitch sliced up in front of the guy’s wife and kids. They never went to the cops.’
Cara was staring at him, her eyes damp. ‘I don’t understand any of this,’ she said, with a sob. ‘Are you saying Maria’s some kind of criminal?’
The Silver Stain Page 21
