I turned to see a good-looking guy, athletic, with a face that reminded me of Richard Gere in his youth, when all the women were drooling over him. About forty, blond, blue-eyed, with wrinkles that worked in his favour, and a rather large nose – one of those that don’t often work on women but make men seem more striking.
“Do we know each other?” I said.
“I’m Nikos. Nikos Zois,” he said, “Teri’s boyfriend.”
He held out his hand and smiled broadly. Although Teri referred to him as her “hunk”, I’d put that down to her incurable tendency to exaggerate. But even though he was at least three inches shorter than me, he had presence. And a handshake that was firm and warm.
“I’ve seen you in photos with Teri. I live round the corner, and was working late, so I thought I’d grab a double pita souvlaki – will you join me?”
I wanted to find Aliki and work out whether she, or her husband, was telling the truth. But it was 5.30 in the morning, I had no idea where she was and my text hadn’t reached her, so my mobile service informed me. The possibility of sharing a couple of souvlakia with my transsexual friend’s boyfriend suddenly made a lot of sense.
“I never say no to souvlaki,” I told him.
“So, I hear you’ve got a toy factory?” I asked Nikos after he returned with our double pitas, fried potatoes, Greek salad and beers – he had insisted on paying for everything.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a factory,” he said, grabbing a colossal bite from his chicken souvlaki with yoghurt. I had opted for pork with tzatziki, following my rule that when you dive into cholesterol you need to go all the way.
“Teri mentioned you’re modest about it,” I said.
She’d called it a whacking big thing making board games, construction toys, masks, electronic games and probably a few other things I couldn’t remember.
“A lot of the stuff we sell we just import; we don’t make everything ourselves. But we do produce a fair amount.”
“And you started with quite a small workshop.”
“I see that Reuters have released everything,” he said, smiling.
“Maybe we should give her a call, to come and join us,” I suggested.
“No, no, she… is asleep now. We… we were together earlier,” he said, almost shyly.
“Ah,” I said.
“Yes. I actually can’t sleep easily after spending time with her. So I thought I’d get some work done, get through the unanswered emails. And have some of my favourite souvlaki.”
I nodded, tasted the potatoes. Pre-fried ones, as in most fast-food joints, but still tasty. It was the first time I’d heard someone who echoed my feelings about Maria.
“I love their souvlaki. Seems like every shop around is closing to become an eatery or cafeteria, but most are trying to make easy money. This one never disappoints. So, she’s been talking about me a lot?” he asked, like a teenager wanting confirmation that his love interest is equally returned.
“She’s proud of your success,” I replied.
“Although being proud and being in love are hardly the same thing,” he said.
He seemed to really want that confirmation, which I found amusing and pleasing at the same time. Amusing because he was too old to act like an adolescent. Pleasing because Teri hadn’t exactly been lucky in love in the past. Neither her profession, nor her change of gender had been of much help.
“I don’t think they contradict each other, either,” I told him.
He studied me for a bit, with an inquisitive smile.
“You don’t give too much away, do you?” he finally said.
“Teri told me you met by chance,” I said, instead of responding.
“Yes, I was – I am – a new volunteer at the centre, I first saw her there.”
Teri had been volunteering for a non-governmental organization helping abused children. It was one of the NGOs that actually did what they claimed to do, instead of embezzling federal money. And she was doing tons of work, at their child abuse prevention centre. Apparently, domestic violence had grown rapidly with the crisis, and children were easy targets. Teri had declared her profession as “beautician” at the NGO and hadn’t told anyone about being transsexual. Nobody had asked. They accepted her as a woman, which wasn’t surprising given how few male characteristics she ever had.
“She is truly fantastic, you know – I mean, you are best friends, so of course you know – but she is,” he said.
“According to Teri you’ve helped a lot, too, donated loads of toys.”
“That was nothing. The toys were there, we put them in a truck – no effort. What she does for these kids, how she’s there for everything they need, when they have nightmares and need a hug or when they want to play and she organizes all kinds of fun things to do…”
He was proud of her too. Which was great, but made it hard for me to ask him what I really wanted to know. Which was how he felt about her being transgender and, most importantly, if he didn’t mind her being a sex worker. Sharing your beloved with the rest of the world couldn’t be as wonderful as everything else he was describing.
“And you, Stratos, you too are a businessman, right?” he asked.
“I try to be, with all that’s going on,” I said.
Teri had told me that when Nikos had asked her about me she had been as vague as possible, mentioning that I was doing something incomprehensible to her, software-related.
“What exactly do you work on, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I didn’t mind. I had my story at the ready, had used it before.
“Selling software packages for teams in various sports, to help them monitor their performance.”
I’d learnt a bit about that stuff from a former client. Enough to be able to bullshit about it.
“Nice! Many clients?”
“Not too many, these days.”
“You’re expensive?”
“You could say that.”
“So what’s your plan, for the immediate future?”
That was a damn good question. I didn’t yet have much of an answer.
20
It was a quarter to ten in the morning when I called Drag. I told him I was in my car, outside Antonis Rizos’ practice, but the therapist hadn’t appeared yet. I knew what he looked like from his sparse website, containing only his photo, contact details and office hours. Which he didn’t seem too keen to keep.
I spared Drag the details of my meeting with Nikos Zois. I assumed that, with the pressure he was under to find Elsa Dalla’s murderer and where Aliki was, details about Teri’s love life were not high on his list of interests. Drag informed me that he already had someone tailing Vassilis around the clock, to report on his every move. Drag expected him to visit Rizos, as he’d told us he would, but Vassilis had left his house earlier that morning to go straight to the Courthouse at the former Army Cadet School. A day like any other, for the working lawyer. His wife missing, a murder in her car, and he was at his post, cross-examining witnesses for one of his cases. Drag had a second guy stationed at Vassilis’ house, to keep tabs on Makis in case he and Vassilis had left separately. The second cop reported to Drag that Makis hadn’t left the house at all the previous day. The quality of the Greek police force never ceases to amaze me. But I couldn’t give Drag my honest opinion, because I’d then have to reveal that I’d seen Makis when I met Aliki the previous night, something I also hadn’t mentioned to Drag.
“I called Rizos myself, today. He didn’t pick up,” Drag said.
“OK. Let me know if anything else comes up,” I told him.
“Of course, master. Always at your service,” he said, and I would have smiled but I hung up as Antonis Rizos had just appeared around the corner, walking towards his office. He wasn’t alone. Makis was walking beside him.
21
I let them enter the apartment building where Rizos had his penthouse practice, before I got out of the car and ran to the main entrance. It was unlocked, as it had bee
n earlier. I took the stairs, keeping my eyes on the elevator to see if anyone used it. I reached the third floor a few seconds later, and tried the door to his practice. It was locked. I knew that some doctors keep apartments in the same building as their practices, to make their lives easier. But I had checked the names on the doorbells, and Rizos’ name was only on one. That didn’t make it certain that Rizos and Makis were behind the locked door – but it made it highly probable. There was no other apartment on the third floor, no immediate neighbours to worry about. I put my ear to the door, waited for a while. I heard some subdued conversation, but I couldn’t make out the words. They were either far from the door or trying to make sure no one could hear them. Maybe they were planning to overthrow the government – Rizos had signed all sorts of web petitions calling for action against the third memorandum with the EU and those who enforced its draconian financial measures. And Makis was obviously a deep political thinker.
I knocked on the door and stepped to the side. No response. Maybe Makis was having a therapy session to overcome the shame at the way we’d jumped him the other night. I knocked again, harder this time, and shouted: “courier for Dr Rizos”. I checked the peephole in the door. I was sure Makis would peer through it to see who it was. I saw movement behind the peephole and kicked the door near the keyhole, which is usually the weakest part. I heard the guy behind the door grunt, as it fell on him. It was Rizos. Makis was kneeling behind him, with his gun out. He may have been stupid but at least he’d sent Rizos to the door, to be on the safe side. He took aim at me and missed, as I ducked and dropped to the floor out of his line of vision. His gunshot had been as loud as a cannon and I heard doors being opened downstairs. People trying to find out what was going on, probably calling the police already.
“Show yourself, you fucking fucker,” Makis shouted, exposing his impressive vocabulary.
What was happening made little sense to me. Makis may have hated my guts but his employer claimed to want to hire me. His orders couldn’t be to shoot me at first sight. And Makis had kept his distance from me at the fast-food joint. What had changed? If I managed to get Rizos out of there and neutralized Makis, I would probably have the chance to find out. From the doorway I saw Rizos moving, trying to get the doorframe off him. I had to do something fast, before the cops arrived.
“Come on, you fucker,” Makis repeated.
I kept looking at Rizos. He seemed at a loss, but he met my gaze. I gestured to him to roll over towards me. It was a gamble, if Makis took another shot at him, but I was willing to bet that his full attention would be on the door, waiting for me to appear. Also, by rolling over, Rizos had a better chance of not being hit, and the doorframe might possibly protect him.
“Come on, chickenshit, show your face, come on, come on,” Makis kept ranting, the pitch of his voice rising.
Rizos rolled over very quickly for a man of his age – he looked like he was in his late sixties, but he was thin and muscular, he probably worked out. Makis didn’t try to shoot him. He just said “What the fuck?”
“This way,” I shouted to Rizos from the hallway, loud enough for Makis to hear me. Makis appeared in the doorway soon enough, and looked around. I stepped out of the window recess where I was hiding and knocked him cold, just as the first police sirens made themselves heard.
22
“Who are you?” Antonis Rizos asked me.
We were in my car, several blocks away from his office. He had agreed to come with me, as he said he didn’t feel like talking to the “fucking cops” until he calmed down. Consistent with his leftist background, rather than an echo of Makis’ vocabulary.
“That’s not important.”
“It is to me. I want to know who saved me.”
“So he wanted to kill you?”
“Your name, first.”
His hair was just now greying at the temples but his face was no longer youthful. Still, he had a certain energy, now he had regained his composure.
“Stratos.”
“Stratos…”
“That’s all I’ll give you.”
“And what were you doing in my office?”
“I wanted to ask you a few questions about Aliki Stylianou.”
“You, too.”
I nodded.
“Why are you interested?”
“I think she’s in danger. I want to help her.”
“Why?” he insisted with the questions. Probably the therapist in him.
“I like righting wrongs,” I told him, although that wasn’t necessarily true.
He stared at me, as if trying to find out if I was sincere.
“Tell me what happened with Makis,” I said.
“He approached me outside my office, said he’d like to book an appointment, that he had some personal issues. I asked him to call to arrange one, but he said he’d been having suicidal thoughts daily and if I could see him right now he would appreciate it.”
“So you told him to come upstairs?”
“Yes. He didn’t strike me as the suicidal type, the way he talked and behaved, but I’ve seen so much counter-intuitive stuff happen, that…”
“And he attacked you?”
“Locked the door and pulled a gun on me as soon as we were in the office.”
“Because…?”
“He said he wanted to know everything Aliki had told me and where he could find her. Of course I have no idea where she is, and I’d never reveal confidential information.”
“Not even at gunpoint?”
“I’m an old commie, Stratos, and proud of it. I’ve been in more protests and street fights than I care to remember. Violence doesn’t intimidate me.”
Makis wanted to know where Aliki was and what Rizos knew. Both questions Vassilis would have sent Makis to find answers to, but why didn’t Makis at least try to get the information before he resorted to violence? It could be that he liked it, but he was a hired gun. He should follow Vassilis’ orders. Once again, as in his shooting at me, his actions seemed incomprehensible.
“Did he tell you that he worked for her husband?” I asked him.
“He did.”
“So he wanted to know if you knew about him torturing her.”
“I can’t comment on that.”
“If she confided in you…”
“I won’t tell you anything that was discussed in her sessions.”
“Even if it is to help her stay alive?”
“I know you probably saved my life today. But I don’t know what your intentions towards Aliki are, and even if I knew that you are on her side, I still wouldn’t tell you.”
On her side. So there was another side, and that could only be Vassilis. I believed Rizos that he wouldn’t tell me anything specific, even if I tried to beat it out of him, and I felt that he had had enough violence for one day. I tried another approach.
“Aren’t you required by law, however, to report domestic abuse cases? So if something like that was happening, wouldn’t you…?”
“Let me put it this way,” he interrupted me. “Laws are often rubbish. Laws dealing with something as fragile as the mental state and feelings of humans are always rubbish, because each case is different from the next. And no, if I didn’t think that a patient would gain by my reporting hypothetical abuse, I wouldn’t report it. In my practice, I make the laws.”
He was very carefully informing me that everything that Aliki had said was true.
“Did you know Elsa Dalla, the murdered woman in Aliki’s car?” I asked him.
“Never heard of her, until I saw the news.”
A long pause followed. Which he broke. “However, I must say…”
“Yes?”
“I am under the impression, based on his behaviour, that this guy, Makis, has a strong personal interest in the case. Thank you for your help, I need to walk a bit now,” he said, and got out of my car.
23
Leaving Rizos’ neighbourhood, I had two options. The first was to drive straight to t
he Courthouse, grab Vassilis and make him tell me what was going on with Makis – if he knew, that is. Rizos’ suggestion that Makis might have a personal interest in the case was still swirling around my brain. Maybe I could beat a confession out of Vassilis that, after all, he did want to kill Aliki or have her imprisoned in his house, away from other men’s eyes. Or maybe I wouldn’t get anything and I would look like a big intimidating fool. Also, the fact that the Courthouse area was filled with cops and my face was all over the media meant that showing up there was probably not the brightest idea. I would have to see Vassilis later. I called Drag, told him what had happened at Rizos’ office and asked him to make Makis talk.
“Thank you so much for this advice. I would never have thought of it myself,” Drag replied. The case was probably starting to get on his nerves, just a bit.
The second option was to talk to Teri. I loved spending time with her, either in person or on the phone, because talking to childhood friends always makes you feel happy. In this case I had one more reason to talk to her, because she knew something no one else did: the identity of Aliki’s close female friend. I intended to talk to her before telling Drag. Plenty of people just clam up in the presence of a cop. If, however, someone other than a cop goes to have an unofficial chat with them, there’s a good chance they’ll open up. Especially if that person is highly recommended for his discretion, as I am. Aliki’s friend had first contacted Teri, looking for a caretaker. Drag didn’t know about this. He thought that Aliki had communicated directly with Teri, and there was no reason for me to correct him. All I knew about the friend was that her first name was Lena, which Aliki had told me at the restaurant. To find out more, I called Teri. She decided to play hard to get.
Athenian Blues Page 7
