Che Committed Suicide

by Petros Markaris

  As we entered Ghikas’s outer office, I saw the policeman quickly hiding a magazine in one of Koula’s drawers. It seemed that Ghikas had taught him well in the meantime, because he made sure he turned his head in good time to the wall.

  ‘Are you thinking of cutting short your sick leave and coming back?’ he said, once we were sitting in our usual seats.

  I had already thought of it, and this time it wasn’t Adriani who was holding me back. ‘I’d prefer to carry on with the investigation in a discreet way and with Koula’s help. If I start investigating officially, the reporters will be all over us and the suicides will turn into murders. I’m afraid we might run up against the families of the three men. They’re big names and they could put a spoke in our wheels whenever they wanted.’

  ‘So at long last you’re starting to take those with clout into consideration. In future, I’ll be able to sleep more peacefully,’ he commented, breaking into an ironic smile.

  ‘It’s a case that needs careful handling.’

  He reflected for a moment and then sighed. ‘You’re right, though it would suit me to have you return to the office.’

  ‘Why? Because of Yanoutsos?’

  ‘No. Because of Koula. I need her back to put some order in here.’

  ‘Why, isn’t the officer outside any good to you?’ I asked innocently, though I knew what his reply would be.

  ‘Me, no. But I might send him to my wife so they can exchange magazines. When she goes to the hairdresser’s, she takes a pile of them with her.’

  We both burst out laughing at the same time, as though we had been waiting for an opportunity to find a moment’s relief from the stress.

  ‘What are you going to do about Yanoutsos?’

  ‘I’ll send him back to where he came from and I’ll personally take charge of Homicide till you’re ready to return.’

  I left after promising to give him regular updates. I was about to press the button to go down to the basement when I had a sudden change of mind and pressed the button for the third floor. I walked down the corridor and burst into the office where Vlassopoulos and Dermitzakis, my two assistants – former assistants till just previously – were sitting. Obviously, they had written me off for good because they stared at me as if seeing a ghost. After a moment of embarrassing silence, they leapt to their feet.

  ‘Inspector!’ they blurted out in unison.

  Because I still owed them for their conduct at the home of the two Kurds, I dispensed with the greetings and formalities.

  ‘I’m here to tell you that my leave is over in two weeks’ time. If you need me in the meantime, you can call me at home. I’ll be in Athens.’

  ‘You mean … you’re coming back?’ asked Dermitzakis timidly.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be coming back, Dermitzakis? Have you heard mention of a disability pension?’

  ‘No, no, Inspector. It’s just that …’

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘Just that we’d lost all hope of you coming back, Inspector,’ said Vlassopoulos, who was always more forward because he’d been with me longer. ‘We’re the ones who’ve been contemplating retirement with that idiot over our heads.’ And he pointed to the door of my office. ‘Anyway. I don’t want to get started. Even the walls in this place have ears, as my old mum always says.’

  They wanted to buy me a coffee for changing the terms of their retirement plan, but I used the excuse that I had jobs to do and that I was in a hurry. I had no wish to bump into Yanoutsos. I wasn’t out for revenge and seeing him with his tail between his legs would have ruined my good mood.

  ‘If I need your help before I’m back officially, I’ll let you know, but you’ll do what I want without asking for details,’ I told them.

  They stared at me without having understood a word, but such was their delight that I was returning that they didn’t even try to fathom it out.

  ‘Anything you want, Inspector.’

  I told them to arrange for a patrol car to take me home. I had no intention of roasting in the midday heat. In less than three minutes, the car was at the entrance waiting for me.

  As we said, the situation only improves as it worsens.

  35

  The offices of Starad were in Vikela Street, opposite the Hygeia Clinic. Mrs Stathatos must have spent a small fortune on decorating her advertising company. As soon as you walked in, your feet sank into a thick carpet that deadened the sound of your footsteps. You sat down and the armchairs wrapped themselves around you lest you had any thoughts of getting up and leaving them. The paintings on the walls in their white frames depicted straight lines, cubes and circles in a variety of colours, but always with a dash of red as a trimming.

  Stathatos’s office was different from the others because she had two expensive rugs on top of the carpet and on the wall behind her, where in our offices we usually put a picture of Christ wearing a crown of thorns, she had a painting of a tiny harbour, with fishing boats and a woman with a door opening in her back.

  Stathatos was a well-preserved woman in her fifties, who, with make-up, would have looked much younger. That day, she was without make-up, wearing a dark blue outfit with some discreet white additions round the collar and she looked at me with a somewhat haughty expression that she had no doubt inherited from her father. Sitting at the side of Stathatos’s desk was Sotiria Markakis-Favieros. She, too, was without make-up, and wrinkled as she was and with short-cropped hair, it made her sex and age difficult to tell. When I had visited their home in Porto Rafti after Favieros’s suicide, I had been told that his family had gone away on their yacht. She must have shut herself up in the cabin all day because she was as white as white. She was sitting with her ankles glued together and was looking at us with a suspicious and frightened expression. When you saw them side by side, you understood from the first which of the two ran the business and which was there as a stand-in for her husband.

  They had banished Koula and myself to the couch with its glass coffee table in front, at a distance of some ten yards from Stathatos’s desk. Koula was the one who had her work cut out for her as she tried to take notes with her notepad balanced on her knees. She had returned that morning from holidays in Aigina, suntanned and wearing linen slacks and sandals. And because she was smart and knew which way the wind blew in our house, she didn’t come to me to express her delight that we were starting the investigation again but went straight to Adriani to express her sorrow. ‘I’m so sorry you had to postpone your holidays, Mrs Haritos!’ Then she looked up to heaven and added: ‘Heaven forbid that I should marry a police officer.’ And instead of telling her that police officers are honest and sincere and, on the whole, good family men, Adriani stoically shook her head and replied: ‘Unfortunately, Koula dear, heaven has its own way of working!’

  We were sitting facing the two women and trying to discover whether there was anything strange in the behaviour or actions of their husbands prior to their suicides, particularly with regard to Stefanakos, as we already had plenty of information on Favieros. The portents, however, were not good because the two widows were tight-lipped and made no attempt to hide their displeasure.

  ‘Why are you digging, Inspector?’ asked Stathatos. ‘Our husbands chose to kill themselves. Will your investigations bring them back?’

  ‘No, but we may be able to prevent others. That’s why we’re asking for your help. Up until now, we’ve had three suicides that all conform to the same model. Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?’

  ‘The police may find it suspicious,’ she replied almost with contempt. ‘But as there’s no murder, I don’t understand what you’re looking for.’

  ‘Did your husband have any reason to commit suicide, Mrs Stathatos?’

  ‘As far as I know … no.’

  ‘Then why did he?’

  She shrugged in a manner indicating resignation. ‘Why do people kill themselves, Inspector? Because their lives didn’t turn out the way they expected … Because they don’t like the world a
round them … Because they’re tired of life and can’t take any more …’

  ‘Do any of those reasons fit your husband’s case?’

  ‘No. Loukas had everything he wanted and he was a person full of life.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘He went mad,’ she replied abruptly. ‘It happens sometimes that people suddenly go mad for no good reason. That’s what happened to Loukas. He went mad. It’s the only explanation.’

  ‘Do you think it was madness that drove him to commit suicide in public?’

  ‘If you’d met him, you’d know that Loukas liked grandiose gestures. He wanted to be in the limelight, he wanted his every word and action to create an impression. That in combination with madness can lead to extreme situations.’

  If Stefanakos’s had been the only suicide, I might have believed it. But three people don’t go mad in quick succession, nor does anyone foresee that they’ll go mad and write their biographies. On the other hand, Greece is a country in which everything is explained away as madness. I turned to Mrs Favieros in the hope that she might have a different answer.

  ‘What about you, Mrs Favieros? Do you have any explanation?’

  Panic-stricken, she looked first at Stathatos, then at me, at the same time crossing and uncrossing her legs.

  ‘What can I say? I don’t know. All I know is that I was living with a man who was in his office from morning to night, even at weekends; who arranged to go to the cinema with you and then called you at the last minute to say that something had come up and he couldn’t make it, or who, while you were ready and dressed up to go out for dinner, told you that someone had phoned and he had to go to meet him.’ And suddenly, without any warning, she erupted: ‘Leave me alone, I don’t even want to think about it!’ she cried hysterically. ‘Jason’s dead! Why he killed himself, what got into him, I don’t know! All I know is that he’s left me with his businesses, the inheritance, the houses and yachts to sort out and with two children that are in a world of their own and are going on as though their father were still alive!’

  She covered her face with her hands and started sobbing. Stathatos rushed over to her and took hold of her by the shoulders. ‘It’s all right, dear,’ she said reassuringly. ‘It’s all right. I know what you’re going through, but be brave. It’s a bad time, it’ll pass, you’ll see.’ She lifted her head and looked at Koula. ‘Tell the secretary outside to give you a glass of water,’ she said to her commandingly as though talking to an office girl.

  Koula put down her notepad and went out of the office. Stathatos then turned her gaze to me.

  ‘You see where all this pointless questioning leads, Inspector? You’re upsetting us unnecessarily and only making things harder, while we’re trying to put it all behind us and get on with our lives.’

  I tried to keep my temper because it was not in my best interests to get into an argument. ‘I’m sorry for causing you any upset, Mrs Stathatos. However, we find it difficult to believe that three people suddenly went mad and committed suicide. And even if we were to accept that, there’s the question of the biographies that followed, all written by the same author and all written before the suicides.’

  ‘What are you saying exactly? I’m trying to understand.’

  ‘That there’s something behind the suicides, something that as yet we are unaware of. If our hypothesis is correct, then there may very well be more suicides. I’m sure you understand what that means, particularly when it concerns well-known figures.’

  The glass of water brought by Koula saved Stathatos from having to reply because she took it from Koula and turned all her attention to Mrs Favieros. I waited for Favieros to empty the glass and for Stathatos to give her a pat of encouragement and sit down before I went on.

  ‘I won’t keep you much longer. I’ll try to be brief. Had you noticed any change in your husband’s behaviour in the period just prior to his suicide?’

  A faint smile appeared on Stathatos’s lips. ‘Loukas and I both had very busy schedules and we rarely saw each other, Inspector. He spent all day rushing between his office and Parliament, while I was tied up with my businesses. In the evening, each of us had our own obligations: his were political, mine business. The only time that we saw each other was in the morning over coffee and even then we barely had time to discuss the essentials. Stella can tell you better than I can if there was any change in his behaviour.’

  ‘Who’s Stella?’

  ‘His secretary.’

  If anyone had asked Adriani about me, she would have been able to tell them even when the rhythm of my blinking changed. I turned back to Mrs Favieros. I didn’t ask her anything so as not to oblige her to answer if she didn’t feel well. But she understood my questioning look.

  ‘Yes, I did notice a change in Jason,’ she said. ‘But there was a reason for it.’

  ‘Can you tell me what it was?’

  She reflected as to whether she should tell me or not. Eventually, she took the decision and said very tensely: ‘He was very concerned about a serious problem that our son has.’

  The way that she said it left me in no doubt as to the nature of the problem their son had, but it was still unclear to me whether it was his son or something else that so overcame Favieros as to lead him to suicide. Most probably it was one thing on top of the other.

  ‘Do you know whether your husband was acquainted with Apostolos Vakirtzis, Mrs Stathatos?’

  She laughed. ‘What a naive question, Inspector. Is there any politician or would-be politician, or even town counsellor for that matter, who doesn’t know Apostolos Vakirtzis?’

  ‘Do you know whether he was on friendly terms with him?’

  ‘Another naive question. You couldn’t be on anything but friendly terms with Apostolos Vakirtzis. You had to appear on his show, give him interviews whenever he wanted, always supply him with the information he asked for. Otherwise, he would declare war on you and, sooner or later, he would succeed in eliminating you.’

  ‘And what about your husband, Mrs Favieros?’

  She shrugged to stress that she had no idea. ‘Jason knew so many people, from politicians to businessmen, that it was impossible among all that crowd to distinguish Vakirtzis or anyone else.’

  There was no point in my going on. Even if he had known Vakirtzis, Favieros certainly wouldn’t have told his wife. My next question was a difficult one because I didn’t know whether I should ask it and also because I didn’t know what answer I might get.

  ‘Could your husbands’ suicides be connected at all with your own business activities?’

  ‘I don’t see what possible connection there could be …’ Favieros began, but Stathatos cut her short.

  ‘None whatsoever,’ she said abruptly. ‘The partnership was between Sotiria and myself. Jason and Loukas had no involvement at all and, what’s more, I have no intention of discussing my business activities with you, Inspector.’

  ‘And I have no intention of asking you about your business activities, Mrs Stathatos. They’re of no concern to me. Though what you just said, that Loukas Stathatos and Jason Favieros had no involvement in your businesses, is not exactly true. If I recall correctly, you had, together with Jason Favieros, an offshore company that dealt in hotel enterprises in the Balkans.’

  She wasn’t expecting me to know that detail and so I caught her off guard, but she quickly recovered.

  ‘Ah yes, Balkan Inns,’ she said complacently, as though she had forgotten about it. ‘But I was never personally involved in that. It was run by Jason and Coralia Yannelis.’

  I began to think of Coralia Yannelis as a sort of Minister for Balkan Affairs in the group of companies. I would have to try my luck with her once more. I found her far more likeable than Stathatos, even though she hadn’t really told me anything despite all her smiles and friendliness.

  Koula opened her mouth for the first time as we got up to leave. ‘May we have your permission to search the computers used by Mr Favieros and Mr Stefanakos in their offic
es and in their homes?’

  Mrs Favieros turned and looked at her in astonishment. Mrs Stathatos once again adopted her haughty expression as though the very sound of Koula’s voice was an annoyance to her.

  ‘And just what do you expend to find on the computers, young miss? If Jason and Loukas had left suicide notes, we would know about it.’

  ‘I’m not looking for suicide notes, Mrs Stathatos,’ Koula answered in a firm voice. ‘Mr Favieros’s private secretary informed us that Mr Favieros had been spending hours shut up in his office in front of the computer prior to his suicide. So much so that it had caused her to wonder. Mr Vakirtzis’s partner had also said the same thing about him to the Inspector – namely that he, too, had been spending a great deal of time in front of his computer. So we would like to search them in case they contain some evidence.’

  Mrs Stathatos shrugged.

  ‘Loukas didn’t have a computer at home, only in the office. I’ll tell Stella, his secretary, who is still working there, to allow you access.’

  The way she said it revealed her certainty that we wouldn’t find anything. Koula thanked her and I nodded to her that we should be going. The secretary sitting outside didn’t even raise her eyes to look at us as we left. Perhaps she didn’t hear our footsteps on the thick carpet.

  36

  ‘I really don’t understand, Inspector.’

  Coralia Yannelis looked at us with an expression that was both ironic and inquisitive at the same time. We had gone straight there from the offices of Starad, because it was only five minutes’ drive from Vikela Street to Aigialeias Street.

  ‘If I’m not mistaken, this is the fourth time you’ve come here and I can’t understand your interest in these suicides. I’m starting to suspect that there’s something else behind all this that you’re not telling us.’

  ‘There’s nothing else behind it, Mrs Yannelis.’