Deadline in Athens kj-1

by Petros Markaris

  There were other clippings from the daily press and from financial magazines. The majority of them related to the successes of the "Py larinos Group," as if it were a soccer team that had won the championship.

  Beneath the clippings was a map of the world, taken from a school atlas. Someone, using a red felt-tip pen, had marked almost all the main cities of the Balkans and Central Europe, as well as those of America and Canada. These had been connected using different colors. For example, seven green arrows began from Amsterdam, Frankfurt, London, New York, Los Angeles, Montreal, and Toronto and ended in Athens. Three yellow arrows linked Tirane with Prague, Sofia with Warsaw, and Bucharest with Budapest. A blue arrow linked Tirane with Athens.

  I racked my brain trying to understand why Karayoryi had marked the map. Okay, the different colors referred to different activities; that was easy. The question was why she'd been gathering all that information about Pylarinos. What was she doing? Investigating him? Or was there something else involved? I remembered what Sperantzas had told me: that Karayoryi had friends in high places. She might have been having an affair with Pylarinos, or been in business with him, or maybe she'd had something on him and was blackmailing him. If I'd had her Filofax, I might have found some clue. First of all from her telephone numbers. She must have had the telephone numbers of Pylarinos's businesses, surely. But which number? The main switchboard? Or the number of one of the executives? Or Pylarinos's personal number? From that I would have been able to draw some conclusions.

  My hopes that I'd find some paper or some notes of Karayoryi's that would enlighten me had begun to fade when I found a report sheet, like those I used, folded in two. I opened it and found a handwritten list:

  It made no sense to me. The only things that matched somewhat were the dates: 6/20-6/22, 8/25-8/30/.... The longest gap between two dates in the same line was five days. But for the rest, what connection was there between Tirane and London, Amsterdam, New York, and so on? What was going on? Surely tourists weren't coming from Tirane by refrigerator truck and continuing on an excursion or charter to Frankfurt or London? Or perhaps we were talking about goods and not tourists? Bullshit! As if the Albanians would have that kind of network for exporting goods! And even in the unlikely case that it were true, then the list should have recorded arrivals and departures and not two arrivals at the same time. Whatever it was that the refrigerators were carrying, it was intended for those arriving from Frankfurt, London, and the other cities-at least, that's what the dates indicated. That much was clear, except that the list didn't mention what was being carried.

  I turned the report sheet over and found two more lists, which confused things even more.

  The lists were undoubtedly connected, at least with regard to the dates. On 6/25/91 a coach left Tirane for Prague and on 6/30/91 someone by the name of Yannis Emiroglou also left for Prague. On 10/30 another train left from Bucharest for Budapest and on 11/5 Alexandros Fotiou also left for Budapest by air. More enlightening, however, were the trains that left from Sofia for Warsaw on 8/16/91 and on 6/12/92, together with the one that left from Tirane for Prague on 12/5/92. It seemed that Karayoryi hadn't been able to link these and had put question marks by them. But even so, I couldn't understand who the Greeks traveling to Prague, Warsaw, and Budapest were going to meet. And why didn't those who left Tirane, Sofia, or Bucharest come to Athens instead of making our people travel thousands of kilometers to meet them?

  It was going to take a lot of digging before I'd be able to make any sense of it. Whatever the secret behind it all was, Karayoryi had taken it with her to the grave. What was clear to me was that if the murders were connected with the contents of the file, then the murderer had killed Karayoryi to stop her digging and had killed Kostarakou to get the file from her. But if he'd wanted the file so badly, then why hadn't he searched Karayoryi's house too? One possibility was that he didn't have enough time. Another was that it was only later that he'd found out that the file contained incriminating evidence and decided that he had to get hold of it.

  I was itching to give orders to Sotiris to begin investigating, but I restrained myself. The best thing would be if I handed the file over to Ghikas. Let him make the decision. Anyway, I ought to be pleased that things had now taken a different turn and it seemed as if I would come out of it unscathed.

  I had almost got to the end when I stumbled across another file; a thin one this time and blue, like the ones lawyers use. As soon as I opened it, my hand remained in midair holding the edge of it, while, thunderstruck, I stared at its contents. In it were photocopies of police reports, some of them ours and some from other stations that had come to us. The first concerned the disappearance of two babies from a maternity clinic in 1990. A nurse had been accused at the time, but nothing had been proved against her and the case had been put on file. The second referred to the case of illegal Bulgarian immigrants, who had attempted to cross the borders in a truck going to Thessaloniki in 1991, but they'd been caught and sent back. Among them were four mothers with their babies. This point had been underlined in red, obviously by Karayoryi. There were six more reports on file, all referring to the disappearance or selling of children. The most recent of them was my own report about the Albanian couple and the five hundred thousand that had been found in their cistern. This too was underlined in red.

  Now I realized why Karayoryi had persisted in asking me whether the Albanians had any children. She believed that their murder had been connected with either the selling or the abduction of children and had wanted to point me in that direction. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and tried to bring the image of her into my mind. Strange woman. She'd had Petratos as her lover and at the same time had despised him. And yet she'd trusted me, though she knew I disliked her, and Kostarakou, who had every reason to hate her.

  Petratos wasn't N. I was virtually certain that his handwriting wouldn't match. The unknown N was the one who had asked her for the file and who was threatening her. And it was certain that this was Karayoryi's bombshell. But who had given her the information from our own files? Whose palm had she been greasing? I knew only too well what the consequences of that discovery would be, and I didn't want be burdened with any more responsibilities. My points total was already like my bank account, in the red. I picked up the phone and asked Koula to put me through to Ghikas.

  He answered with a sharp yes.

  "I need to see you right away."

  "I'm busy. If it's about your report, send it to me."

  "It's not about the report. It's something much more serious."

  "In connection with the case?"

  "Yes, but it also has a connection with us. Someone was feeding Karayoryi information from our files."

  Silence for a moment, then "Come up," and the line went dead.

  I collected Karayoryi's file, put it back into Antonakaki's plastic bag, and made for the elevator.

  CHAPTER 26

  The files lay open before him. To his right was the large file with the photographs and Karayoryi's lists; to his left was the blue file with the photocopies of our reports. Ghikas's attention was focused on the first. I was standing watching him. I'd put the Kodak envelope underneath so he'd look at the newspaper clippings first.

  "Pylarinos!" he shouted, and pulled his hand away as if he'd burnt it.

  "There's more."

  He glared at me, not having decided yet whether he should be surprised or afraid. He took in the thickness of the file and decided to be afraid. He took a deep breath and began thumbing through it. He saw the rest of the clippings, the map, and Karayoryi's lists. He looked desperate.

  "What do you intend to do with all this?" he asked me. "As if Petratos wasn't enough, now we've got Pylarinos to deal with. It appears his hands are dirty, but that doesn't necessarily mean that he killed the two women or that he had someone do it for him. The two things may be quite unconnected. So what do you intend to do?"

  I knew what I was going to do, but I was keeping it to myself. "Whate
ver you tell me. You're in charge of the investigation."

  He looked at me. "Sit down," he said.

  He'd only just spotted that I was being cold and formal with him. He leaned forward and put on a friendly expression, even intimate, as if we were old childhood buddies.

  "Listen, Costas, you're a good officer. You've got brains and you're eager. But you have one fault. You're unbending. You don't know how to be flexible. You jump in headfirst, come up against a wall, and bang your head on it. When you're dealing with people like De lopoulos or Pylarinos, you have to be as slippery as an eel, or they'll wrap you up in a sheet of paper and throw you in the wastepaper basket."

  I kept quiet because I knew he was right. I was unbending, and whenever I got something into my head, I was unable to let it go, no matter where it led me.

  "I said that I was personally taking charge of the investigation to take the pressure off you and to protect you. Last night, after Delopoulos left, I told the minister that you were the only one who could solve the case. You just have to be a bit more discreet and keep me posted so that I can watch your back."

  Was he telling me all this because he believed it or because he wanted to demonstrate to me how to be as slippery as an eel? After having me up for suspension, now he was playing my guardian angel. As soon as he realized he was going to get involved with Pylarinos, he'd turned tail and was trying to get himself out of it.

  "So, tell me then, what do you intend to do?"

  "I'll send a written request to customs to find out what the refrigerator trucks that Karayoryi refers to were carrying. I'll ask at the airport to find out if there are passenger lists for the groups and the charter flights."

  "And if there aren't?"

  "I won't do anything for the time being. I don't want to have to ask for them from Pylarinos's company because it'll create suspicion, and we don't want that. I'll send the film to be developed so that we can see what's on it. And I'll question the Greeks who went to Prague, Warsaw, and Budapest. I want to know why they went."

  "But how are we going to get close to Pylarinos without stirring up a hornets' nest?"

  "I know someone who can give us information. He's not one of us. He's a personal friend of mine and I can't reveal who he is. But he's a reliable source."

  He looked at me and smiled. "Okay. What's going to happen with Petratos?"

  "I will wait for the report on the handwriting and the lab report on the wire. But, just between us, I'm not too optimistic. The wire's the common variety-you can find it at any hardware shop. As for the letters, I no longer believe that they were written by Petratos. No, they were written by whoever wanted the file from Karayoryi. It's not out of the question that the two cases are unconnected, as you said, and that Petratos is the murderer. But it requires further investigation." I remained silent and looked at him. "There's something else. Good news."

  I told him about Kolakoglou. He listened to me and his face lit up. "Why didn't you tell me before?" he said enthusiastically.

  He grabbed the telephone and told Koula to get Delopoulos on the line. I gazed at him, amazed. He noticed and smiled.

  "You're wondering what I'm doing, right?" he said. "Now you'll see what it means to be flexible."

  When Delopoulos came on the line, he told him everything, apart from the name and address of the bar. He put the phone down, obviously pleased with himself. "Delopoulos is over the moon. From now on, he'll call me. He'll leave you alone to get on with your work. And something else. I want those two reports, yours and the other one on Kolakoglou, to send to the minister. You have to know how to keep mouths shut."

  His gaze turned to the other file, the blue one. He opened it and skimmed through it quickly. Slowly he raised his head. "You understand that I'm obliged to order an immediate internal inquiry," he said.

  "I understand, but I would prefer you to delay it."

  Why.

  "First of all, Karayoryi's dead and she's not going to steal any more reports from us. But whoever was providing her with them may have some deeper involvement. Now he's not worried, because he thinks that no one's on to him. If you order an internal inquiry, you'll alert him. Let's proceed with the investigation and see what other evidence comes up."

  "All right," he said after reflecting for a moment. "I'll inform the minister orally and tell him that I'll delay it." He collected the file and handed it to me. "Lock it in your drawer. It would be better if no one else knew of its existence."

  I was so eager to get going that I didn't have the patience to wait for the elevator. I went down the stairs two at a time. When I turned into the hall, I saw the familiar throng at my door.

  "To Superintendent Ghikas for any statements. As you know, he's taken charge of the case"

  They knew and didn't press me. They began moving toward the elevator. Sotiropoulos pretended to follow them but stayed behind.

  "Can we have a word?"

  "They have me gagged. Don't put me in a difficult position."

  He smiled, he quite understood, and he gave me a friendly pat on the back. "A passing storm," he said in a soothing tone.

  I took a sheet of paper and copied first the arrivals of the refrigerator trucks and then the arrivals of the groups and the charters. On another sheet, I copied the five names from Karayoryi's second list. I summoned Sotiris in.

  "Ask customs what these refrigerator trucks were carrying. They most likely belong to Transpilar, Pylarinos's company. And ask at the airport if they have the passenger lists for these groups and charters. They were probably met by some tourist agency also owned by Pylarinos. And I want you to question these five in person. I want to know why they were traveling."

  He took the two pieces of paper, but he didn't leave. Pylarinos's name had aroused his curiosity and he wanted to know more.

  "Stop dawdling. I'll tell you eventually. And send Thanassis in."

  While waiting for Thanassis, I started to put the finishing touches to my report, but I didn't have time. In less than a minute, he was in my office.

  "They called from the lab," he said. "The wire is the same as that used to kill Kostarakou, but they can't say whether or not it's the wire actually used in the murder. If we'd found the wire used by the murderer, they might have been able to tell whether it had been cut from the same piece. At any rate, they're certain that the wire wasn't cut using scissors or pliers, but broken by hand."

  That was something. If Petratos had seen the wire by chance and the idea had suddenly come to him to use it, he would have cut it by hand in his rush. Of course, anyone wanting a piece of wire who couldn't be bothered to go and get a pair of pliers would have done the same.

  "Petratos drives a black Renegade. I want you to comb the area where Kostarakou lived and find out if anyone saw it around the time of the murder. It's unlikely that they'll have remembered the license number, but make a note of it anyway. It's XRA 4318. And give this film to the lab to be developed."

  I got rid of Thanassis and settled down to the report. In less than a quarter of an hour, it was done. Before handing it in, I phoned Politou, the examiner who'd undertaken the Albanian's case, and informed her of the new evidence that had come to light.

  "How strong is the likelihood that we're dealing with a trade in babies?" she asked me.

  "Too early to say. But it's not unlikely that the Albanian murdered the couple for the reasons that Karayoryi suspected and not for those he claims in his confession.'

  I see. I'll let you know as soon as I call him for the inquest," she said and hung up.

  I submitted the two reports to Koula and then went down to the basement, where the records are kept.

  The officer in charge was surprised to see me. "It's not often we see you, Inspector Haritos."

  He was around forty and always had a smile on his face. He'd had the misfortune, a couple of years back, to have a run-in with a minister's son, who'd had a row in a bar and had seriously injured one of the customers. The minister had exerted pressure to get
his son off on a plea of self-defense, but Yannis was irritated by the boy's arrogance and wouldn't give way. In the end, the boy got a six-month suspended sentence and Yannis ended up in records.

  "Yannis, I need a personal favor from you."

  "If I can be of help, of course."

  "I need to know what files from our division have been asked for in the last year and a half and who took them."

  "Last year and a half?" he said, and it was plain that his spirits had well and truly sunk.

  "Yes, and I want it to remain between us. I don't want anyone at all to learn of it."

  I knew this would be a real chore. He'd have to search all the lists one by one. But I didn't know the numbers of the files and I didn't want to ask for them from my own boys, because that could alert Karayoryi's accomplice.

  "What am I going to do? Say no?" Yannis said. "But it's going to take some time."

  "Be as quick as you can be." I shook his hand warmly to show him my appreciation.

  It had started to drizzle. I got into my Mirafiori and went to find Zissis. This was my friend, the one I'd kept hidden from Ghikas.

  CHAPTER 27

  Lambros Zissis lived on Ekavis Street in Nea Philadelphia. If you set off around one o'clock, as I did, you need at least an hour and a half to get down from Galatsiou Avenue to Patission Street, to come out onto Acharnon Street, and, from Treis Yephyres, to get onto Dekelias Avenue. Ekavis Street lies in a fork, between Dekelias Avenue and Pindou Street, and runs parallel to lokastis Street. Hecuba and Jocasta, two fallen queens. It was as if they'd put them together to tell of their sufferings and console one another.

  I'd met Zissis at security headquarters on Bouboulinas Street in '71 when I was a cell guard. Kostaras had always insisted that we be present at the interrogations, supposedly so that-greenhorns that we were-we might learn something, or so he said. Deep down, he didn't give a damn about our "training." It was simply that he prided himself that there was no one he couldn't break, and to prove it he set up a whole show at which we greenhorns were the audience.