‘At times like these, the bad copper comes out in me and I want to arrest whoever I see in front of me,’ I told her.
‘Come on, show a little understanding.’
‘Understanding?’
‘Don’t you get it? His girl has dumped him and he’s taking it out on you.’
That’s one explanation that hadn’t occurred to me at all and it filled me with such delight that I turned the key as though caressing it and the Mirafiori started up at the first attempt.
12
I was expecting to find myself before a modern office block of dark concrete and one-way windows, but what I found was a three-storey neoclassical building, recently renovated. The modern office block was behind it. At first, I thought they were two separate buildings, but when I looked from the side, I discovered that there was a small bridge, rather like a glass tube, connecting the two buildings. The same social disguise employed by Favieros could be seen even in his business. At first sight, he didn’t want to live in the same neighbourhood with the moneybags in Ekali; his house in Porto Rafti, however, was the house of a moneybag. At first sight, he preferred neoclassical buildings to the modern office blocks; behind the neoclassical building, however, was the modern block. He wore Armani suits, but crumpled and without a tie. Of course, to blame for this might have been the prudishness that leftists feel about their wealth and so they cover it up with a fig leaf, not to stop other people seeing it, but so as not to see it themselves. But perhaps equally to blame is the outlaw syndrome that leftists suffer from and that makes them persist with the disguise, albeit pointlessly, out of an acquired momentum.
Dominating the spacious hallway, facing the entrance, was a portrait of Favieros, draped in black out of mourning. Beneath it was a pile of floral bouquets. The receptionist was a pleasant-looking fifty-year-old woman, simply dressed and without make-up.
‘Good morning. How might I help you?’ she asked us politely.
‘Inspector Haritos. This is Officer Koula …’ I suddenly realised that I didn’t know Koula’s surname and I got stuck. Fortunately, she understood and cut in.
‘… Kalafati. Koula Kalafati.’
‘We’d like to see whoever’s in charge,’ I added politely.
‘Is there anything wrong?’ she asked worriedly. She had just been through one tragic event and now, fatalistically, she was waiting for the next one.
‘Nothing at all. It’s purely routine. I’m sure you can imagine that when such a well-known figure commits suicide, and publicly as well, the police are obliged to carry out a routine investigation so as not to be accused of not looking into it.’
Privately, I was hoping that she would go for my little spiel and not suddenly decide to phone the police to verify it.
‘Take a seat for just a moment,’ she said, picking up the phone.
We sat down in the two metal chairs facing her desk. The hallway had been meticulously renovated. Wooden panelling halfway up the wall, with the rest of the wall painted a light pink colour. The carvings on the ceiling had been restored to their original form and they made you nostalgic for the old light fittings with candles or bulbs. The furnishings were the usual design as in all offices: metal chairs, desks of metal and wood, computers. But it didn’t jar; perhaps because it was all so neutral and was absorbed by the neoclassical restoration, rendering it inconspicuous.
The woman put down the receiver. ‘Our General Manager, Mr Zamanis, will see you. Please follow Mr Aristopoulos,’ she said, motioning to a young man wearing a short-sleeved shirt and tie, who had come and was waiting for us.
We went up to the third floor, over the bridge of sighs and entered the modern block. Here, the decoration was minimalist, not at all recalling the period of the first Bavarian Kings of Greece. Chipboard cubicles, like a line of theatre sets. Sitting inside were men and women either typing away at the keys on their computers or talking on their mobile phones.
Aristopoulos led us to a door at the end, the only door on the whole floor. In olden times, the rich lived in neoclassical houses and the servants in hovels. Now only a door divides them. The actors up front and the impresario behind the door. That was all there was to it.
The second fifty-year-old woman that we encountered had her hair tied back, was wearing white linen slacks and blouse, but like the first woman had no make-up on. I suddenly realised that this was their way of showing they were in mourning for Favieros, and I quite liked it.
‘Do go in. Mr Zamanis is waiting for you,’ she said, immediately adding: ‘Can we get you anything?’
I politely declined and Koula was quick to comply.
Zamanis must have been around the same age as Favieros, but that’s where the similarities ended. Favieros was of average height and was ostentatiously unkempt; Zamanis was tall and wearing a smart suit. Favieros had thick hair and was always unshaven; Zamanis was clean-shaven and starting to go bald. He got to his feet to receive us and held out his hand. Then he also shook Koula’s hand, but mechanically, without looking at her, because his eyes were fixed on me.
‘I have to admit that your visit surprises me somewhat.’ He stressed the words one by one as if to underline them. ‘Why this sudden interest on the part of the police in the tragedy that’s befallen us?’
‘It’s hardly sudden,’ I replied. ‘We simply waited for the first few difficult days to pass before bothering you. Besides it’s not something urgent. It’s purely a formality.’
‘Let’s get on with the formality, then.’ He waited for us to sit down and then shooting his words out at us in a sharp, categorical tone: ‘So what do you want to know? Whether I expected Jason to commit suicide? The answer is “no”. Whether he had any reason to commit suicide? No, everything was going just fine for him. Whether he was forced into suicide by those fascist idiots? Again no, they simply used it as an opportunity to do their own thing. Whether I expected Jason to make a spectacle of his suicide? Again, the answer is “no” for a fourth time. And now that I’ve answered all your questions, please allow me to get back to my work. Time is pressing and all the work has fallen on my shoulders.’
Koula wasn’t sure whether she should get to her feet or remain seated and looked at me uncomfortably. She saw that I didn’t budge and went along with me.
‘Thank you for saving us the trouble of asking you the questions,’ I said politely and without the slightest irony. ‘But you haven’t answered the question as to why Jason Favieros committed suicide.’
He puts his hands in the air in a gesture of ignorance. ‘Because I can’t,’ he said in a sincere tone. ‘From the moment I became an eyewitness to that terrible spectacle on TV, I’ve been racking my brains trying to find an answer but I can’t.’
‘Is it at all possible that he was being blackmailed by that nationalist organisation?’
He burst into laughter. ‘Come now, Inspector. If that was the case, I would have been the first to know and he certainly wouldn’t have kept it a secret from the police. And, when all’s said and done, if they were going to blackmail us on account of our foreign workers, they would have blackmailed all the Greek construction companies.’
‘Did he have any enemies?’
‘Of course. All the other public works contractors. We’re living in a world where everyone is against everyone else. We all began with dreams of other things but we’ve all ended up here. I don’t see anyone unhappy about it, however.’
‘Just before Favieros committed suicide, the reporter had asked about his connections with the government.’
Again he burst into laughter. ‘So? Would he commit suicide just because he got preferential treatment? It’s the hard-done-by who commit suicide, Inspector.’
I felt like giving up. All his answers were the ones I had thought of and they were sound ones. ‘Did he have any psychological problems?’
I asked with the logic that says when you’ve exhausted everything else, try your luck with psychology. It was the first time that Zamanis’s glibness falter
ed.
‘I’ve been asking myself the same question since that day,’ he said pensively. ‘The very way that he committed suicide shows an individual who is mentally disturbed.’ He paused again and fixed his eyes on the pencil holder on his desk as though trying to focus his thoughts. ‘Jason had been through a great deal, Inspector. I don’t know whether you are aware of his background …’
‘No.’
‘You should, really,’ he said, looking me in the eye somewhat provocatively.
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because he was one of the leading members of the resistance during the time of the Junta. He was subjected to terrible torture by the Military Police. Once they were afraid that he would die on them and they let him go because they didn’t want any trouble from abroad. All that left him with psychological traumas … Sudden changes of mood … affective disorders.’
‘Did he have any of these symptoms prior to his suicide?’
He reflected again. ‘If I were to interpret the signs with hindsight, yes. At the time, I didn’t pay much attention to them.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He was – how shall I put it? – somewhat distant, as though his mind was elsewhere. He had turned everything over to me and shut himself up alone in his office. Once or twice when I went in, I found him playing games on his computer …’
‘How long was this before his suicide?’
‘A week or so … ten days at most …’
‘Can we take a look at his computer,’ Koula asked rather timidly.
I had told her that morning that Favieros had been doing the same at home. I was impressed that she had linked the two, but Zamanis gave her an ironic look.
‘Why? Do you think his playing on the computer is the reason behind his suicide?’
I could have stepped in to take him down a peg or two, but I decided to let Koula deal with it herself, to see how she would react. She blushed bright red, but didn’t swallow her tongue.
‘You never know what you might find on a computer. The most improbable things sometimes.’
Zamanis shrugged. He didn’t appear to be convinced by her argument, but he didn’t have any objection.
‘Jason’s office is on the same floor, but in the old building. It was in there that he had founded the company and he didn’t want to leave it. I’ll inform my secretary Mrs Lefaki.’
‘Between you and me, just what do you expect to find on the computer, Koula?’ I said to her once we were outside in the corridor. ‘You heard it from Zamanis. The fellow was playing patience.’
She stood in the middle of the corridor and stared at me with a look full of pity. ‘Do you know what I do when I have a classified document open on my computer? I open a game of patience as well. Whenever anyone comes into the office unannounced, I maximise the patience and cover the document. Everyone thinks I’m killing time playing patience, but that’s how I hide the classified documents from prying eyes.’
She had floored me, though personally I had never seen her playing patience. Perhaps because it didn’t matter to her if I appeared unannounced; the most likely explanation, however, was that quite simply I never looked to see what was on her computer screen.
We headed back the way we came, without an escort this time. The decor in the neoclassical building was at the other extreme. Rather like entering a company at the start of the previous century that traded in comestibles and colonial wares. The centre was dominated by a large drawing room, of the kind where bals masqués were held in the old mansions, with white doors all around. The doors had no plaques like the one Ghikas had fixed to the door of his office. Evidently so as not to spoil the aesthetics of the place, but that meant that we had to try all of them until we found Favieros’s office.
We came across a third fifty-year-old woman. This one was tall, blonde, impeccably dressed, and, naturally, without any make-up.
‘Come in, Inspector,’ she said as soon as we opened the door. She didn’t seem to notice Koula either, and this was starting to annoy me because I had the impression that they all saw us rather like a tow truck with its load.
Lefaki opened a door to her right and ushered us into Favieros’s office. Koula stopped in the doorway, turned round and looked at me speechless. My surprise was no less, because suddenly we found ourselves in a lawyer’s office from the fifties, with its black leather couch, black leather armchairs, heavy curtains and an enormous walnut desk. The only modern items were a computer screen and keyboard on the desk. Just look at that, I thought to myself, totally different decor from that in his house. And a totally different decor from that in the offices of his associates. In the end, you were totally confused, because you simply couldn’t tell who the real Favieros was.
Lefaki noticed our bewilderment and smiled slightly. ‘You’ve guessed right,’ she said. ‘He had his father’s law office moved here just as it was.’
Koula headed straight for the computer. Before switching it on, she glanced at Lefaki, as though asking her permission.
‘There’s no problem,’ she said, ‘Mr Zamanis notified me.’
I left Koula tinkering with the machine and went outside with Lefaki. She was the one who saw Favieros more than anyone and perhaps she could verify what I had been told by the Thai butler and Zamanis.
‘Had you noticed any change of late in Jason Favieros?’ I asked her.
Her answer came spontaneously, as with those people who have no doubt about what they say: ‘Yes, he had changed of late.’
‘How? Can you explain?’
She reflected a moment before giving her answer.
‘He had inexplicable ups and downs. From being hyperactive, he would suddenly sink into complete inactivity. At one moment, he would suddenly explode and shout his head off without cause, the next he would go into his shell and tell me no one was to disturb him.’
‘Wasn’t he always like that?’
‘Jason? Where did you get that idea? He was always amiable, always with a smile and a friendly word. Everyone in here called him by his first name. If you called him “Mr Favieros”, he would get upset.’
She suddenly broke into tears, silent tears that were revealed more from the jerking of her shoulders than from the sound of her crying. ‘I’m sorry, but whenever I talk about him, I see that frightful scene on the TV before my eyes.’ She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. ‘I’m sure I’ll still see it when I’m in my grave with my eyes closed.’
‘What did he do when he shut himself up in his office?’ I asked in order to stop her sinking any further.
‘He’d sit in front of his computer. One day, to tease him. I said: “What are you doing all day in front of your computer? Writing a novel?” “I’ve already written it and I’m checking it for corrections”, he said in all seriousness.’
Koula came out of the office.
‘I’m done, Inspector.’
We said goodbye to Lefaki and left the room. I avoided the lift and took the stairs in order to marvel a little longer at the neoclassical building.
‘I need a programme for detecting deleted files,’ Koula said on the way down.
‘Why?’
‘Because I didn’t find anything. And because I don’t believe that Favieros was playing patience or rummy on his computer, that means that someone has deleted whatever it was he was working on.’
I found her explanation logical. ‘And where will you get hold of such a programme?’
‘My cousin is a wizard at things like that.’
We were already outside on the street when she stopped suddenly and looked at me. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Why did Favieros only have fifty-year-olds in his company. He could have taken on one or two young girls, who are dying to find work.’
‘Because he’d obviously hired all his old acquaintances from his years in the resistance.’ She stared at me speechless. ‘What are you looking at me for? The kids of police officers get pr
eference in recruitment to the police academy. The kids of army officers get preference in recruitment to the cadet academy. And in Favieros’s company, preference was given to his comrades from the resistance. Never mind what the Philip of Macedon lot say, in Greece everyone takes care of his own.’
I didn’t seem to have convinced her, but she didn’t dare voice any objections.
13
Late that afternoon, I phoned Ghikas at home to find out if there had been any developments in the murder of the two Kurds. Not that I had changed my mind and believed that the murder was connected with Favieros’s suicide, but because something might have turned up in the investigation that would be useful to me.
‘Don’t expect anything,’ Ghikas told me.
‘Why?’
‘Because Yanoutsos is still looking for Mafiosos.’
‘It’s not the work of Mafiosos,’ I said categorically. ‘It’s what was announced: execution by nationalists belonging to that Philip of Macedon organisation.’
‘Try telling him.’
I was almost for telling him that it was his job to make him change his line of investigation, but I knew he was keeping quiet on purpose. He was letting him dig a hole for himself to fall into.
‘But I might have something new in a few days.’
‘How? Are you going to persuade Yanoutsos to look elsewhere?’
‘No, but I think I’ve found a way to dump the case on the Anti-terrorist Squad. Did you come up with anything new?’
I told him without going into detail about my visits to Favieros’s home, to his construction site and his offices.
Che Committed Suicide Page 9
