"Oh, come on, Costas. I haven't got any boots for going out in!"
"We'll see!" I said sharply, putting an end to the conversation.
In bed, she cuddled up to me. She put her arm around my waist and began kissing me on my ear and neck. I lay there motionless. She brought her leg up to my knee and began rhythmically sliding it up and down from my shin to my penis.
"How much do you need for the boots?" I said.
"I saw a really lovely pair, but they're a bit expensive. Thirty-five thousand drachmas. But they'll last me for years."
"All right. I'll buy them for you."
Her leg slid down for the last time, like the elevator from the third floor to the ground floor, and it stopped there. She removed her arm from around my waist. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and immediately withdrew into her own territorial waters.
"'Night," she said, with relief in her voice.
"'Night," I said, also with relief, and I opened my Liddell & Scott, which I'd taken down from the shelf before getting into bed.
But it was impossible for me to concentrate. My mind was on Karayoryi and the matter of the child she kept going on about. She couldn't have simply invented it, out of thin air; she was keeping something from me. It suddenly came to me: Ask the Albanian. He might know something. I'd ask him first and then worry about Karayoryi. If nothing else, I could do what I'd thought of that morning. I'd tell Thanassis to get it on with her and see what he could discover.
In my dream, I was in the home of the two Albanians. Except that their corpses were no longer there and the mattress was covered with a blanket. On the folding table was a bassinet. I leaned over and saw a baby. It was no more than three months old and was crying its eyes out. Standing by the gas stove, I saw Karayoryi warming the baby's bottle.
"What are you doing here?" I said.
"Babysitting," she said.
CHAPTER 4
I'd swallowed my first mouthful of croissant and was taking my first gulp of coffee when the door opened and in walked Thanassis. He looked at me and smiled. It was one of the rare occasions on which he didn't tell me that he was a moron. This happened once a year, twice at most.
"This is for you;' he said, handing me a piece of paper.
"Okay. Leave it there."
Over the years I've developed a standard practice: never to take papers handed to me. Usually, they're orders, restrictions, cutbacks, something, at any rate, to get your goat. So I let them lie on my desk and psychologically prepare myself to read them. Thanassis, however, stood there holding it out to me and said, triumphantly: "It's the Albanian's confession."
I froze. I reached out and took the statement. "How did you manage it?" I said, unable to conceal my incredulity.
"Vlassis told me," he said with a smile.
"Vlassis?"
"He's the officer on cell duty. We were having a coffee in the canteen, and he told me that you wanted to convince the Albanian that he'd be better off in prison. So I sat down, typed out a statement, and took it to him. He signed it straight away."
I looked at the third page. A couple of inches from the foot of the sheet was a scribble that looked like a child's drawing of Mount Hymettus. Apparently it was the Albanian's signature. I read swiftly through the statement, skimming the formal parts. Everything was there, exactly as he'd told it to me the previous day during the interrogation: how he'd met the girl in Albania and fallen for her, how he'd skulked around the house for days even though she'd sent him packing. He'd felt insulted and had decided to break into the house and rape her. He'd removed one of the boards from the window and squeezed inside. He'd thought that her husband was away and had been terrified when he'd seen him lying beside her. And when the man rushed at him, he'd taken out his knife and murdered first him and then the girl. Everything was plain and simple, all very neat, no gaps or loose ends.
"Well done, Thanassis," I said with admiration. "Perfect."
He looked at me, and his eyes shone with pleasure. At that moment the phone rang. I picked up the receiver.
"Haritos."
This too was part of the FBI-type reforms imposed on us by Ghikas. We no longer answered, "Hello" or "Yes," but "Haritos," "Sotiriou," "Papatriandafyllopoulos." And regardless of whether you got cut off halfway through "Papatriandafyllopoulos," you still went on with it.
"The child. What do you know about it?" As always, short, sharp, and to the point.
"There is no child, Chief. I've got the Albanian's confession in front of me. There's no mention of a child. That's nonsense thought up by Karayoryi. Her ambition will be the death of her."
I said this expressly to provoke him, because I knew that he had a high regard for her.
"Has he confessed?" he said, as if unwilling to believe it.
"Yes. Confessed. Crime of passion. No child involved."
"Right. Send me your report. And a summary too, so I can make a statement." He put down the phone without even a word of thanks. Now I was going to have to write him a report that a schoolboy could understand so that he could learn it by heart.
Normally, the case would have closed there. The Albanian had made his confession and would be sent for trial, the stuff about the child had proved to be a fabrication, the chief of security would stand before the reporters and come out with his spiel-we'd wrapped it up. But I had a broomstick up my backside. I couldn't let things rest, and I always ended up paying for it.
"Listen, Thanassis, did he say anything about a child?"
"Child?" he said and became all confused. Thanassis's kind are like that. When you're least expecting it, they come up with a bright idea and arrive at something that, by their standards, is nothing short of a miracle. But as soon as you burden them with something else, something unexpected, they overload, blow a fuse, and the lights go out on them.
I looked at my watch. It was only nine-thirty. I had two hours before the reporters showed up.
It was more than enough time for me to write the report for Ghikas.
"Have them bring the Albanian for questioning."
He looked at me, and all the satisfaction drained out of him. "But he's confessed," he muttered.
"I know, but that Karayoryi woman put a damper on it last night on the news, by saying that there was a child involved. Ghikas heard it, and now he's on to me about it. I know there's nothing in it, but I want to be 100 percent sure that everything's in order. Have him brought to me, and you come along too." I would take him with me to show my appreciation, and he liked it. He left the office smiling from ear to ear.
The Albanian was sitting in the same place, but he wasn't handcuffed as on the previous day. When we walked in, he looked at us apprehensively. I offered him a cigarette.
"I say you everything," he said to me as he drew on the cigarette. "He come and I say all." He pointed to Thanassis.
"I know. Don't be alarmed. Everything's okay. I just want to ask you one question out of curiosity. Do you know whether the couple you murdered had any kids?"
"Keeds?"
He looked at me as though it were the most unlikely thing in the world for an Albanian couple to have kids. He didn't answer, but his gaze turned slowly toward Thanassis. Thanassis suddenly reached for him, took him by the anorak, and dragged him to his feet, screaming: "Out with it, you bastard! Did the Albanians have a child? Out with it, or you're dead meat!"
It's the quiet ones you have to watch when they're riled, as my old mother used to say. He'd succeeded in getting a confession; now his blood was up and he was playing the tough guy. I freed the Albanian from his grip and sat him down again on the chair.
"Gently does it, Thanassis. If he knows anything, he'll tell us without any rough stuff. Isn't that so?"
This last phrase was addressed to the Albanian. He was shaking from head to toe; why, I had no idea. It was just a simple question. He had nothing to be afraid of. Thanassis had just butted in and scared him with his excessive zeal.
"No," he said. "Pakize have no keeds."
>
Pakize was the name of the woman he'd murdered. "Okay, that was all," I said, friendly at last. "I won't need you for anything else."
He gazed at me in relief, as if a burden had been taken from him.
I returned to my office and sat down to write the schoolboy report for Ghikas. He didn't want much. A single page in my own handwriting, with my big, round letters. Just the facts, in precis. He could add the garnishing himself. I soon finished it and turned to the analytical report. This took me a bit longer, but I had finished inside an hour. I had them both sent to Ghikas.
I decided to have the rest of my croissant and drink my coffee, which was now stone cold. A cat was sunning itself on the balcony opposite. It was sprawled out with its head on the tiles that were baking in the sun. It was one of the few creatures to delight in the ovenlike heat. The old woman came onto the balcony with a saucer. She put it down in front of the cat. She waited for it to open its eyes and see the food, but the cat showed complete indifference. The old woman waited patiently, stroking its head, talking to it, sweet talk most probably, but the cat couldn't have cared less. In the end, she gave up, left the saucer, and went back into the room. I reflected on the cat's arrogance, how it had its food brought to its feet, and I re membered the two Albanians lying on the bare mattress, the folding table, the two plastic chairs, the gas stove. Not that I'm especially partial to Albanians, but it got to me. So did the lousy weather, which gave no prospect of rain.
The door suddenly opened and in waltzed Karayoryi. Without even knocking, as if it were her own office. I should have given her a key. She was different. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. She had her cardigan on top of her bag, which was hanging across her shoulder. She closed the door and smiled at me. I looked at her without saying a word. I wanted to give her a mouthful, but we were under orders from the fifth floor to give reporters the kid-glove treatment. It wasn't always this way.
"Congratulations. I hear that the Albanian confessed. You've closed the case" Her smile was ironic, her expression haughty.
I was in no mood for playing cat and mouse. "Why did you lie in your television report last night?" I said. "You knew very well that there was no child, nor do we suspect anything of the sort."
She smiled. "Never mind," she replied indifferently. "All you have to do is deny it."
"Why did you come out with all that yesterday?"
"All what?"
"About the child. What was on your mind? Or were you just fishing?"
"I told you because I like you," she said, unexpectably amiable. "I know you can't stand me, but I don't care, I like you anyway. I have my weaknesses, you see."
The way she said it, straight out, she perplexed me. "I neither like you nor dislike you," I said, hoping that a neutral approach would seem more convincing. "You get on my nerves, and I get on yours, it's part of the job. But I don't dislike you any more than the rest of your colleagues."
"I'm sure you do," she said, still smiling. "With the exception, perhaps, of Sotiropoulos."
The bitch was razor sharp; nothing escaped her. "And why do you like me?" I said, to get out of a difficult position.
"Because you're the only one with an ounce of brains around here. Though don't go puffing yourself up too much on that account. Just that one eye's better than none. But you're way off the mark this time."
She made for the door and was gone before I could continue the discussion.
Once again I had to wonder: Was she playing with me or was she keeping something from me? If she came out with something afterward, I'd be the one they'd all come down on. Prosecutor, judge, police chief, all of them. There'd be no end to it. And it wasn't as if I had a lot of time on my side-I didn't. Ghikas would be making his statement before long. The file would be sent to the prosecutor the next day, and it wouldn't take him more than a couple of days to arrange for the court hearing. From then on, the case would be completely out of my hands, and if anything were to explode, at that point there'd be no picking up the pieces.
I picked up the telephone and told Sotiris, the lieutenant, to come into my office.
"Listen, Sotiris, when we were searching the Albanians' place, did you notice anything that might indicate the presence of children?"
"Children?" he said, a good deal surprised.
"Anything at all. Rattles? Bibs? Baby clothes? Toys?"
He looked at me as if he were up against a lunatic. And he had every right. "No, we found nothing of the sort." He thought for a moment and then said, "Apart from a box that had diapers in it."
"Diapers?" I cried and leapt to my feet.
"Yes, they were using it as a makeshift cupboard. In it, there was sugar, coffee, and half a packet of dried beans."
The cat had woken up now and was eating, just like the glamorous stars who have their breakfast at eleven. The old woman was standing over it with pride. She was probably pleased that it had an appetite so she wouldn't have to give it iron tablets and vitamins. The leaves drooping from the potted plants looked down on the tiles like demure virgins. The old woman had watered them only the previous day, and they were withering already. Imagine being in a car in that heat, breathing the exhaust fumes, with the plastic seats so scorching you and your backside gradually become soaked.
"Have them bring a patrol car, and we'll be on our way. Just the two of us."
"Where are we going?"
"To the Albanians' place. To search it again."
He was about to say something, but he thought better of it and left. Five minutes later, they informed me that the patrol car was waiting.
CHAPTER 5
It took us almost an hour to get to Rendi, even though Sotiris had turned on the siren. Throughout the journey, sitting next to Sotiris, I toyed with the window. I'd open it and be suffocated by the smog. I'd close it and be suffocated by the heat. In the end, I gave up and left it half open. Perhaps it was the congestion that was to blame for my irritability. A sudden feeling of impatience took hold of me. I wanted to get to the Albanians' place, search it, and be done. I was pissed off at Karayoryi for getting me all fired up so damned easily and with myself for having gone along with her game, and with the Albanians for not having a brat beside them on the mattress whom we could send to social services and who would let us wash our hands of the matter. Sotiris was driving without saying a word, very much down in the dumps. The low spirits were no doubt on my account, for putting him to all this trouble without good cause, when he should have been sitting at his desk, flipping through some document and telling the others about the chassis on the Hyundai Excel he'd recently bought by selling a piece of land he had in his village. At least that's what he said.
When we got into the house, I became even more uptight. One bare room, with the few rags on view; you could take it all in at a glance. What had I come to look for? Secret drawers, hollow walls serving as cubbyholes? The diaper box was on the folding table, as Sotiris had recalled. I opened it and found what he'd described: a hundred-gram packet of coffee, a packet of sugar, and half a bag of dried beans. They'd picked up the box from the street, to put their food in, so the rats wouldn't get at it.
"What are we looking for?" asked Sotiris, who was watching me.
"Anything indicating children, do I have to say it again?" I said testily.
I took the woman's clothes from the hook, let them drop to the floor, and spread them out with my foot. Perhaps there was something tucked inside them that we'd missed. But all I found was a pair of slacks, a blouse, and some tights. I looked again at the man's clothes, still lying beside the mattress. He, too, had nothing but a shirt, a pair of trousers, and his socks. And their shoes. Hers flat slipons, his lace-ups. Didn't they have any underwear? Not even for a change? I know they come here with no more than what they stand up in, but when you came face-to-face with the literalness of that, something just didn't seem right. I wondered whether this might be significant.
"Lend a hand to lift up the mattress," I said.
We go
t hold of it at both ends and doubled it up. Three cockroaches raced out, scampering in alarm over the bare concrete floor. One was a bit slower than the others, and I succeeded in stamping on it. The other two escaped. So this was all we had to show for our search: one dead cockroach, two at large.
"Let's be off," I said to Sotiris in relief and dropped my side of the mattress. If we hadn't found anything, there was nothing to find.
"Just a minute. I need to use the toilet."
"Careful not to touch anywhere with your willy. You'll be asking me for sick leave when you end up with an infection."
I opened the door and went out. The chubby woman was standing there. "So you're still looking for something, huh?" she asked me in a familiar tone, ready to invite me in for a coffee to learn the rest.
"What business is it of yours, missus? Go back into your house," I said curtly, in part because I was irritated at the thought of having to drive back through the center of Athens. After the compliments and praise she'd received in my office for being so observant, this took her aback. She gave me a nasty look, turned, and began walking away with as much speed as an overloaded truck can muster.
Suddenly I had an idea. "One moment!" I called to her.
She pulled up, undecided, with her back still turned. Then she swung around and came back to me, still looking offended.
"Would you know whether the Albanians had any kids?"
"Kids?" she parroted, and the question seemed to make her forget the insult. "No ... whenever they came here, I never saw them with any children."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I said. "Are you saying that they didn't live here all the time?"
"They'd be here for a couple of days, leave, and turn up again after a week or so. When I asked the girl, she told me once that she'd been to stay with her in-laws in Yannina, and another time she told me she'd gone back to Albania because her father was ill ..."
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