Deadline in Athens kj-1

by Petros Markaris

  I made an effort to come back down to earth, because I was ready to let the sleuth reporter, the defaced news editor, and the pederast tax consultant go to hell. I called Sotiris on the internal line. I told him to find out everything he could about Petratos. Who he mixed with at the studio, who he was at odds with, who his friends were, the places he frequented. And above all, what time he'd left the studio on the night of the murder, if anyone had seen him leaving, and where he'd gone after he left. And all that discreetly, without him getting wind of the inquiries.

  When Sotiris had gone, I realized that I had to do everything in my life discreetly, and I began cursing my fate. I had to be discreet with Petratos so that Delopoulos wouldn't find out and make my life difficult. I had to be discreet with Adriani so as not to upset Katerina. I had to be discreet with Ghikas so as not to lose points. Fortunately, at that moment, Thanassis came in to say that the patrol car was ready and stopped me sinking any further into the pit.

  CHAPTER 18

  It wasn't raining now, but the sky and I had that popular song in common. Gray clouds and gray moods. Kolakoglou's mother lived in Kallithea, on Argonafton Street, which ran parallel to Davaki Street. I told the driver to switch the siren on; otherwise we'd have taken an hour to get from Vassileos Konstantinou Avenue to Amalias Avenue and then to Thiseos Street. Fortunately, the traffic wasn't too heavy on Thiseos Street and we switched off the siren because it gets on my nerves. We soon got to Davaki Street. It took us less than five minutes to get from there to Argonafton Street.

  Mrs. Kolakoglou lived on the second floor of a four-story building. It was a cheap construction that had already begun decaying. The balconies had iron railings and geraniums. The builder skimped on the railings and the tenants on the geraniums. I told the sergeant who had come with me to ring one of the other bells. Not that Kolakoglou would have been there, but you never know. We didn't want to warn him and let him get away.

  There were four flats on the second floor. Mrs. Kolakoglou's was next to the elevator. She opened the door as though she'd been expecting us. She was a shriveled, gray-haired old woman dressed in black. She may have been in mourning for her husband and for the calamity that had befallen her four years previously. She didn't know me, but as soon as she set eyes on the others in uniform, she froze. I pushed her aside and entered the flat.

  "Search it!" I said to the others in a tough voice. "Turn everything upside down!" But what was there to turn upside down? A living room and two bedrooms, kitchen and bathroom, seventy square meters at most. The first bedroom was the mother's; the second was the son's. I went into the second one. The bed had a cover and embroidered pillows. On the bedside table was an alarm clock, a battery-operated radio, and a box of sleeping pills. I opened the fitted cupboards. Three suits, not tailored ones but ready-to-wear, and five shirts that Sotiropoulos would never have worn, because they weren't Armani, but had the air of a factory. They were all hanging in a row and with space between them so that they wouldn't get creased. The meticulousness of the housewife.

  "He's not here, I swear it." I heard her whimpering voice behind me.

  I spun around. "Where is he?" I snapped.

  "I don't know."

  "You do know and you're hiding him."

  "No, I swear. I don't know and I'm worried."

  "If you want what's best for him, tell him to come out of hiding because it'll end badly for him. He's looking at a life sentence."

  "Why a life sentence? What has he done?"

  I didn't answer because I didn't know the answer. "When did you see him last?"

  "On the day they killed-" She couldn't get Karayoryi's name out. "On the day they killed her. He went out early that evening. I waited for him at night, but he didn't come back. He called me to say he was all right and told me not to worry."

  "What time did he call?"

  "About one in the morning. I'd gone to bed and he woke me."

  He disappeared because he'd murdered Karayoryi or because he was scared when he saw it on the TV and so went into hiding?

  "Where might he be hiding? Does he have any friends or relatives?"

  "We don't have anyone. They all turned their backs on Petros and me. There's just the two of us now." Her shriveled body collapsed on the bed and she began weeping. "He wasn't even a month in his own home. I left the old neighborhood and came here, where no one knows him, to change surroundings and help him to forget. And in less than a month, he's on the run again like a wild animal."

  "Where did you live before?"

  "In Keratsini. But people kept pointing ine out, and I couldn't live there anymore."

  The sergeant came in and indicated to me that they had found nothing. I didn't expect them to find anything. It was simply a ruse. If any reporter asked her, she'd say that we'd been around looking for him. I was shutting mouths, as Ghikas would say.

  "Tell your son to come out of hiding. Sooner or later we'll find him. He's only making it worse for himself."

  "If he calls me, I'll tell him," she said, between sobs. Even if she did tell him, he'd follow the first rule of prison, which teaches you to hide and stay there, whether you're guilty or not.

  When I got back to the station, I found Sotiropoulos standing in front of my office door, waiting for me.

  "What are you doing here at this time? Have you run out of stories?" Usually by one o'clock they'd all gone back to their studios to get their reports ready.

  He smiled and followed me into the room. "It's my turn to make a little coup."

  He sat down and stretched out his legs to his great pleasure. I pretended not to hear what he'd said and thumbed through the papers that I'd read that morning as though I was revising my lesson.

  "Be quick about it, because I'm up to my neck."

  "Just between us, honestly now, do you think it was Kolakoglou who killed her?"

  "I don't know. We're trying to find him. When we do, we'll question him. I'll let you know."

  He laughed again. "You're wasting your time. All that's bullshit thought up by Petratos. Only an idiot like Petratos would go on air with a red herring like that."

  "It's no red herring. He threatened Karayoryi in public, or have you forgotten?"

  "Pity, I thought you were smarter than that. Kolakoglou is small fry. A pervert, but small fry. He did his thing by using candy and chocolate. Can you imagine him killing anyone, and in such a savage way? Not to mention that he might have also ended up a victim."

  "Victim? How come?"

  He had succeeded in getting my attention. Behind his round glasses, he had a wily glint in his eyes, just like Himmler when he flushed out Jews hidden in attics.

  "Have you been around to Kolakoglou's old office recently?"

  "No. Neither recently nor in the past. I've never been there."

  "You'll find yourself in an enormous office for what it is, accounting and tax matters. They're lousy with money. And do you know who owns it?"

  "Who?"

  "The parents of the two girls. They banded together and kept the business going." He fell silent and stared at me. I waited for him to go on. "Who's to say they didn't get him denounced as a pederast to get their hands on his business? Kolakoglou was fond of the two little girls, he never tried to hide it. It wasn't difficult for the parents to claim that there was some grubbier motive behind the sweets and cakes. And it's easy to tell two little girls what to say. I'm not saying that that's what happened, but it's worth looking into. The girls must be in high school now. If I can talk to them, they might have a very different story to tell today."

  He came out with it all in one go. He took a deep breath and stared at me, pleased as punch with himself. Before we came up with Karayoryi's murderer, we'd end up with a dozen indictments, a couple of suicides, and who knows what else.

  "If I turn out to be right, that'll be the coup de grace for Petratos. He's already on the way out."

  "Petratos?"

  "Didn't you know? Delopoulos has him lined up for dismissal.
But what with Karayoryi's murder and everything, he's safe for the time being. That's why he stirred up all the business with Kolakoglou. He's desperate for a big story so as to keep his job. But he's made a pig's ear of that too." He adopted his wily look again. "Word has it that Delopoulos had Karayoryi earmarked for his job."

  "Why didn't you tell me all this yesterday?" I said curtly.

  "What was there to tell? There was no Kolakoglou on the scene yesterday. He came into the equation last night." He thought he'd left me speechless. "I didn't say anything to you yesterday, because I didn't know anything. Now that I do know, I've come to tell you. It shows my good intentions." He got to his feet, but he didn't leave. He stood there, looking at me. "You owe me one," he said.

  Of course, I was under no delusion that everything he'd told me was purely out of kindness. "Okay, but all I can give you is a postdated check. When I learn something, I'll let you know."

  "Come on, Inspector. What did you get out of Kolakoglou's mother?" he asked in a tone that showed there was nothing he didn't know.

  "Nothing. He disappeared on the day of the murder and hasn't been home since. All he did was call to say he was all right. At least, that's what his mother says."

  He didn't believe me, but that didn't bother him, especially as he'd come with another purpose. He'd wanted to make Petratos seem unreliable and he'd succeeded. Why did Petratos keep cropping up? Without knowing it, Sotiropoulos had provided me with another piece of information. Karayoryi had wanted his job, and so he'd had another reason to hate her. What man wouldn't hate the bitch who first used him, then dumped him, and finally stole his job?

  When Sotiropoulos had gone, I shouted Thanassis in and told him to put out a call to the police stations in Keratsini, Perama, and Nikaia to be on the lookout for Kolakoglou. Logically, he wouldn't go where everyone knew him, but in this line of work, you often find a lead where you're least expecting it.

  CHAPTER 19

  I found her just like every evening, in front of the TV, the remote control in her hand. I thought of going straight into the bedroom and getting comfortable with my dictionary, but I recalled the promise I'd made to Katerina and I went into the living room.

  "Good evening."

  She didn't reply, or even turn around to look at me. She simply straightened her head slightly, at the same time sticking out her lower jaw-as Markidis might put it-while her hand squeezed the remote control, a sign that she'd heard me but was determined to ignore me. I understood. It wasn't enough that I'd made the first step with my good evening greeting. She wanted me to sit down beside her and begin the mollycoddling, while she pulled away and told me that she wasn't going to put up with my vile manners anymore and while I told her that she was in the right, that it was the pressures and stress of work that were to blame, and after wasting the best part of three-quarters of an hour like that, she'd finally come around, warning me that it was the last time she was going to give in, while in real life it would always be the time before the last time, because the last time would never come. She didn't get a chance though, because by talking to her I'd fulfilled my obligation to Katerina, and I had no intention of going any further. To my great delight, I was able to stick to my original plan. If Katerina phoned me, I'd say that I'd made an effort, but that it was Adriani who was still sulking and I'd let her get on to her mother.

  Produce ... profess ... I was lying on the bed, looking up Ghikas's "profile" in the Oxford English-Greek Learner's Dictionary. I'd kept my shoes on deliberately to annoy Adriani, so she'd start shouting and be forced to talk to me or go on sulking, in which case I'd lie on the bed every evening with my shoes on for as long as we weren't talking. There it was: Profile = 1. a side view, outline, or representation of a human object, esp. of a human face or head. 2. a short biographical sketch of a subject. So that's what he'd meant. We used to call it a description, now it had become a profile. The description of Kolakoglou fits the description of Karayoryi's murderer. Plain language, so we knew what we were talking about. But did it fit? Apart from the threat, which had nothing to do with his description, nothing else fitted. Sotiropoulos had been right. We were trying to turn Kolakoglou, who'd seduced two little girls with candy and chocolate, into a cold-blooded murderer. Apart from the likelihood of his coming up with an alibi and making us look foolish, there was one other consideration. According to the coroner's report, the murderer had to have been tall and strongly built. That's what Markidis had told me on the night of the murder, and he'd repeated it in his report. Kolakoglou was five foot nothing in height and all shriveled up like his mother. Where would he have found the strength to strike a blow like that at Karayoryi? Then again, if in the end it turned out that Kolakoglou had indeed been the killer, it wouldn't have been the first time that the coroner had made a mistake.

  The profile-I decided to use the word so as to get used to it, given that sooner or later I'd be getting it thrown at me all the time-fitted Petratos much better. First of all, he had the necessary build. He was around six foot and stocky. He gave the impression of being a milksop, but he would definitely have had the strength to stick the lamp stand into Karayoryi's breast. Which would also explain why a knife or pistol or some other murder weapon wasn't used. Petratos hadn't gone with the intention of killing her. He'd made up his mind on the spot; the rod was in hand and he'd run her through with it. He'd had a motive: Karayoryi was digging his grave. But then so did Kolakoglou: She'd dug his three years earlier. Karayoryi had known them both; she wouldn't have been surprised to see either of them there. She would have been more cautious in Kolakoglou's case, since he had threatened her, but she was so self-assured and so arrogant she may not have given much thought to it.

  A knock at the door woke me from my thoughts. I was surprised, as Adriani hadn't accustomed me to such niceties. When the door opened, it was Thanassis I saw, looking at me with an embarrassed smile.

  "Excuse me, but your wife told me that you weren't sleeping."

  I jumped up from the bed. "What's going on?"

  "Nothing," he said reassuringly. "I was just passing, and I thought I'd update you on Kolakoglou."

  He did that occasionally. He showed overwhelming zeal in order to get himself into my good graces, but only when he was sure that it wouldn't result in his having to run about or sacrifice his comforts.

  I led him into the living room. Adriani had realized that we would be coming in there and had switched off the TV. She was excessively sweet and polite to Thanassis. She asked him how he was, how his family was, gave him coffee and cookies. She didn't even give me a glance, let alone a coffee.

  "We had our work cut out with Kolakoglou," Thanassis said, after having had his fill of Adriani's attentions. "By six o'clock, we'd had thirty calls. Twenty-five local ones, two from Thessaloniki, one from Larissa, one from Kastoria, and one from Rhodes."

  "What did you expect? They've put him up for auction. Are there any developments?"

  He fell silent, but evidently he had a card up his sleeve that he thought was an ace and he was getting ready to produce it. "He was recognized by a clerk while buying a ticket at the bus station, in Kifisos."

  "When?"

  "Yesterday. From what he remembers, he bought a ticket for Thessaloniki." That was it. Not an ace-at a pinch, a seven of spades. But he wasn't aware of it and he went on undeterred. "So the calls from Thessaloniki must have been genuine."

  "And the one from Rhodes?" I said peaceably. "From Thessaloniki he took the plane to Rhodes for a holiday?"

  It was only then that it dawned on him that something wasn't right with his logic and he reassumed the profile of the moron.

  "Did you find the ticket inspector from the bus?"

  "None of the inspectors remembers seeing him, but that doesn't mean much. The inspectors don't look at the passengers, they only look at the tickets. If he hid his face behind a newspaper, the inspector wouldn't have seen him at all."

  "Did it occur to you that he might never have boarded the bus,
that he might have bought the ticket to throw us off? Or that he might have got off at some other stop?"

  "Do you think he's that smart?"

  "Every lowlife that's ever been to prison learns half a dozen things in order to be able to survive. That's as smart as he needs to be. Does he have relatives or friends in Thessaloniki?"

  My question put him in a difficult position. "I don't know. We haven't looked into that yet."

  "You should have looked into that first. Because if he doesn't have people there he can trust, where's he going to hide? Wherever he goes, we'll find him. You want my opinion? He's still here, in Athens. He can lie low here better than anywhere else. And if those shitty reporters find him before we do, Ghikas will have something to say about it."

  I remembered that it was time for the news and I pressed the remote control. Nervous and anxious, Thanassis watched me. I really did hope that Sotiropoulos and his crew hadn't flushed him out. He could say whatever he liked, but I was sure that he was looking for him, too, if for no other reason than to put one over on Petratos. He was the only one who might find him. Kostarakou didn't inspire much confidence.

  That was why I tuned first to Horizon, Sotiropoulos's channel. He was in an office, holding a microphone and talking to a woman with dark hair and well past her best. I didn't know who she was because I'd not been involved in the Kolakoglou case. From his questions, I gathered that she was the mother of one of the girls, one of the ones who had got their hands on the consultancy business. Sotiropoulos was trying to get her to explain how she and the father of the other girl had come to be co-owners of Kolakoglou's business. The woman was furious, refused to answer, told him to leave, but he stood there undeterred. In the end, the woman threatened to call the police. The poor woman didn't realize that this was precisely what Sotiropoulos was after: to show her angry, scared, and hostile.