Codename Xenophon

by Leo Kanaris

  The sergeant looked pensive.

  ‘I’ll tell the boss. He will not be pleased to hear this!’ He turned to Abbas. ‘Finished yet?’

  Abbas looked up. ‘Very nearly.’

  ‘It’s not normally allowed,’ said the sergeant.

  ‘I’m most grateful to you,’ said Abbas.

  The sergeant lit a cigarette.

  ‘Are we done?’ asked George.

  ‘Done,’ said the sergeant, returning to his computer. ‘You won’t see your money again, but thanks for the warning.’

  George met Abbas at a café a few minutes later. Abbas looked pleased with himself. He flattened the two lists of volunteers on the table, side by side.

  ‘Here we are. Aeschylus, that’s me. Daedalus is Paraskevás, the pilot…’ He ran his index finger down the list. ‘Look,’ he said excitedly, ‘I’ve got them. All but one. Leonidas, Nestor and Odysseus all had Mausers, so they must be Tasakos, Tsoublekas and Philippidis, it doesn’t matter which. Doukakis has a Sarasqueta 12-bore so he must be Themistocles, and Socrates is the colonel. That leaves just Xenophon unaccounted for, and that can only be… I don’t believe it. Kotsis! That’s him!’

  ‘The retired policeman?’

  ‘Which explains how he was able to cut a page out of the register.’

  George was troubled. ‘I don’t buy that. He told us he owned a Mauser.’

  ‘He lied.’

  ‘He showed us the gun! Don’t you remember?’

  ‘We don’t know if that was his. And maybe he had two guns! The colonel has eight or nine.’

  ‘He said he had registered the Mauser.’

  ‘I didn’t see it in the register. But it could have been on the missing page, with the Heckler & Koch.’

  ‘Then why doesn’t Xenophon have a Mauser as well as a Heckler & Koch on the list of volunteers?’

  ‘The list could be incomplete. Or erroneous! Or drawn up before he acquired the Mauser…’

  ‘Hold on, Abbas! My head’s spinning.’

  ‘Forget the lists. Kotsis had two guns, OK? The Mauser and the HK. He showed us the Mauser, and kept quiet about the HK. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘But three others also had Mausers.’

  ‘They’re irrelevant.’

  ‘So why isn’t Xenophon one of those three?’

  ‘Because they’re all in the police register. He’s the only one missing. It has to be him.’

  ‘I still don’t believe it. He seemed a totally decent man.’

  ‘He is a decent man. I know him and like him. But something made him open his window one evening and shoot poor old Professor Petrakis in the head.’

  ‘Why in heaven’s name would he do that?’

  ‘That is the million-dollar question! We have to go and ask him.’

  George needed to check the reasoning again before he would accept this. He leaned over the table, shielding his eyes from the glare of the street, and ran his eye down the lists, comparing the information, repeating the names out loud. Finally he sat back in his chair, his brain struggling with the inevitable conclusion.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘It has to be Kotsis.’

  ‘Are you ready to confront him?’

  ‘We might as well. The police will never get round to it.’ They rang the bell at the retired policeman’s house and waited. Pigeons burbled in the vine leaves above the gate. A scooter buzzed past, swerving around a dog sleeping in the dust. At last the gate was opened by Mrs Kotsis.

  ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Welcome, Abbas. And Mr… I’ve forgotten your name.’

  ‘Zafiris.’

  ‘Come in. What can I offer you?’

  ‘We’re fine,’ said Abbas. ‘We need to see Leonardos. Is he in?’

  ‘He’s sleeping.’

  ‘Would you mind waking him?’

  This was such an unusual request that she sensed trouble.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, without moving from the gateway.

  ‘We need to talk to him urgently,’ said Abbas.

  ‘Something with the colonel?’

  ‘Just bring him, please.’

  She showed them through a door into the yard.

  ‘There are chairs under the trees,’ she said.

  They passed from the shadow of the hallway to the hot dazzle of the yard, where the sun had been baking the concrete all day. At the far side the fruit trees cast a cool pall of shade. They found chairs and sat in silence, waiting.

  Kotsis appeared, puffy-eyed, frowning, his hair freshly slicked down with water.

  ‘Gentlemen, how can I help you?’

  ‘You remember Mr Zafiris?’ said Abbas.

  He did.

  ‘We have a difficult matter to discuss with you,’ said Abbas.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘George, will you explain?’

  George hesitated a moment, then plunged in.

  ‘When we last spoke, I asked if you had a rifle. You showed me a German Army Mauser.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You didn’t say you had another gun.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  George paused. He needed to stay calm, and give the man a chance to tell the truth.

  ‘Perhaps you don’t have a second rifle now, but did you have one earlier this year?’

  The policeman’s eyes showed a momentary flicker of uncertainty.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not this year.’

  ‘Are you quite sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  OK, thought George, you deserve what’s coming.

  ‘I have reason to believe you’re lying.’

  The policeman shrugged. ‘I’m sorry about that. What can I do to convince you?’

  ‘Why not tell the truth?’

  ‘I’ve told you.’

  ‘Mr Kotsis, I happen to know that a Heckler & Koch G3 was registered in your name as well as the Mauser.’

  ‘A Heckler & Koch?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘1990.’

  The policeman seemed puzzled. ‘Twenty years ago!’

  ‘Is that important?’

  ‘You didn’t ask me about guns I used to own. I’d forgotten about it.’

  ‘That’s odd, because that very gun was on the page of the police firearms register which you removed.’

  ‘I removed?’

  ‘Yes! You removed.’

  ‘I haven’t been near that register for years.’

  ‘Maybe someone did it for you? Bagatzounis? His sergeant? It doesn’t matter. The evidence was tampered with. That alone is enough to put you in prison.’

  ‘Why would I remove a page from the register?’

  ‘You know as well as I do.’

  ‘I don’t!’

  ‘All right, I’ll explain. The Heckler & Koch was the weapon that killed John Petrakis. The page was removed so that your link with the weapon could not be traced.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘I’ve seen the ballistics report. And you own the only G3 on the island!’

  ‘I once owned it.’

  ‘Why is there no trace of this in the firearms register?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Because you, or someone at your request, cut out the relevant page!’

  ‘Mr Zafiris, you’re talking about a document we can’t see.’

  ‘OK, let’s get back to the facts. You once owned this weapon?’

  ‘Twenty years ago.’

  ‘What did you do with it?’

  ‘I gave it away.’

  ‘To?’

  Another tiny flicker of uncertainty.

  ‘To a relative.’

  ‘Was the change of ownership recorded in the firearms register?’

  ‘I can’t remember. I expect it was. I like to do things correctly.’

  ‘When did you give the gun away?’

  ‘Soon after I bought it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I used
it a few times and decided it wasn’t for me.’

  ‘So this relative took it. And kept it?’

  ‘He kept it. For how long I can’t say.’

  ‘Where did he live?’

  ‘In Athens.’

  ‘Why would he want a rifle in Athens?’

  ‘He went hunting at weekends.’

  ‘Where is this relative now?’

  The policeman hesitated. ‘Is this going to lead to an accusation of murder?’

  ‘If he had the gun on March 25th, I’m afraid it is.’

  Kotsis looked appalled. He seemed overcome. Unable to speak, he simply shook his head. His eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Do you think your relative would have had any reason to shoot Professor Petrakis?’ asked George.

  ‘No,’ whispered Kotsis.

  ‘Perhaps he can tell us himself?’

  Kotsis did not reply. George waited, watching him.

  ‘Do you think he can tell us?’ he asked again.

  Kotsis seemed tongue-tied.

  ‘Your old friend Colonel Varzalis has been accused of this murder,’ said George. ‘He has spent many days in prison. He’s innocent. The killer has to be found.’

  ‘My relative isn’t capable of killing anyone,’ said Kotsis.

  ‘Will you tell me his name?’

  Kotsis stood up. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

  George turned to Abbas. ‘Do you know who he’s talking about?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is he telling the truth?’

  They heard a cry from the house. Then Mrs Kotsis shouting, ‘Don’t Leo, don’t do that!’

  Her husband’s conciliatory reply was too soft to hear. It was followed at once by a shout of ‘You’ll kill us all!’

  Kotsis came out a short while later. ‘I’ve spoken to my brother-in-law,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you to see him.’

  They followed Kotsis to a house a few streets away, where the door was opened to them by an exhausted woman in a nightdress. She was bulbously overweight and pale, her hair greasy and unwashed.

  ‘Hello, Leonardo,’ she said dully.

  ‘I’ve come to see Manos.’

  ‘He’s on his way. Come in.’

  They entered the house, forced to move sideways through the entrance hall, which was piled high with black plastic rubbish sacks full of clothes, video tapes, old newspapers and magazines.

  ‘Go into the lounge,’ said the woman.

  Kotsis led them into a dark, heavily overfurnished room, with sofas and armchairs so crowded together that there was barely room to sit. He tried the light switch, but it was dead.

  ‘I’ll open the shutters,’ he said, and made for the window. A large dining table in a logjam of chairs and sofas blocked his way.

  ‘To hell with it,’ said Kotsis, ‘we’ll leave the door open.’

  As their eyes adjusted to the half-light, George noted the strange array of objects that cluttered the room: china statuettes, an old radio, a pair of hairdryers from a professional salon, a food mixer, piles of books and CDs, baskets, suitcases, skis, a basketball net on a stand, a bed on its side. All jumbled and out of use. It made no sense as a room.

  The woman left them alone. The air was hot and musty. Kotsis squeezed himself into an armchair and sat down, an expression of hopelessness on his face.

  The light from the doorway flickered.

  Manos Tasakos walked in.

  ‘We’ve come –’ George began, but Kotsis interrupted.

  ‘The weapon that killed Petrakis has been traced. It was the Heckler & Koch I gave you.’

  Tasakos said nothing.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Kotsis.

  ‘I was in Athens on March 25th,’ said Tasakos. ‘I’ve already explained that to the detective.’

  ‘You have witnesses?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘OK, so it wasn’t you. But someone used your rifle to kill the professor!’

  ‘I don’t know…’

  ‘What the hell do you mean you don’t know? It was your gun! Tell us what happened!’

  ‘I wasn’t here, Leo! What can I say?’

  ‘Tell the truth! Get it out so we can deal with it!’

  ‘I did not fire that gun.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘How should I know?’

  ‘Was it Maria? Was it Stelios? Lydia? Who?’

  ‘Leo, you can see the situation here. We’re in a mess. Nothing works. Maria takes a kilo of pills every day and she’s like a zombie. Stelios is in a world of his own, and who can blame him? Lydia’s a martyr who only stays with us to become a saint, and I’m trying to keep this catastrophe afloat by running a business.’

  ‘A man was killed. Shot with your gun. You have to face this! You have to explain it!’

  ‘I can’t! How can anyone explain it? It’s just one more piece of shit in this great shithouse of a life!’

  ‘The police will come, Manos. They’ll arrest you. You’ll go to prison. Your business will fail and your family will no longer be protected.’

  ‘I wasn’t here! I was in Athens!’

  Kotsis gave him a few moments’ respite, then returned to the attack.

  ‘They’ve traced the gun to this house. Someone in this house…’

  ‘Can’t you just leave us alone!’

  ‘Of course I can. We all can. But the police can’t. They’re going to come and …’

  ‘They’ve already got a killer. Varzalis is a fascist, a queer-hater, an extremist. He’s been killing all his life.’

  ‘He’s innocent!’

  ‘He has the perfect motive.’

  ‘He didn’t do it.’

  ‘So you say!’

  ‘What about the gun?’

  ‘Maybe he came round here and borrowed it? How do I know?’

  Abbas said, ‘We all counted ourselves as his friends at one time. We all served with the volunteers.’

  ‘Volunteers! Boy scouts!’

  ‘Don’t take out your frustrations on him,’ said Kotsis.

  Tasakos was angry now. ‘The colonel’s a vegetable. He’s no use now. His life’s over. Let him go to prison. He won’t even know he’s in there.’

  ‘Whoever killed Petrakis has to face the consequences.’

  ‘I’ve thrown the guns in the sea. All of them. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘If it’s not the guns it will be something else. A knife. A pillow. A hammer. It’s not weapons that cause crime, Manos!’

  Tasakos had his head in his hands.

  ‘Just tell us,’ said Kotsis. ‘Get it out and over with.’

  Tasakos was weeping. ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘You must go. Please. Leave us alone.’

  ‘The police will come.’

  ‘Let them come. I don’t care. They won’t find anything… I can’t stand this any more.’

  Kotsis sat still and watched him.

  Tasakos raised his head. His face was burning with pain.

  ‘I told you to go! Get the hell out of my house!’

  ‘We’re not going until you tell us what happened.’

  ‘I don’t know what happened! I came back from Athens that night and someone said there had been a shooting. Life was going on as normal here. Maria in a haze, Lydia preparing food, Stelios buried in his computer.’

  ‘Did you check your guns?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I had no reason to.’

  ‘So why did you throw your guns in the sea?’

  Tasakos shrugged his shoulders. ‘I didn’t want to take any chances.’

  ‘You must have had a reason.’

  Tasakos sighed. ‘No! I just took the guns and the ammunition and threw the whole damn lot in the sea.’

  ‘And then you cut a page out of the police register?’

  Tasakos said nothing.

  The four men sat in silence. George had let Kotsis do all the questioning. But there was an important question he had not yet asked.

/>   ‘Did you check with the members of your household to see if anyone had touched your gun?’

  Tasakos threw him a despairing look, then said softly, ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Tasakos leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

  Kotsis signalled to George not to pursue the matter.

  Having remained silent for much of this painful conversation, Abbas now spoke.

  ‘I don’t know who did this,’ he said, ‘but I have an idea. I want to remind us all of the vow we made one night with the colonel, as his volunteers. What did we swear to do? To uphold the law, and make life better in this tormented land… Do you remember that?’

  ‘That’s easy to say,’ Tasakos retorted. ‘But when it comes to sacrificing your own family…’

  ‘I simply ask if you remember that oath.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Kotsis.

  ‘Did we believe it? I did! We all did, or we wouldn’t have been there, losing half a night’s sleep, stumbling about among the rocks and the thorns! Were we right or wrong to believe it? You can’t vow to uphold the law and allow a member of your family to murder an innocent man!’

  Tasakos suddenly erupted, ‘It was not murder!’

  ‘It most certainly was!’

  ‘Murder is premeditated. You have to know what you’re doing. You have to intend to kill.’

  ‘So what was this? An accident?’

  ‘No. It’s… I don’t know the word.’

  Kotsis said, ‘It is murder, but with diminished responsibility. If the court accepts that the person who committed the crime is mentally unstable.’

  Tasakos had closed his eyes again. He breathed heavily, shaking his head as if to rid it of its appalling thoughts. Kotsis watched him carefully.

  After a time, Kotsis spoke. He was calm and businesslike.

  ‘I’m going to suggest a plan. You and I, Manos, know who fired the gun. The police don’t know, but a few questions will lead even a blockhead like Bagatzounis to the inevitable conclusion. Arrest, trial, psychiatric assessments will follow. There’s no way of avoiding that. In addition you will be found guilty of destroying evidence and obstructing the course of justice. This will make a bad situation worse. If you go to prison your family is in ruins. Who will look after Maria? What will happen to Stelios? Who’ll run the business? Where will Lydia go with no one to pay her wages? Who will maintain the house, pay the bills? So let’s accept the inevitable and do our best to limit the damage. Go to the police, Manos! Tell them the truth. Help them. Get this mess sorted out, and with luck they’ll find a way to overlook the business with the register.’