Che Committed Suicide

by Petros Markaris

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Don’t you understand?’ he cried. ‘You! They think it was you who didn’t tell me that there were orders from above to go and nab those troublemakers!’

  ‘Let them put themselves on the line. They won’t find a court anywhere to convict them.’

  He stared at me and shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Ah, Costas. You’re right in what you say, but you don’t see clearly. They’ll put them away and they’ll start saying: “Let justice take its course.” And by the time it has taken its course and acquitted them, two years will have passed. In the meantime, the case will have been forgotten and no one will give a damn.’

  He was right. At the rate that the media today come out with scandals, world-shattering revelations and exclusive reports, three times a day, like cough syrup, in two years’ time no one would remember anything about Favieros and Stefanakos.

  ‘You realise that I can no longer make any promises to you concerning your position,’ he said. ‘Whatever I say or do, it’ll be difficult to get Yanoutsos out of it.’

  ‘I realise that.’

  He heaved a sigh. ‘Finish your sick leave and then come back and I’ll see where I can put you so that at least you’ll be content.’

  I wouldn’t be content, but at least I appreciated his efforts. ‘And what shall I tell Koula?’

  He shrugged. ‘As she’s on leave, let her finish it and then come back.’

  Outside the office on my way to the lift I bumped into Yanoutsos.

  ‘Something reached my ears about you investigating the two suicides on the q.t.,’ he said ironically. ‘There’s no need for you to go on looking. The case is closed and you can take yourself off fishing.’

  As I was opening the lift door, I heard his laughter behind me. I reflected on just how much we would miss Ghikas if he retired and Yanoutsos were to take his place.

  Throughout the journey back home, my own problems gave way to Ghikas’s. The way I’d seen him, vulnerable and betrayed, I felt an unprecedented sense of solidarity with him. It was the second time I had felt that, and on each occasion for the same reason. The first time was when I had left Petroulakis’s house in Dafnomili Street. Once again, I was tormented by the question of whether I’d been wrong about him all those years. Perhaps yes, perhaps no. Yes, because I always regarded him with suspicion and doubted his good intentions. No, because when someone admits to you of his own accord that throughout his life he did whatever his superiors told him without ever questioning their orders, it meant that he couldn’t care less about you, his associate, and merely used you in keeping with the needs of the moment. Consequently, I was right to be cautious with him and to play my own game, just as he played his. Solidarity was all well and good, but those who made it their banner in the coalition government of ’89 came a cropper.

  I walked into the house and found Fanis talking to Adriani. Next to them was someone unknown to me, who looked like a technician and who was looking around at the walls.

  ‘But, Fanis, dear, why do we need an air conditioner? I told you, I don’t like them because they dry the atmosphere in the room. We’re fine with the fan.’

  ‘Do I have to say it again? You have a husband with a heart problem. For heart sufferers, the heat increases the risk of death. Do you know how many cases we get in Emergency when there’s a heatwave?’

  ‘Maybe, but we’re leaving for a few days. We’re going to stay with my sister on the island.’

  ‘And what are you going to do when you get back and Athens is boiling hot?’

  The technician interrupted the conversation, which was taking place in my absence, as did every conversation that had to do with me.

  ‘Can I just ask? Do you want it to cool the whole place?’

  ‘No, just the sitting room,’ Fanis replied.

  ‘Then 12,000 BTU will be ample.’

  Fanis took the decision on his own. ‘Okay. It’s settled.’

  The technician turned to leave, saw me in the doorway and halted. It was only then that Fanis and Adriani noticed me.

  ‘Do you have any objections to us putting in an air conditioner?’ asked Fanis. ‘It’s a special offer. You can pay in instalments and the first one is in two years’ time.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ I replied. With all that had been happening, I would need to take care of my heart.

  Adriani walked out of the sitting room, leaving us alone. She always did that when she didn’t get her own way.

  Once she had gone, Fanis leaned over to me and said confidentially: ‘It was Katerina’s idea, but I didn’t say anything because her mother would have gone into a huff.’

  Before I had time to reply, the phone rang. It was Sotiropoulos. ‘Are your lot out of their minds?’ he said as soon as he heard my voice. ‘They think they can pin it all on those three yobs, do they?’

  ‘Don’t be ungrateful,’ I said ironically. ‘Those three yobs gave you the topic for your programme last night.’

  He understood that the dig was aimed at his programme on the danger of right-wing extremism, and he didn’t reply straightaway. When he did at last open his mouth, it was one of the rare occasions that he sounded uptight.

  ‘I’ve got people over my head too, Haritos. And I can’t say “no” to them when they want to profit from some event, even if I disagree.’ He paused for a moment and went on: ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘Nothing. We might have succeeded in doing something if I’d been able to talk to Andreadis.’

  ‘I tried, but he was adamant. I told you.’

  ‘Andreadis was adamant because he had got wind of what was cooking and he didn’t want to compromise himself.’

  ‘It’s possible. At any rate, keep hold of the material you’ve come up with. It won’t go wasted.’

  Yes, I thought to myself. I could sell it to you to pay for the air conditioner.

  ‘Which Andreadis were you talking about? The politician?’ asked Fanis, who had been an unwilling listener to the conversation.

  ‘Yes, I wanted to ask him a few things about Stefanakos, but he refused to talk to me. Anyhow, now they’ve pinned it on those three yobs.’

  As he was opening the front door to leave, Fanis bumped into Koula. I made the introductions.

  ‘So you’re the famous Koula who’s so impressed Mrs Haritos,’ Fanis said, laughing.

  Koula blushed to her toes, mumbled a ‘she’s very kind’, and went into the house. When I had closed the front door, she stood there looking at me gravely.

  ‘No need for you to say anything,’ she said. ‘I saw it all on TV and I know.’

  ‘I saw Ghikas today.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He said for you to finish your leave and then go back.’

  ‘That’s something, I suppose. At least I’ll get a bit of swimming in,’ she said with some sarcasm in her voice.

  ‘Are you upset about it?’ I asked.

  She shrugged. ‘I have a father who paid dearly for his stubbornness and his tongue. And we paid for it along with him. It was all that upset that finished my mother off. And so I went to the other extreme. Get on with your job and whistle indifferently.’ She looked at me as if waiting for me to say something. But I had nothing to say and so she continued: ‘I came to tell you how happy I am to have met you and how much I’ll miss you. Both you and Mrs Haritos.’

  Saying that, she went into the kitchen, where Adriani was preparing oven-baked perch. She waited patiently while she was regulating the temperature. ‘My work with the Inspector is finished and I came to say goodbye,’ she said. ‘And to tell you how happy I am to have met you.’

  ‘I’m happy to have met you, too, dear,’ said Adriani warmly, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘What will you do now? Go back to the office?’

  ‘No, I’m going to go swimming,’ said Koula, unable to hide her bitterness.

  ‘And we were thinking of going to see my sister on the island.’

  ‘You should. The Inspector needs it after al
l he’s been through.’

  ‘Keep telling him that,’ said Adriani, happy to have found an ally.

  ‘If I need your help now and again when I’m cooking, may I call you?’

  ‘Of course, whenever you want!’ Adriani replied enthusiastically. ‘And you can come round so I can show you.’

  They kissed each other again and Koula rushed out, as if afraid she may change her mind and stay.

  ‘Wonderful girl,’ said Adriani as she watched her go. ‘And we never invited her to come and eat even once. Shame on us.’

  ‘Let’s have her round on Sunday.’

  ‘Good idea.’ But then she thought better of it. ‘No, perhaps not on Sunday.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Sunday is when Fanis comes.’

  ‘So?’

  She didn’t reply, but the expression on her face made clear what she was thinking.

  ‘Are you in your right mind? Fanis is with women doctors and nurses all day. You don’t think Koula is going to turn his head, do you?’

  She thought it over again and came out with her philosophical aphorism: ‘She’s a pretty girl and you never know.’

  When I thought of it, as things had turned out for me, I was ready to believe it.

  31

  The high-speed are every Tuesday and Thursday,’ said Adriani. It was nine in the morning and she was dressed, decked out and ready to go for the tickets.

  ‘High-speed?’

  ‘The fast boats that do the trip in six hours, stopping only at Paros and Naxos. The regular boats leave every day, apart from Saturdays.’

  ‘Buy tickets for the fast one.’

  She left at high speed lest I changed my mind and told her to leave it for later. I was about to revert to my old ways in order to pass my time till Thursday. I would go by the kiosk and pick up all the papers, then plant myself in the little square of St Lazarus, at the cafeteria with the sourpuss waiter, who brought you watery Greek coffee after you’d asked for strong and sweet.

  I was wondering how I would pass my time on the island and whether I should buy myself a fishing rod and folding chair before going or buy it there when the phone rang.

  ‘Inspector Costas Haritos?’ The voice was that of a young woman.

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘Inspector, a few days ago you had asked for an appointment with the politician, Kyriakos Andreadis.’

  I couldn’t believe my ears. If I’d been told that the three yobs had been released and that Yanoutsos had been looked up in their place, I wouldn’t have been more surprised. I only just managed to whisper a ‘yes’.

  ‘Mr Andreadis will expect you at two o’clock today in his office. Please don’t be late because at three he has a parliamentary session.

  ‘I won’t be late. Where is his office?’

  ‘34 Heyden Street, on the third floor.’

  I hung up and tried to take in what I had just heard. What had happened to change Andreadis’s mind? Most probably the arrest of the three yobs and the attempt by the government to pin the whole business on the extreme right. If that were the case, Andreadis must have information to dispel that scenario and he probably wanted to release it anonymously so as not to compromise either himself or his party. I phoned Sotiropoulos to find out if he knew anything more about it, but his mobile phone was switched off. The people at the channel told me that he still hadn’t arrived.

  I had another three hours to kill so I decided to stick to my previous plan. This time, the kiosk owner was surprised to see me buying all the newspapers given that the arrests had been made two days before and nothing sensational had happened the previous day. He racked his brains thinking he must have missed something, but I left him wondering.

  My turn to be left wondering came at the would-be cafeteria. Instead of the sourpuss waiter, an eighteen-year-old girl with miniskirt and platforms came over to me.

  ‘Where’s my usual friendly waiter?’ I asked surprised.

  ‘You mean Christos? He’s left. Every year around this time he goes to Anafi. He has some rooms there that he rents out.’

  The strange thing was that I wasn’t glad to be served by a young girl; on the contrary, I felt peeved because Christos had spoiled my plans. At least the Greek coffee was still watery and that was something of a consolation.

  Though forty-eight hours had already passed, the arrest of the three nationalists was still front-page news in most of the papers. This was the first thing in common. The second was the consensus of opinion. All the newspapers expressed objections to the arrests. The scale of the objections gradually rose from the mild reservations of the pro-government papers to the plain sarcasm of the opposition papers. Anyhow, the consensus of opinion, even with the political bent, testified to the fact that the ploy thought up by the masterminds was not working. It crossed my mind for a moment that perhaps this was why Andreadis wanted to see me. No doubt he had seen the morning papers, had decided that the time was ripe and had called me in order to speak to me. I couldn’t rule out the possibility that he wanted to open up a second front in order to put the government in an even more difficult position.

  But what was I to do with Ghikas if things were as I imagined them to be? Should I tell him what I had found out from Andreadis? By rights, I ought to keep him informed. After all, he too had been left with his tail between his legs and I felt a moral obligation towards him. Then again, if some information should emerge from my meeting with Andreadis that I felt I should keep to myself, I would decide when the time came.

  I took a last sip at the watery coffee and got to my feet. The Mirafiori was parked in Protesilaou Street. It was noon and the heat was at its most oppressive. By the time I had walked down Aroni Street, I was drenched in sweat and I stopped off at home in order to change my shirt. Fortunately, Adriani still wasn’t back so I didn’t have to do any explaining.

  There was one long line of traffic all the way from Vassileos Konstantinou Avenue to Omonia Square. I turned into 3 September Street and, taking Ioulianou Street, I came out into Acharnon Street in order to find the beginning of Heyden Street. Number 34 was between Aristotelous Street and 3 September Street. I double-parked outside the apartment block, certain that the traffic wardens never passed by there.

  The office of Kyriakos Andreadis was a spacious three-roomed flat of the kind they built in the sixties, in other words a good twenty square metres bigger than they built them today. I was received by a woman of around thirty, tall, slender, dressed impeccably and looking as though she had just come from the hairdresser’s. She had manners to match.

  ‘Please be kind enough to wait a moment, Inspector,’ she said on hearing who I was. ‘He’s on the phone. Can I get you something because he may be some time. Those phone calls are often like personal visits.’

  I asked for a glass of cold water to go with the air conditioning that was working overtime and I waited, passing the time by looking at the photos on the walls, all of which showed a man of about sixty, always smiling and overjoyed, either giving a speech or standing beside a spitted goat with wine glass in hand. The other thing that made an impression on me was the amazing resemblance between Andreadis and his secretary. It didn’t take much for me to realise that he had hired his daughter. My suspicion was confirmed when she showed me into his office.

  ‘Inspector Haritos, Daddy.’

  The man got up from his desk and came over to greet me with the same smile that he had in the photos.

  ‘Welcome, welcome!’ he repeated and, after shaking my hand, he led me by the arm not to the metal chair reserved for his voters, but to the sofa reserved for more friendly visitors and sat down beside me.

  ‘What is Doctor Ouzounidis to you?’

  The question came right out of the blue and I was tongue-tied. How was I to explain my relationship with Fanis? If I said he was my in-law, it would be premature and a lie. To say my future in-law wouldn’t sound right. If I called him a friend, which was perhaps nearer to the truth, it would do him an
injustice. Fortunately, Andreadis himself got me out of my difficult situation.

  ‘Fanis told me that you are to be his future father-in-law.’

  ‘The evidence seems to be pointing in that direction,’ I replied and we both broke into laughter.

  ‘You know, I owe him my mother’s life.’ He became serious. ‘I took her to the hospital one night with a severe heart attack and not only did he manage to save her, he also stabilised her condition. Since then, my mother swears by Fanis and won’t hear of any other hospital either in Greece or abroad. So when he phoned and told me that you wanted to talk to me, I couldn’t refuse him.’

  If I had been told that the meeting had been set up by Ghikas, or the Minister or even the Prime Minister, I would have believed it more easily. Fanis was not in the plan. I could never imagine him picking up the phone and succeeding where Sotiropoulos had failed.

  Andreadis looked at his watch. ‘So, ask me what it is you want because, unfortunately, I have to be in Parliament soon.’

  ‘I happened to see you on a TV programme following the suicide of Loukas Stefanakos.’

  ‘Ah yes. It was that fellow’s programme … what’s the man’s name?’

  ‘The reporter, you mean? It escapes me.’

  If Sotiropoulos had heard us, he would have been hopping mad that he wasn’t a household name. But if Sotiropoulos’s name were to crop up, Andreadis may very well clam up out of fear that what he said would leak out.

  ‘First of all, I have to confess to you that personally I don’t believe that theory about right-wing extremists obliging a businessman and a politician to commit suicide.’ I said. ‘I can come right out and say it because I am officially on sick leave and so off-duty.’

  A smile of pleasure appeared on his face.

  ‘At last, a member of the Police Force who thinks in the right way,’ he said with some satisfaction. ‘Because, in its panic, the government has come up with such a crude solution that it must take us all for fools.’

  ‘Certain information has come to my ears, nevertheless, and I’d like to verify it – let’s say out of personal curiosity.’