"Hello, Inspector Haritos!" She had forgotten her usually cold look and was being nice because I'd caught her red-handed. "You can't go in, I'm afraid. He's busy," she said in an apologetic tone.
"Again? Ah, poor Koula, I'm amazed at how you manage with so much coming and going in here."
"You can't imagine, I don't have time to draw breath."
I was about to tell her that I could see that, that she didn't even have time to pluck her eyebrows, but instead I said: "I don't know what he'd do without you. And not only him, but us too. Everything goes through your hands."
"Do you know what time I left yesterday? Nine o'clock!"
"Shall I ask him to transfer you to my department? And pick ten of mine to put in here? Because you're worth ten."
"He wouldn't let me," she said and giggled, obviously flattered.
"He'd be mad to let you go. Where would he find anyone as sharp as you?" She was oozing with satisfaction. I leaned over her desk, lowered my voice, and said to her conspiratorially, "Koula, can I ask you a favor?"
"Of course," she said immediately, ecstatic still and willing to do anything for me.
"I have to get back the report I left this morning. I forgot to include something. But I don't want him to know."
"It's still on his desk. I'll go and get it with the things from the outtray. He won't know anything."
"Let's hope that he won't ask for it while I've got it."
"I'll tell him that I've sent it to be photocopied, and I'll call you so you can bring it back to me." She gave me a crafty smile and went into his office.
That's great, the fox and the hen have hit it off and there's no one to touch them. A moment later, she came out holding a pile of papers. She went through them, found the report, and gave it to me.
"You're a treasure," I gushed.
I wasn't in any mood to put up with the elevator, so I took the stairs. "I'm up to the ears and I'm not here if anyone calls," I shouted to Thanassis and closed my office door.
I sat down and began going through the report. As luck would have it, he hadn't read it-there were none of his notes on it. He'd read the summary I'd sent him to get it down pat for the reporters, and he'd left the report for later, like always. Fortune was on my side that day: The final page had only five lines on it. I could easily add the new information to the end. If he asked me why I hadn't mentioned the five hundred thousand in the summary, I'd tell him that was why I'd sent the report along too, so that he could read the details there. I'd have him showing himself up for not having read the report promptly. I'd earn plus points without losing any. The points system was another one of the innovations that Ghikas had brought back with him from the FBI. When you solved a case, you got positive points; when you messed up, you got negative ones. All this is recorded in your file, and when the Official Council convenes to consider promotions, they study your file and count the positive and negative points. In the end, each new government appoints its own people, and you remain in the same position with your points in hand.
I began feverishly to write the last page so as not to waste time, but I hit a snag because something else was bugging me. The old woman had told me that the Albanian girl had been holding a bundle. If she was holding it in her hands, that meant it couldn't have been large. What could have been inside it, clothes? We didn't find any clothes. Jewelry, gold, antiques? This was the most likely. How else would these gypsy immigrants have come up with five hundred thousand? They were either thieves or go-betweens taking a cut. And the hovel in Karadimas Street was their hideaway. They stayed there till they'd handed over the goods and got the money. Afterward, they moved somewhere else. The good thing about this was that it left the Albanian out of it. Certainly if he'd killed them for the loot, he wasn't going to have left the money in the cistern. No, he was a jarring note in the case; he'd killed on account of Pakize. So, the business with the Albanian was settled; we could send him all wrapped up to the prosecutor's office. As for the rest, Ghikas could read the report and decide if he wanted to continue the investigation and who he'd assign it to. I'd collect the points and end up sitting pretty.
Then Karayoryi sprang to mind. Hadn't everything started with her? Wasn't she the one who'd got me all worked up about the child and sent me off to investigate? We hadn't found a child, of course, but the old women had seen something that looked like a bundle. What if it was a baby wrapped in a blanket? How could she have made that distinction in the dark?
I picked up the internal phone and told Thanassis to come into my office. While he was on his way, I added the last bit of information to the report and handed it to him.
"Give this to Koula and then come back, because I need you for something," I said to give myself a little time to make my decision.
Why did I want to get involved? Why didn't I let the case, if there was a case, take its official course? I'd had the department on its feet thousands of times, and in the end, nothing came of it and instead of points all I got was a tongue-lashing. This was why I'd never been sent for further training, not even to the Panteion School for seminars, let alone to the FBI.
Thanassis returned before long. He thought I had a job for him, and he stared at me with that look that said, "I'm a moron." "I know you're a moron," I replied, again with a look, "but I need your help."
"Be honest with me, Thanassis," I said to him, "is that Karayoryi woman hot for you, or am I wrong there?"
He wasn't expecting it, and he was flummoxed. He looked at me in both surprise and alarm. "What makes you think that, sir?" he mumbled. He didn't know what else to say.
"I'm asking because I happened to notice the way she looks at you, the smiles she gives you.... Come on, don't tell me you haven't noticed yourself?"
"It's just your imagination," he said quickly. "Why would she fancy me?"
"It depends.... She might be after you because you're a fine young thing. Or she may be coming on to you because she wants access to the department and wants a scoop ... or maybe both. .
"Am I one to talk?" he said in an offended tone. Not that he'd be the first.
"That's exactly what I want, for you to talk to her. I want you to phone her, supposedly confidentially, and tell her that you have some information for her. And when you're with her, I want you to find out what she knows about the child."
He stared at me dumbly. I waited for it to sink in, because, after all, he was a moron, as we said. "Let me explain, so you know," I said, after giving him a moment to think. "Two days ago, Karayoryi asked me whether the Albanians had a child. And yesterday, on the news, she said that we were looking for a child. It was a lie, but she must have had some reason for saying it. Today an old woman neighbor told me that she'd seen the couple getting out of a van and that the girl was carrying a bundle. The bundle might have been a baby that she couldn't see clearly in the dark. So I want you to find out just what it is that she knows and why she keeps dropping hints."
"Don't make me do this, please, sir," he stammered in obvious distress.
"What am I making you do, dimwit?" I don't call him a moron because we say that silently, like conspirators. "For years, you've got by in here through skiving, and I've always turned a blind eye! And once in a blue moon, when I send you on a job and pay your expenses and find you a chick, you start being difficult!"
"I don't want to get into trouble, sir. If anyone sees me and the people upstairs get to hear of it, I'll be in deep shit."
"Why should you get into any trouble? At worst, I'm the one who'll be in trouble for sending you. Or are you afraid that if it gets out, I'll play the fool and blame it all on you?"
"No," he said quickly, but then he began hemming and hawing again. "And then there's my girlfriend. If she finds out I was with another woman, I'll have real problems, and how am I going to explain things to her?"
"Send her to me and I'll give it to her in writing that you went on official business. Now get out of here and don't come back without the information."
&nb
sp; He stood there and stared at me like a frightened pup. "Be off with you!" I shouted, and he took to his heels.
I didn't give a shit about the points.
CHAPTER 8
Before going home, I stopped by the bank to get the thirty-five thousand that Adriani had asked me for. I wasn't proposing to give it to her that particular day, but everything had worked out well for me and I was in a good mood. First of all, I was sure about the Albanian. With him, at least, I was in no danger of slipping up. And second, I'd adjusted the report without Ghikas getting wind of it. Of course, the business with Karayoryi was far from foolproof because Thanassis wasn't the smartest guy on two wheels and if he let it slip that it was me who'd sent him to fish for information, Karayoryi would make it front-page news and I'd have a hurricane on my hands. But you can't have all the hatches secured; you have to take the occasional risk.
I had a bank card. It was Adriani's idea. For her own selfish ends, but, anyway, it was convenient for me. At first, she pestered me to open a joint account, but that I wouldn't hear of. I'd have been witless to make her a partner to my money and end up tearing my hair out when there was nothing left in the account. Not that she was a spendthrift, but I decided to leave her on a diet before she could work up an appetite. When she saw that she wasn't getting anywhere, she changed her tune and persuaded me to get a bank card. She thought that she'd be able to discover the code and sneak off with the card to withdraw whatever she wanted, but it never happened. I gave her thirty thousand each week for the housekeeping, and whenever she asked me for more, I let her wait a few days before forking it over. I always gave in, but not before making her life difficult so she wouldn't get carried away. The only thing she'd succeeded in doing was to send me off shopping now and again, supposedly because she hadn't time, so she could put the money she saved to one side.
I put the card into the slot. "Touch here for Greek," the message came on the screen, to show that it was cosmopolitan and I was a peasant. I decided to put one over on it though and touched the second key, which said: "Touch here for English." Not that I. understood everything it said in English, but I knew the sequence of keys blindfolded and I didn't care. It was as though I was repeating the conversation with Thanassis here too, silently, through the eyes: "I'm a moron"-"I know you're a moron." Except that I was the moron now because the machine told me everything I had to do, spelling it out, just in case I didn't understand and flubbed.
I withdrew fifty thousand and went home. Adriani was sitting in her usual spot, in her armchair, with the remote control in her hand. Except that this time it wasn't the policeman she was watching, it was some other guy who'd married the mother and wanted to screw the daughter, but the daughter was having none of it. I stood over her, and, just as every other evening, she was either not aware of me or she simply ignored me. I took the thirty-five thousand, which I'd already counted, out of my pocket, and, without saying a word, I let it fall into her lap. It surprised her, totally absorbed as she was by the daughter and stepfather; the girl was swearing at him, and he, evidently a masochist, was sweet-talking her. Just for a moment Adriani moved her gaze from the screen and stared into her lap. Her left hand suddenly grabbed the five-thousand notes while her right let go of the remote control. She leapt up, and the control fell to the floor.
"Costas, dear!" she cried in delight, "Thank you, darling!" She held me to her and put her lips to my cheek.
On the screen, the daughter slapped her stepfather, and the scene was brusquely concluded. The policeman reappeared and at once began bellowing. But Adriani had forgotten all about this and was holding me tight in her arms as if she already had her hands on the boots. And when she let go of me, she stooped and picked up the control.
"To hell with it. I'm fed up with it. All the same stuff!" she said crossly and pressed the button while looking at me with a crafty smile, as if to say: "You see? If you bought me a pair of boots every day, I'd never watch TV again!"
For the rest of the evening, till it was time for the news bulletin, she hung on to me and her tongue never stopped wagging. She went on and on-about how life had become so much more expensive, and how five years before, a pair of shoes had cost only five or six thousand, whereas now you needed twenty thousand, about the expensive supermarket across the street and how she went to Sklaveni- tis's, which was three blocks away but was cheaper, and how glad she was that Katerina was coming because she missed her terribly. It was all bullshit, wool over my eyes, apart from the Katerina bit. Because she did miss her terribly, as I did. She'd literally wilted since the day Katerina left for Thessaloniki, and lived only for her coming home at Christmas, Easter, and during the summer holidays. The periods between were empty waiting periods that she filled with housework, television, and the little daily games of getting her own back on me.
At nine o'clock, I switched on the television to watch the news, and who should be on but Ghikas. He wasn't at all short, but sitting behind that enormous desk, he was barely visible, like a man drowning, struggling to stay above water. He seemed to be sinking under the microphones. He'd reeled off the summary by heart, without getting stuck anywhere. Kouvelos, our history teacher at high school, would have given him ten out of ten. He said nothing about the five hundred thousand or the van, a sign that he hadn't taken the trouble to read the full account. If the reporters discovered it later, he'd get around it by saying that the investigations were ongoing and he was unable to give any more details.
We lounged around for another two hours, first supper, then the ads with breaks for a film on TV, a bit of chat, and, by eleven, we'd had enough and went to bed. I was already tucked up and ready to prop Liddell & Scott on my stomach when Adriani came and lay down next to me. She was wearing a pale blue nightdress with embroidery on the chest. It was virtually transparent, because her white panties shone through underneath. She was ready to reach for her Viper on the bedside table when I put down Liddell & Scott and reached for her. I pulled her on top of me with one hand while I thrust the other under her nightdress and began caressing her left leg. I took her by surprise, and, at first, she froze, then she stretched out her arm and began caressing my back, giving me a back massage. It wasn't that I was desperate to make love, but somehow she had to pay me back for the thirty-five thousand and for my making things easy for her. My generosity deserved some reward. My hand moved higher, got as far as the elastic in her panties and tugged at it. She bent her knees slightly to help me, then straightened them again and held them tight together because she knew how I liked to shove my hand between her legs and part them.
About halfway through, I was already regretting it and wanted to get up and go, as if from a boring play at the intermission. Adriani's moaning and groaning made things worse. Half the time, the bitch faked orgasm and thought I wasn't aware of it. If every time it happened, I nabbed her and took her in, she'd have received a life sentence for repeated fraud. I'd look at Katerina and wonder how I'd produced a girl like that from a faked orgasm.
Adriani's groans ceased the instant I came. She leapt up and left the bedroom. She didn't realize that that was how I knew she was faking. When we come and she stays in bed counting her breaths, it means that she had a real orgasm. When she rushes to the bathroom to wash herself, as if I had gonorrhea, then she's faking.
I was holding Liddell & Scott and about to open it when I heard the phone ring in the living room. That was another one of Adriani's little quirks. She wouldn't agree to having a line in the bedroom because she didn't want it to wake her on those occasional nights when they needed to contact me, with the result that I had to spring in a panic from the bedroom to the living room, not to mention that I slept every night with the fear of not hearing the damn thing.
It had rung a dozen times or so before I lifted the receiver.
"Hello," I said, out of breath.
"Get over to Hellas Channel immediately," Ghikas said sharply at the other end of the line. "I want you to go yourself. Don't send anyone else."
> "Is it something serious?" I asked like a moron, as it had to be serious or he wouldn't be sending me.
"Yanna Karayoryi's been murdered." I was thunderstruck, unable to utter a word. "I want you in my office at nine in the morning with all the details. Before you have your croissant." He stressed this last to demonstrate that he had his eyes everywhere and that nothing escaped him.
I heard him hang up, but I remained rooted to the spot, the receiver stuck to my hand.
CHAPTER 9
I found her sitting in front of the wall of mirrors. She wasn't looking into the mirror. She was leaning back in the chair, her head thrown back, and she was looking up at the ceiling. It was as if she'd been murdered while stretching. Her arms hung lifeless at her sides. She was wearing an olive green dress with gold buttons, and she had a scarf around her neck. It was the first time I'd seen her in a dress, and I stood there taking it all in. It made me wonder what suited her best, a dress or trousers-as if it mattered now. She was all made up: eyeliner, rouge, and a faded red lipstick, like the blood left by barbecued meat. There were no signs of violence on her face and the makeup was untouched. She'd been getting ready, it seemed, to appear on the late-night news. That was strange, because they usually have the live reports on the nine o'clock news and put the rehashed stuff on late at night.
The metal rod had gone through her left side, below the lung, and had come out slanting upward, pinning her to the chair. It reminded one somewhat of the jousting of medieval knights, who ran each other through: Ivanhoe or Richard the Lionhearted. Not that I'd ever read about them as such; I only read dictionaries, but my father once tried to educate me and bought me all the "Illustrated Classics." That's how I know them, from the printed form of TV, literature as cartoons.
"What sort of rod is that?" I asked Stellio from the records department, who was photographing the corpse so that they could remove the murder weapon and Markidis, the coroner, could get to work.
Deadline in Athens kj-1 Page 5
