Che Committed Suicide

by Petros Markaris

  The heavens opened just as we were passing the old people’s home. We were in the underpass and above us we could hear a deafening noise. In less than two minutes from the start of the downpour, the roads in Athens had become jammed and the honking of horns began. We emerged from the underpass after about twenty minutes only to be attacked by a blast of rain that forced the Mirafiori to retreat. The windscreen wipers did their best but to no avail because the rain had created something like a blanket of mist and it was impossible to see further than three yards in front of you.

  I decided to take Koula home first and then go to see Sotiropoulos because I couldn’t very well leave her to wait for the bus in all that rain. After all, Sotiropoulos would most likely arrive late too. On the way, I congratulated myself for not getting rid of the Mirafiori. It’s high off the ground like all the old cars and the water can’t touch it. The newer models are closer to the ground and are more like floating barges every time the roads of Athens turn into torrential rivers.

  I dropped Koula off in Gyzi and went back up Kifissias Avenue to meet Sotiropoulos at the Flocafé. The rain continued to fall heavily but not with the same intensity. The parking lot behind the Flocafé was full. The attendant looked scornfully at the Mirafiori and obviously thought it an insult to have to find a place for it. He relented half-heartedly when I showed him my badge and told him I was on duty.

  Sotiropoulos arrived half an hour later. He went around on a Harley Davidson and was drenched to the bone.

  ‘Time you woke up to the twenty-first century, old boy,’ he said indignantly. ‘Whoever heard of the Head of the Homicide Division not having a mobile phone?’

  ‘What would I use it for? So that the intended victim could call me to tell me he was about to be murdered?’

  ‘No, but so I could call you and cancel our meeting because of the rain.’

  He hung his jacket over the back of the chair to dry and ordered a double whisky to warm himself up a little.

  ‘I watched your programme last night. I liked it.’

  He turned to me and gave me an ironic look. ‘Really? From what I remember, I usually get on your nerves.’

  ‘Last night, you got on the others’ nerves and I thoroughly enjoyed it.’

  He burst out laughing and took a gulp at his whisky. ‘That’s why I called you,’ he said, ‘because of the programme.’

  I saw in his eyes that he was about to deliver a bombshell.

  ‘Do you remember that at one point the conversation turned to how well Favieros and Stefanakos knew each other?’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘At exactly eleven, the programme was interrupted for a short news bulletin and adverts. Andreadis, one of the two opposition politicians, turned and said to the Minister: “How could they not have been on close terms given that they were doing business together?”’

  As soon as I heard that, I knew my trip had been worth it despite the rain and the traffic. It was the first time I had had some indication that Favieros and Stefanakos were not just acquaintances or friends, but that they were actually involved in some business together. I didn’t know whether I should be glad or start to worry because now the situation might begin to get more complicated. I left the apportioning of gladness and worry for later and I asked Sotiropoulos:

  ‘Who was Stefanakos married to?’

  ‘Lilian Stathatos, have you heard of her?’ The name meant something to me but I couldn’t recall who she was. ‘She’s the daughter of Argyris Stathatos.’

  As soon as I heard the father’s name, I remembered her straightaway. Argyris Stathatos had received favourable treatment from the Junta. He had managed to secure various permits, some legal, some illegal, in order to make himself into the leading hotel owner in Athens and the islands. He raked in money during the years of the Junta, but his hotels were built with interest-free loans and when the Junta fell, the banks began calling in the loans and Stathatos lost everything.

  ‘Is he still alive?’ I asked puzzled.

  Sotiropoulos laughed. ‘God rest his soul! He died about ten years ago. At the height of his power, when he held sway during the Junta, his daughter was studying economics in London and presented herself as a revolutionary, against the Junta. She had cut off all relations with her father and told everyone she was studying with the little money that her grandmother had left her. You can believe it or not, anyhow the truth is that she lived very conservatively. When she returned to Greece, she started work as an executive in an advertising company and she and her father were eventually reconciled. Her father’s creditors didn’t want to have him put in prison because while he was still on the outside they had hopes of getting some of their money back by blackmailing him. On seeing her father’s demise, Lilian Stathatos understood that businesses requiring investment are a double-edged sword and you never know what might crop up. She was quick to foresee the future of TV ads and she set up her own company. It was at that time that she married Stefanakos, who was an up-and-coming young politician. She was very smart and quickly realised that the European Union had plenty of rich pickings for anyone who had their wits about them. And she was one of the first to open a consultancy bureau for European investment.’

  What he told me left me speechless. ‘Do you keep files on everything?’ I asked him, thinking of Zissis.

  ‘No. I knew all about what happened during the period of the Junta. The rest I concluded from reading between the lines of what my guests said last night.’ He smiled as if recalling something. ‘Do you know what’s really funny? During the breaks, while they were all gossiping about Lilian Stathatos, the channel was broadcasting advertisements made by her company.’

  ‘So she still has the advertising company?’

  ‘Are you kidding? Everyone is dependent on Stathatos. She’s the one who decides what entertainment programmes the channel puts on the air. If there’s some programme or serial she doesn’t like, its adverts get cut.’

  ‘And what about the consultancy bureau?’

  ‘No idea. You’ll have to ask someone who works with Mediterranean Funding Programmes and the like. But compared to the advertising company, all that’s just peanuts.’

  ‘And what did Favieros have to do with all this?’

  ‘Do you expect me to do all your work for you?’ he said, taking another gulp at his whisky. ‘I’ve given you enough information to go on.’

  ‘At any rate, I don’t think Favieros went to Stathatos to advertise his construction company. I’ve never come across an advert for construction companies. As for his other business, most probably he wouldn’t want it advertised.’

  Realising what I’d said I bit my tongue, but it was too late. Sotiropoulos cut straight to the chase.

  ‘You mean the real-estate agencies?’ He burst out laughing. ‘Horafas called me the moment you’d left his office to ask me if he was right to open up to you. I couldn’t understand why he was so worried.’

  ‘Because something doesn’t seem right to him, but he doesn’t know what it is.’

  ‘And what doesn’t seem right to him? Or are we about to start playing games again?’ he asked ironically.

  We’d come too far for me to keep my cards to myself and I told him all that I’d found out about Favieros’s real-estate agencies. When I’d finished, he whistled in exclamation and then shook his head dejectedly.

  ‘You’ve no idea what you’re doing to me!’ he said. ‘A scoop like that and I have to keep it on ice because I’ve given you my word. Couldn’t I let slip something on the air? Just a few choice titbits?’

  I ruled it out without discussion so he wouldn’t start trying to bargain with me. ‘Out of the question. We’ve already agreed. I’ll give you the whole exclusive story as soon as the case is closed.’

  He suddenly turned to me with a worried look. ‘Does Ghikas know about all this?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘And who’s to guarantee that Ghikas won’t give the story to one of his own people fi
rst?’

  ‘He won’t’

  He stared at me, holding his glass of whisky. ‘You must be walking around blindfolded. Where you are, in Security, every reporter has his own source. From your assistants to Yanoutsos and even higher. Do you think Ghikas, who’s got his sights set on making top dog, doesn’t have someone?’

  ‘That’s precisely why he won’t do it,’ I answered calmly. ‘Because he’s not crazy enough to reveal information from an unofficial source.’

  My argument seemed to convince him because he emptied his glass. ‘Okay, I have to admit there’s some logic to that.’ Then he suddenly became aggressive again. ‘But if anything leaks out, I’m telling you I’ll put it all on the air.’

  Outside, in the real air, only the wet curb indicated that it had been raining cats and dogs. Apart from that, the sky was crystal clear and the sun was shining. People were shut up in their offices and homes because of the rain and so I was in Aristokleous Street in less than fifteen minutes. But what was an advantage in terms of traffic was a disadvantage when it came to parking, because I couldn’t find a place anywhere and I circled the block for a good half an hour. After the umpteenth circle, I saw someone leaving and nipped into his space.

  When I walked into the house, I heard the sound of the TV in the sitting room. I went in to say hello to Adriani but she wasn’t there. I found her ironing in the kitchen. She often did that: she did her chores listening to the TV in the background as a kind of radio substitute.

  ‘I’m surprised you’re not soaking wet,’ she said.

  ‘I was indoors and managed to avoid it.’

  ‘You were lucky. Some woman called for you.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know, she didn’t leave a name.’

  ‘Did you ask her?’

  She put down the iron and looked at me with that high and mighty expression of hers that she always adopts when she’s about to make some caustic remark. ‘I thought that was why you brought Koula round here, to act as your secretary.’

  ‘I took her home so she wouldn’t get drenched in the rain.’

  ‘It’s a wonder you even thought of it. As for the woman who called, don’t worry yourself. If it’s serious, she’ll call back.’

  I let her think she had reduced me to silence and I went into the sitting room to call Ghikas. I gave him a general update concerning my meeting with the Prime Minister’s adviser.

  ‘You handled it well,’ he said pleased. ‘Let him go on believing that you’re looking for evidence to incriminate the right-wing nationalists.’

  Then I told him about the likelihood that Favieros was doing business with Stefanakos’s wife. There was a silence. When he spoke again, his voice sounded troubled.

  ‘If what you say turns out to be true, then I’m afraid we have the worst possible case scenario on our hands.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Murder, not by a pistol or knife, but by suicide. And how can you prove that and bring out into the open what’s hidden behind it?’

  His argument was so solid that I hesitated momentarily. ‘Shall I go on investigating?’

  ‘Yes, perhaps we can prevent another suicide from happening.’

  I hung up and racked my brains trying to decide where I would go from there. I had to find a discreet way of coming into contact with Lilian Stathatos, Stefanakos’s wife. I could simply pay her a visit, but if she didn’t have direct access to the Prime Minister, she would most certainly have access to his advisers and so it would get out that I wasn’t looking for evidence about the extreme rightists but about the relationship between her and Favieros.

  Adriani was right, because the woman called back just as we were about to sit down for dinner. It was Coralia Yannelis.

  ‘Could we meet tomorrow, Inspector?’

  ‘Of course. At your office?’ I was trying to prevent her from suggesting that we met in my office at Security Headquarters given that it was temporarily occupied.

  ‘Do you mind coming to the Domitis offices? Mr Zamanis would like to be present.’

  We arranged to meet at ten the following day. That phone call was the last thing I wanted. It could be something quite innocuous, on the other hand it could open up new wounds.

  25

  The sky was crystal clear, and the trees in Athens would have been smelling sweetly if there were any. This time, I myself was driving the Mirafiori and I was on my way to Domitis Construction. I had left Koula at home because I thought that Favieros’s heavy artillery executives might not be so ready to open up with her there. I had briefed her on what Sotiropoulos had told me the previous day and had asked her to investigate Stathatos’s companies to find me some evidence.

  The fifty-year-old woman in reception recognised me immediately. She was still not wearing any make-up but was slightly more cheerful and had a hint of a smile.

  ‘They’re expecting you, Inspector. Just a moment while I inform them that you’re here.’

  Favieros’s photo was still hanging in the same place, but without the black ribbon. Also absent were the wreaths on the floor.

  It wasn’t Aristopoulos, Koula’s informant, who came to take me, but a blonde girl of around twenty. We went up to the third floor, crossed the bridge of sighs and arrived at Zamanis’s office.

  In contrast to the fifty-year-old woman in reception, the fifty-year-old number two, Zamanis’s private secretary, was noticeably cool. She greeted me with a faint nod of her head and opened the door to her boss’s office to allow me in.

  Unsmiling, Zamanis held out his hand to me without getting to his feet. On the contrary, Yannelis smiled at me. Yet, despite the smile, the whole atmosphere, from the secretary outside and all the way to Zamanis, was overcast indicating stormy weather. Zamanis told me to take a seat and my weather forecast was confirmed.

  ‘When you came to see me, Inspector, you told me that you were carrying out a discreet and unofficial investigation into the reasons behind Jason Favieros’s suicide.’

  He was looking down and reading from a sheet of paper. Evidently, he had had his secretary write down what we had said in order to be able to remember it. The paper, his upright bearing and his suit made me think of an interrogator about to pin me to the wall on the basis of my previous statement.

  ‘Precisely,’ I answered calmly.

  ‘You told me the same thing,’ Yannelis added.

  ‘That’s right. I told you both the truth.’

  ‘And do you believe that the reasons behind Jason’s suicide are to be found in the Balkan Prospect estate agencies?’

  I shrugged. ‘When you’re searching in the dark, Mrs Yannelis, you leave no stone unturned. Naturally, sometimes you discover things you weren’t expecting, but it’s precisely for that reason that you look under every stone.’ I had a little dig myself, but neither of them seemed particularly impressed.

  ‘You won’t find anything,’ Zamanis said, continuing in the same tone of voice. ‘All you have succeeded in doing is to upset various people without reason and create a stir which is highly damaging.’

  ‘The stir may be damaging, but the various people have every reason to be worried. What has come to the surface, entirely by chance, is a series of suspicious property deals.’

  ‘Only a sick mind could find those deals suspicious. Neither Jason’s background as a leftist, nor his standing as a businessman would allow him to involve himself in suspicious dealings.’

  He was making a frontal attack, using his heavy artillery to demolish my arguments. Jason Favieros was a committed leftist and consequently he couldn’t possibly be involved in scams at the expense of poor immigrants. Jason Favieros was a businessman of high repute and consequently he wouldn’t risk getting involved in suspicious property deals.

  ‘I didn’t say that Favieros was personally involved in suspicious property deals. Perhaps certain executives in his estate agencies had been making money on the side. At least in the case of Leventoyanni, there had undoubtedly been s
ome collusion between the manager of the estate agency and the public notary. Who knows what I may find if I dig a little deeper.’

  ‘You won’t find anything involving Balkan Prospect,’ Yannelis said, interrupting. ‘I explained that to you when you came to see me. Our network is an extremely loose one. The local agencies make their own decisions concerning the transactions. Balkan Prospect bears no responsibility.’

  ‘But you told me that you examine the contracts.’

  ‘Only as to the legal side of the transaction, not the money exchanged. And apart from that, I don’t see how any of this can possibly be connected with Jason’s suicide.’

  It wasn’t, and because it wasn’t, I was fishing in the hope of finding a lead somewhere else so that Yanoutsos wouldn’t get his hands on my job.

  ‘Don’t waste your time trying to understand, Coralia,’ Zamanis said ironically to Yannelis. ‘The Inspector is not interested in discovering the reasons behind Jason’s suicide. All he wants is to tarnish his name. That’s always been the favourite sport of the police.’

  In other words, to tarnish the reputation of leftists. That’s what Zissis used to say and I respected his opinion. But Favieros was not Zissis.

  Yannelis took over: ‘I’m curious, Inspector. Why did you decide to investigate the offshore company and its real-estate agencies?’ she asked.

  ‘As a result of reading a biography on Favieros published after his death.’

  At the word ‘biography’, Zamanis leapt to his feet. ‘That idiot has done nothing but harm,’ he cried.

  ‘Come on now, you’re exaggerating,’ Yannelis said smiling.

  ‘Do you know him?’ I asked them.

  Zamanis erupted once more. ‘No, I don’t know him and I don’t want to know him! It simply makes me mad that he’s exploiting Jason’s suicide in order to make money.’

  ‘You’re mistaken. The biography was written and submitted to the publisher long before the suicide. We’ve looked into it.’

  They both turned and stared at me in astonishment. ‘Then you’ll know who the author is,’ commented Yannelis.