Blood & Gold

by Leo Kanaris

‘A day or two.’

  ‘Do I have to see his crazy wife?’

  ‘Only if you want to.’

  ‘I certainly don’t!’

  ‘No problem. Just stay out of sight.’

  ‘What if she sees me?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On the island?’

  ‘Tell her you didn’t want to disturb her at this time of loss.’

  She thought for a moment or two. ‘You know what? I can’t be bothered.’

  ‘Please come, Zoe!’

  ‘Don’t force me.’

  ‘I’m buying you a ticket.’

  ‘You’re wasting your money.’

  ‘I’m doing what I have to do. Please pack an overnight bag.’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  She returned to her book.

  *

  Before leaving for the airport he found Dimitri in the Café Agamemnon and explained the situation.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on her,’ said Dimitri.

  ‘Can you make sure she eats?’

  ‘Don’t worry. She’ll be fat and healthy like a little partridge when you come back.’

  ‘I wish,’ said George.

  At the airport he got a phone call from Karás, who had spoken to the refuse contractor. All police paperwork was immediately shredded. There was no chance of tracing a file once it left the station.

  ‘OK,’ said George, ‘what about your notes from interviewing the driver? Do you still have them?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘We can trace him through his number plate.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘That’s something at least… What about the bicycle? They can’t shred that.’

  ‘Disposed of. He would not say where.’

  George thanked him, and asked him to find the truck driver’s address.

  His flight was called as Karás rang off.

  Despite his frustrations, George enjoyed the flight to Astypalea, the ATR 400’s propellers whirring through a haze of afternoon sun that lay wide and golden over the Aegean Sea. As they came in to land, the island’s rocky hillsides were tinted with the rose light of early evening.

  A taxi took him to a hotel on the edge of town.

  At once he noticed the silence – deep and luxurious, with a distant occasional music of waves, birdsong or wind through the trees. Sitting on the hotel terrace, sipping wine, he felt the stillness of the island around him, time slowed to the gentlest pace, and his mind felt free. The city, with its dirt and smells, its ceaseless grinding roar, seemed a nightmare, a place of torture. How could anyone think clearly there? Or feel he belonged on earth?

  *

  The Filiotis house stood in its own walled garden on the edge of town, an imposing white 19th-century mansion with dark green shutters. Mario had inherited it from his parents, modernised it, brought up his family there. They also had a flat in Athens, which Mario used for his business trips. George had not been to the island house for ten years. He could not think why, only that meeting in Athens was easier.

  He knocked at the front door. Eleni opened it, offering a pale cheek to his kiss. Her white-blonde hair was pulled tight around her head, her face severe, her eyes bleak and exhausted, with no hint of welcome.

  She led him through the hall to the saloni, the official reception room, where family photographs, seldom-used furniture and heavy amber worry beads sat meticulously arranged like exhibits in a museum. The house was not as he remembered it from his last visit, when the children were young and toys and books were flung about in carefree disorder.

  Eleni placed herself stiffly on the edge of a white sofa. He asked her how she was coping.

  ‘I get by,’ she said.

  ‘How about the kids?’

  ‘They left soon after the funeral.’

  ‘Are you on your own?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘It’s not good to be alone too much.’

  ‘I know. I see people.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear that… Tell me, do we know any more about that material in the coffin?’

  ‘Yes. The director of the archaeological museum has been very efficient. She took photographs and sent copies by email to her colleagues around Greece. One of these, the Inspector of Antiquities in Thessaloniki, recognised them. They come from a site near Pella, an ancient goldsmith’s workshop, excavated three years ago. They were not recorded as missing. The Inspector is coming to the island next week to meet the Chief of Police.’

  ‘That’s good work. Any news about Mario?’

  She looked nonplussed. ‘What kind of news can there be?’

  ‘I meant about his body.’

  ‘We’ve been talking to the funeral directors.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They’re not helpful. They seem to be scared of admitting their mistake. Especially to the authorities.’

  ‘Their mistake has stopped those ancient treasures being exported,’ said George.

  ‘The police won’t see it that way.’

  ‘We don’t know that.’

  ‘The funeral directors could go out of business over this.’

  ‘Deservedly!’

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘It’s a mix-up.’

  ‘It’s more than that,’ said George.

  He asked if there was anything he could do.

  ‘Well… If you could find a way of talking to them, you might get a result.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The funeral people.’

  George was surprised.

  ‘Andreas has been trying to frighten them,’ she explained. ‘He’s failed. They only retreat into secrecy. You at least can talk to them without threatening.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure,’ he said.

  ‘Why don’t you try?’

  George agreed, but remained sceptical.

  They sat in silence for a while, she avoiding his eyes.

  ‘Eleni, I need your help,’ he said at last, as gently as he could.

  ‘With what?’

  ‘I’m curious to know if he died accidentally or not.’

  ‘Does it matter now?’

  ‘Of course it matters! I’m surprised you ask.’

  ‘He’s with God. We hope close to God. In a place of peace. But only his conscience and God’s mercy will decide.’

  ‘That is beyond dispute,’ he said. ‘But I have more practical things in mind.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘With your permission I would like to look around his study, which might take a few hours. Second, I want to speak to someone totally trusted in the Town Hall, someone who understands the meaning of confidentiality. Third, and most important, I want to talk to you.’

  ‘About…?’

  ‘What he was doing, people he was seeing, where his life was going.’

  ‘I’m not really happy about this.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t want to discuss it.’

  ‘I see.’

  George observed her. Although she sat still, a terrible restlessness seemed to agitate her soul.

  ‘Can we just start,’ he said gently, ‘and see how we get on?’

  ‘All right,’ she said unhappily, ‘but where?’

  ‘How about his study?’

  She stood up. ‘This way.’

  He followed her along a gloomy corridor smelling strongly of floor polish. At the far end she opened a door into a large book-lined study with a heavy mahogany desk at its centre. The desk was empty of papers.

  ‘Surely he didn’t leave it like this?’ said George.

  ‘I’ve cleared it up.’

  ‘So quickly?’ Mario had been dead less than a week.

  ‘I felt I had to.’

  ‘Where did everything go?’

  ‘The Town Hall.’

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘Everything he did in here was work, which he brought home every evening and slaved over after dinner. The room was a horrible mess.’

  ‘There must have been personal pape
rs too.’

  ‘He kept those separate.’

  ‘Another study?’

  ‘More of a cupboard.’

  ‘May I see?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There could be crucial evidence there.’

  ‘You’ll never find anything. It’s chaos. And private.’

  ‘Of course. If you’d rather not…’

  ‘There’s nothing there for you.’

  ‘I can look very fast.’

  ‘No.’

  George tried to disguise his disappointment. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll respect your wishes.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So this is the only room to look at?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘May I?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  He sat at the mahogany desk and began opening drawers. Every one of them was empty apart from a few pens and sheets of notepaper from a hotel in London. He glanced at the waste bin. That too was empty. Around the walls, the bookshelves were filled with rows and rows of legal volumes, all in heavy brown bindings with gold lettering.

  ‘This is a waste of time,’ he said.

  She returned his gaze blankly.

  ‘I need to see his private papers.’

  ‘You can’t.’

  ‘Eleni, this is important! He could have been murdered.’

  ‘The private papers won’t help you.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘Don’t ask again!’

  ‘In that case I’m going to have to go to the Town Hall and see whatever you’ve removed from here.’

  ‘OK,’ she said.

  ‘Can you give me a contact name there? Someone who can be trusted.’

  She seemed surprised. ‘Trusted? In the Town Hall?’

  ‘You must know people.’

  ‘All too well.’

  ‘None of them are your friends?’

  ‘Some call themselves friends,’ she said. ‘People who took advantage of him, and would not hesitate to betray him if it suited them. I have a different notion of friendship.’

  ‘So do I. And I’m sure Mario did.’

  ‘He found it impossible to distinguish between the true and the false. Anyone who smiled at him was trusted. That is not how a wise man behaves.’

  ‘I’m sure he wasn’t so naive.’

  ‘He was very insecure.’

  ‘I don’t agree.’

  ‘Then you didn’t really know him.’

  George found her accusing tone offensive.

  ‘Perhaps he gave people the benefit of the doubt? Perhaps that’s how he got results?’

  ‘What results?’ She spoke with disdain.

  ‘You only need to look at the town. It’s in great shape, in spite of the crisis.’

  ‘Whatever he achieved was through his own hard work,’ she said. ‘Work at the cost of everything else that a man should value.’

  ‘You mean the family?’

  ‘You know what I mean!’ She almost shrieked this at him.

  George did not reply. He was trying to think of a way around this woman’s resistance. She was ferocious in her resentment. In the absence of words he became aware of a fly buzzing at the window, banging against the glass in an effort to escape.

  Eleni walked over, weariness in every step, and let it out. The silence returned. She stared vaguely out as if waiting for someone to appear along the road.

  ‘I’m sorry to stir up such bitter memories,’ said George.

  She said nothing.

  ‘We’ll never know what happened to Mario unless people are prepared to talk about him.’

  She flared up. ‘What have we been doing since you arrived? You’re trying to pump me for evidence! As if I killed him!’

  ‘You’ve told me nothing,’ said George coldly. ‘All I can gather is that there was some strain or disagreement between you which was not resolved when he died.’

  ‘You could say that of any marriage on earth.’

  ‘Of some more than others.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I’m not judging you,’ he said.

  ‘Of course you are! Judge and be damned! Have the courage to admit it!’

  ‘How could I sit in judgement on you?’ said George. ‘If I died tomorrow, my wife would say exactly what you’re saying about Mario. This isn’t a status competition.’

  ‘You could have fooled me.’

  ‘Listen,’ said George. ‘You’re taking this the wrong way. All I want is to find out why Mario died.’

  ‘Have I asked you to do that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has anyone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who?’

  This was a difficult one. He could not not mention Sotiriou and the police.

  ‘Andreas asked me. And one or two of his friends.’

  ‘Are they paying you?’

  ‘Expenses only. I’m doing this out of friendship. Out of love for an exceptional man.’

  ‘If you’re doing this for love, you’re wasting your time.’

  ‘Sometimes one must act on principle, not for gain.’

  ‘You can forget both in this case.’

  ‘I thought I might be helping you too.’

  ‘I’ve told you what I think.’

  ‘Tell me again, Eleni.’

  She groaned. ‘His life was lost long before he died. His true killers are the environmentalists. Greenpeace, WWF, every idiotic group on the planet that filled his head with their impossible ideals, while our family died of neglect!’

  ‘Your family seemed happy to me.’

  ‘Then you’re an idiot too. Look at me! Do I look like a happy woman?’

  ‘If you did I would be worried,’ said George.

  ‘My unhappiness started long before he died!’

  ‘You blame that on him?’

  Her eyes blazed. ‘Who else? I had one husband. One life. Which I gave to a man who had no idea what to do with it.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said George. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Well,’ said Eleni, ‘now you do.’

  George now understood the lifeless feeling in the house. It suddenly seemed no accident that he had not visited for ten years. An impulse of pity for his old friend surged up in him. Was this what he came home to every evening? This accusing stare? This crippling fire of self-righteousness?

  He felt desolate. ‘There’s nothing more I can do here,’ he said.

  She did not reply.

  ‘I just wonder what you would have liked Mario to do,’ he said.

  ‘Really? You wonder that?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘How about making some money? Wouldn’t that be a start?’

  ‘You look pretty comfortable,’ said George.

  ‘I’m not talking about comfort!’

  ‘Then what? What more could you reasonably ask?’

  She waved the question contemptuously away. ‘You’re as bad as he is.’

  George stood up. ‘Clearly there’s something I’m not getting,’ he said.

  She said nothing.

  ‘I can see myself out,’ said George.

  She turned and walked to the front door.

  As he left her he said, ‘I’m at the Aegean Hotel until five. If there’s anything else you feel you can tell me, just leave a message there.’

  She nodded and closed the door.

  6 Town Hall

  George walked into town, the hot September sun drilling into his back. This was turning into an utterly futile trip. He felt he must do something to redeem it.

  He went over the possibilities. Eleni was hopeless. She might change her mind at some point in the future when her pain and resentment had faded, but for now – short of breaking into the house to search through Mario’s private papers – he could see no possible progress. The only other chance was his friends and colleagues on the island. There must be people in this town who could tell him what company Mario had been keeping, what risks he was running, perhaps even why
he had died. The difficulty was to find them, and, having found them, question them.

  At a quiet corner in the shade he stopped and called Colonel Sotiriou.

  The reception was hostile. ‘I told you not to telephone me.’

  ‘You did not.’

  ‘I’m telling you now.’

  ‘It’s urgent,’ said George.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘The package has disappeared.’

  ‘Where have you looked?’

  ‘I went to the sports ground and talked to the caretaker. The rooms are bare. They’ve been emptied.’

  ‘Where else?’

  ‘The family home. Also empty. Now I’m going to ask at the Town Hall.’

  ‘Don’t step on any toes.’

  ‘I shan’t.’

  ‘When will you be back in Athens?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘I’ll call you.’

  The Colonel hung up.

  *

  By the time he reached the Town Hall, George had developed a plan of attack.

  At the reception desk he asked for the Deputy Mayor, who was not available. This was as George expected. He asked for a series of other officials, all unavailable, until the receptionist, taking pity on him, asked what it was about.

  George said he was a friend of the late Mayor, with a particular interest in forming a cyclists’ campaign group in central Athens.

  ‘Who can I talk to?’ he asked. ‘I was going to meet Mr Filiotis, but obviously that’s impossible now.’

  The girl’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Such a good man!’

  ‘He was the kind of character this country needs,’ said George. ‘We all admired him. But the best way to honour his memory is to carry on with his work.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘He must have had a good team here.’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘Are they going to carry on?’

  ‘As much as they can. But things are difficult.’

  ‘Is there someone in charge?’

  ‘Not really. Not yet… Let me think who might be here today that can help you…’

  She consulted a list. ‘His secretary, Mrs Kyriakou, perhaps?’

  ‘She knows all his contacts, understands the issues?’

  ‘I would say so. Let me call her. Your name please?’

  A minute later a middle-aged woman emerged from a door in the corridor. She approached him with a friendly smile.

  ‘Mr Zafiris? I think I saw you at the funeral.’

  ‘I was there,’ said George.

  She led him into her office, which was remarkably clear of papers. George deduced that either nothing was done there or this woman was well organised.