Deadline in Athens kj-1

by Petros Markaris

  I saw them freeze on the spot, speechless, and suddenly Mrs. Kolakoglou's words came to mind: "I won't say I'm glad she was killed, but there's such a thing as divine retribution."

  CHAPTER 21

  "Can you tell me what time it happened?"

  Markidis slowly got up from the corpse. He didn't reply straightaway. He looked at his watch and did his calculations.

  "It's twelve now. I'd say about seventeen hours have passed, so that means she was killed between six and eight yesterday evening."

  Great. While I was listening to Thanassis giving me the report on Kolakoglou, someone was murdering Martha Kostarakou ten blocks up from my house.

  She was lying facedown in front of me, next to the sofa. One arm was under her body, while the other, the left one, was stretched out at her side. As though she'd tripped after getting blind drunk and had fallen flat on the floor. She was wearing jeans, a pullover, and those Dutch clogs.

  "She was strangled, right?"

  "Yes. With wire or wire cord."

  He bent down and pulled her hair back. Her head was resting to one side and was facing her arm. A scar, rather like a gash, ran along the left side of her neck. The trickle of blood to either side of it had dried.

  "That wound was made by wire," Markidis said. "Rope and cord don't leave scars like that. He strangled her while she was on her feet and let her fall to the floor when she was dead."

  "Was he strong?"

  "Yes, just like with the other woman. We're probably talking about the same person."

  I knew what this meant and I didn't like it at all. If he'd strangled her with her own scarf or with a cord, then it would have been the same as in the case of Karayoryi. It would mean that he hadn't come with the intention of killing her but had decided on the spot, taking hold of whatever he could find to do the job. But in this case, the murderer had come prepared. And if he was the same person, as Markidis supposed, then he'd progressed from a murder committed on impulse to a premeditated one. In other words, from bad to worse.

  Besides, the flat spoke for itself. Someone had ransacked it. Drawers hung open, papers were strewn all over the floor. The books from the fitted bookcase were scattered to the four corners of the room. He'd been frantically looking for something that Kostarakou hadthat's why he'd killed her, I thought to myself. The officers who'd arrived in the patrol car had found the front door to the flat half open, but the lock hadn't been broken. Kostarakou must have let him in. Just as Karayoryi had been sitting with him before he killed her. Markidis's theory seemed to be right. It was the same murderer and he was known to both of them. So, it must have been someone from their circle. Petratos again came to mind. Maybe his affair with Karayoryi had been even more complicated. Maybe Karayoryi had found out something about him, from when they were together, and was blackmailing him. But why would Petratos suppose that Karayoryi had told his secret to Kostarakou? He knew that they couldn't stand each other. One thing for sure was that Kostarakou had known far more than she'd told me. I'd told her the night I was coming out of Petratos's office that she'd land herself in trouble, but she hadn't listened.

  The letter I'd found in Karayoryi's desk now acquired even greater importance. If the one who had threatened her in writing was Nestor Petratos, then it was all as clear as daylight. He'd learned from Kostarakou about the telephone call she'd received from Karayoryi, but he hadn't believed her. He was sure that he'd find in Kostarakou's place what he was looking for and killed her in order to get it. That was why the door hadn't been forced. Kostarakou wouldn't have thought twice about opening the door to Petratos. But if N was not Petratos, we were in a real mess, because it meant that there had to be a third suspect.

  Sotiris came out of the bedroom and interrupted my thoughts. "It's just as bad in there," he said.

  "Have you found anything?"

  "Like what? It's not like we know what we're looking for."

  "The anonymous telephone call. Was it from a man or a woman?"

  "From a woman, but she didn't call us. She called the Emergency Unit."

  "He must have been in a hurry. Otherwise he'd have seen that he hadn't closed the front door properly."

  "Can we exclude the possibility that the woman who found her had a key? She entered the flat, saw the body in front of her, and in her confusion ran out and left the door open."

  "We can't exclude it, no, but it's unlikely. If it was someone who had a key, a cleaner for example, she'd have started screaming and alerted the neighbors. The woman who found her couldn't have known Kostarakou. The door was open, she came in, saw her dead, and left quietly. Then she called to inform us, or the Emergency Unit, without giving her name so as to avoid getting involved."

  Sotiris looked at me pensively. "Who could that have been?" he said, at a loss because no one came to mind.

  "It was probably one of those women who carry out research or advertising campaigns. She'd have taken to her heels, afraid she might lose a day's work. Have you found any wire or wire cord?"

  No.

  "That's what he used to strangle her with. Have you talked to the neighbors?"

  "Yes. The ones above and below were at home yesterday evening, but they heard nothing."

  For them not to have heard any disturbance meant that Kostarakou didn't put up a struggle. He'd killed her just like Karayoryi, suddenly, when she wasn't expecting it. Both of them had known him and hadn't suspected him. That's how he'd been able to take them unawares. He did what he'd come to do, put the wire back in his pocket, and left as quietly as he'd come.

  "Did they see any stranger coming or going between six and eight, when the murder took place?"

  "I asked, but they saw no one. There's no super in the building. The woman in the shop opposite says that it's a big block and there are always lots of people coming and going. She didn't see anyone who looked odd to her."

  "Why should the murderer look odd to her, Sotiris? He wouldn't have a sign on his forehead, would he?"

  I was in a vile temper and I took it out on him, though he was in no way to blame. He understood and remained calm.

  "I'm gonna go see Ghikas," I said and patted him on the back. "He'll be waiting for a report. If you find out anything new, call me at the station."

  Koula had been waiting for me. As soon as she saw me come in, she jumped to her feet.

  "God, what's happened now?" she said, trying to pass her curiosity off as concern. "Are all your people suffering from a death epidemic?"

  "My people? Since when do I work for the TV channels?"

  "That's not what I meant," she replied, giving me one of those playful smiles that she used to bring Ghikas to his knees. "It's just that with all the dealings you have with them, you've become rather hand in glove. They're downstairs now, waiting for you." She nodded in the direction of Ghikas's office. "He didn't want to see them and sent them to you."

  The good guy and the bad guy. He was the good guy who gave them the good news and feathered his own nest. I was the bad guy who was left to sort out the mess.

  "Can I go in?" I asked Koula.

  "Do you have to ask? He's like a cat on hot bricks."

  Apparently Koula meant what she said because I found Ghikas standing behind his desk. He indicated that I should sit down in a chair while he sat on the edge of his own.

  "Well?" he said impatiently.

  I gave him all the information, piece by piece, along with Markidis's view that we were dealing with the same murderer. He looked at me thoughtfully.

  "Do you think it's the same person?" He said eventually.

  "All the evidence points to that."

  He let out a huge sigh as if he'd missed winning the lottery by just one number. "Then the likelihood of Kolakoglou being the culprit becomes more remote. Even if he made good on his threat and killed Karayoryi, he had no motive whatsoever for killing Kostarakou."

  With difficulty I refrained from saying, "I told you so," but he took the sting out of my tail.

  "And
for the same reason, Petratos couldn't have killed them either," he added, without concealing his satisfaction at having proven me wrong. "You got me into hot water with Delopoulos for no reason. Let's suppose that he killed Karayoryi because she left him and was a threat to his job. It's a bit far-fetched, but let's suppose it's true. Why, then, did he kill Kostarakou?"

  "He'd have a reason if she was blackmailing him."

  "Blackmailing him? Kostarakou?" It seemed incredible to him.

  "Let's say she had some evidence to prove that Petratos had murdered Karayoryi. She said nothing about it to me when I questioned her, but she went to Petratos and blackmailed him. She saw it as an opportunity to get something out of it for herself. Let's not forget that he'd brushed her aside to promote Karayoryi. Petratos told her that he'd come to her flat so they could discuss it. He went armed with the wire and strangled her. Then he turned her home inside out, searching for the incriminating evidence. Karayoryi sat down and talked to the killer. Wouldn't she have talked to Petratos? Kostarakou opened the door to him. She wouldn't have opened it to Kolakoglou, most likely, but to Petratos, why not? And both victims were killed instantly, unsuspecting. Would it have crossed their minds that they were in danger from Petratos? The profile fits perfectly."

  I'd kept the "profile" for the end. It was the icing on the cake. He listened pensively and silently.

  "All that might work as a hypothesis," he said cautiously, "on condition that Petratos is without an alibi. If, for example, he was in the studio at the time of the second murder, then your entire theory falls to pieces."

  "He goes to the studio at seven-thirty, an hour and a half before the main news bulletin. I verified it before coming to see you. Markidis says that the murder happened between six and eight. If he killed her around six, he'd have an hour and a half to get from Ieronos Street to Spata. In his haste, he left the front door open. My mistake was that I didn't investigate him more thoroughly from the beginning."

  It was as if I were saying to him: "My mistake was that I let myself be talked out of it by you, you and Delopoulos, and that I didn't do what I knew was right." He swallowed the bitter pill just as I used to swallow the cod-liver oil my mother used to give me to make me strong.

  "In other words, we've found the murderer? So we can give up on Kolakoglou?"

  He was fishing for any other little morsel. Keep hold of yourself, Haritos, don't let this one run away with itself, I thought to myself. Blow hot and cold.

  "No, it's still a hypothesis. We're still looking for Kolakoglou."

  "If we had a sample of Petratos's handwriting, that would shed some useful light," he said with some reluctance.

  I'd willingly have got my own back, but the more I thought of it, the more my satisfaction abated. "To some extent."

  "Why only to some extent?"

  "Let's suppose that it was Petratos who wrote the letters. That doesn't prove that he killed her. And vice versa. Karayoryi had her finger in a number of pies. Maybe someone else had threatened her, and that doesn't leave Petratos in the clear. There's a pile of other incriminating evidence. Let me first find out where Petratos was yesterday evening between six and eight. We can take it from there."

  "If we suppose that Kostarakou was killed by the other person, the one she was blackmailing, how did he know that what he was looking for was at Kostarakou's?"

  "From the news. They made Karayoryi's phone call to Kostarakou public knowledge."

  All he could find to say to me before I left was to keep him informed. For no other reason than to cling to a little honor.

  As soon as they saw me coming along the hall, they ran up to me, as if I were returning from some long journey. I looked around, trying to pick out some unknown face among them, the new reporter for Hellas Channel, but all the faces were familiar and I was left wondering.

  "I appreciate your concern and I know what you're feeling at this moment," I said in a mournful tone. "This makes two of your colleagues murdered in the space of a few days. But for the time being, all I can tell you about is the actual murder."

  And I began to let them have it, holding nothing back. They pushed their microphones at me and listened in silence. I finished, and they still kept silent. The shock prevented them from pressuring me to give them something more as they normally did. Only that tiny woman, the one with the red stockings, asked me eventually: "Do you believe the murderer to be the same person, Inspector?"

  "The first indications suggest to us that we are dealing with the same person.

  Another one plucked up courage and asked: "Do you still believe the murderer to be Kolakoglou?"

  "At this moment in time, we are investigating every possibility. We cannot exclude anything."

  So saying, I took a step forward to break through the wall they'd formed around me. They silently stepped back and let me pass. Thanassis, who'd been listening to my statement from the door of the office, followed behind me.

  "What are we going to do about Kolakoglou?" he said. "Shall we continue the search?"

  Logic dictated that I call off the hunt and leave him in peace. Even Ghikas would have no objections now. On the other hand, though, the hunt for Kolakoglou did, as they said, throw dust in the eyes of Delopoulos and Petratos, and it left me with a free hand.

  "Continue with it until I give the word to stop," I said to Thanassis.

  "But do you seriously believe that Kolakoglou killed both Karayoryi and Kostarakou?"

  I heard Sotiropoulos's voice behind me and turned. He'd entered unheard. He leaned against the wall, next to the door, and gave me an ironic look.

  "Carry on, I'll see you later," I said to Thanassis.

  Sotiropoulos watched Thanassis leave, then sat, uninvited, in the chair facing me.

  "Petratos died along with Kostarakou," he said, not disguising his pleasure.

  "How so?"

  "Don't you see. He built Kolakoglou up to be the murderer, and now he'll have to admit that he was wrong. He's embarrassed the channel, and Delopoulos won't forgive him for it." He gazed at me. Behind the round glasses, his two beady eyes were full of glee. "Did you see my report yesterday?" he said.

  "Yes."

  "Tonight, I'm going to take it a bit further. Who benefited from Kolakoglou's conviction. And who are the ones still using him as a scapegoat? As of tomorrow, Petratos will be yesterday's news."

  "Why do you dislike him so much?"

  He was surprised by my question. Then he grew serious and seemed to hesitate.

  "I have my reasons, but they're personal," he said eventually. "But one thing I will tell you. Petratos got to where he is by treading on others. I'll be only too pleased if he comes toppling down."

  "You'd be even more pleased if he was the murderer."

  He stared at me, trying to guess where I was going. "Why?" he said. "Do you suspect him?"

  "Hate always gives rise to suspicions. In every direction."

  He burst out laughing. "Do you suspect me too?"

  I didn't reply. I left it in the air, to make him come out with more. "I admit that I'd enjoy seeing him in handcuffs, and I'd enjoy sticking the microphone in his face so he could tell me why he killed them. But that's just a pipe dream. Petratos didn't kill them. You have to look elsewhere."

  "You're keeping something from me."

  "No, on my word. But instinct tells me that something else is behind the two murders, something that we can't imagine." He got up and went toward the door. "You'll see that I'm right. My instinct never fails me," he said as he went out.

  I turned my gaze to the window and tried to guess what he meant. Was he keeping something from me? Very probably.

  On the old woman's balcony, the cat had squeezed between two plant pots and was looking at the passersby on the street, with its face pressed against the railings. It was already December, and if you excluded two days of bitter cold, outside it was like an oven. The weather was all over the place.

  CHAPTER 22

  Petratos lived on Ass
imakopoulou Street, next to the Aghia Paraskevi Youth Center. It was one of those new apartment buildings built for PR people, business executives, and academics living off EUfunded programs. There was no place to park in front of the entrance, as was usually the case, but instead a garden with a lawn and flowers. There was a separate underground garage. The doorbells were connected to a closed-circuit TV, so that they could refuse to let you in if they didn't like the look of you.

  I picked a name at random and was about to ring when I saw a woman coming out of the elevator. As she opened the door, I darted inside. Petratos lived on the second floor. Each floor had three flats: two side by side and the other one on its own, across from the other two. I began with the one nearest to the elevator.

  "Yes?" said the Filipino girl who opened the door.

  The times were long past when well-to-do families brought girls from the villages to do all the chores and, in addition, give their darling son his first lessons in screwing. Today, you ring the bell, some Filipino girl opens the door, her English is broken, yours is irreparable, and you're supposed to communicate.

  As soon as I said the word "police," she began trembling. Presumably, she was working illegally. "No problem, no here for you," I said to her, and my fluent English immediately put her at ease. I asked her whether she knew Petratos, whether she'd seen him the previous evening either coming or going and at what time. The answer to my first question was yes, to the other two no, and after the second no, she shut the door in my face.

  I rang the bell of the flat that was next to Petratos's and this time fortune smiled on me. A sixty-year-old woman, and one of our people, opened the door. I explained who I was, showed her my badge, and she ushered me in. When I asked her about Petratos, she went into raptures.

  "But of course I know Mr. Petratos! A wonderful man!"

  "Do you happen to know what time he usually leaves his house in the evenings?"

  "Why?" she said, suddenly suspicious.

  I leaned over toward her as if about to divulge a Masonic secret. "You'll have heard of the murder of the two reporters at Hellas Channel, where Mr. Petratos works."