All this got my goat because the tidy solution I'd come up with, that left out Petratos, didn't seem so tidy in the end. I picked up the telephone and called the studio. I asked the operator, who answered in a couldn't-care-less tone, to put me through to Petratos.
"Yes," said a sharp voice.
"This is Inspector Haritos, Mr. Petratos. I saw your report about Karayoryi's murder on the news and I'd like to talk to you. Please remain there and I'll be right over"
"I can appreciate your urgency," he said with heavy irony. "Come on over. I'll be waiting for you."
It was an opportunity for me to get out of the dilemma of having to get my own meal and of losing face before Adriani. I thought that on the way back I'd stop and get a couple of souvlaki with all the spicy garnishing rather than have the spinach and rice that I hated. Not to mention that I'd reek of garlic from fifty paces and Adriani wouldn't get a wink of sleep because of the smell.
CHAPTER 16
At last, I saw the man from the defaced photograph in the flesh. He was a porky forty-something with chubby cheeks, hair cropped short at the sides and bushy on top-a real doughboy. In appearance, he played on two fronts: that of the serious news editor, with his dark gray suit; and that of the casual reporter, with turtleneck sweater, without ties or formalities.
We were inside Petratos's cubicle and I was facing him, but at an angle. Facing me was the newscaster, with his tailored suit and the handkerchief in his breast pocket. They smiled at me. Smiles full of condescension for the poor police officer who'd come to pay his respects. I played the fool because it suited me that way.
"Kolakoglou is an interesting case," I said in a friendly tone. "Of course, it's a little too early to say for sure that he's our murderer. We will need to continue investigating."
They swapped more smiles and Petratos shrugged. "We're done with our investigation," he said. "But you go ahead. When all's said and done, it's your job to investigate."
"That's why I'm here to see you. Do you have any other evidence, that you haven't yet revealed to your audience and that might help our investigation?"
"We don't keep cards up our sleeves, Inspector," the newscaster broke in. "What evidence we have, we come out with it, so that the public may be informed."
Petratos rested his elbows on the desk and put his hands together. "Let's speak openly, Inspector Haritos. Yesterday, Mr. Delopoulos suggested that we work together. You'd give us precedence in informing us about the course of your investigation and we'd give you whatever evidence we have. This morning I sent Kostarakou to see you. Not only did you not tell her anything, but you even interrogated her. And now you're asking us to give you evidence. That's not the way it works."
"I didn't give any information to Miss Kostarakou because I had nothing to tell her. We're still in the dark. You're already one step ahead of us." If it seemed as if I was sucking up to them, I wasn't; it was a tactical maneuver. Not one learned from the FBI, but one learned in the Greek village. "That's why I came to ask for your help. From tomorrow morning, we'll be inundated with phone calls. Every two minutes someone tells us that they've seen Kolakoglou. We don't know where this mass hysteria will take Kolakoglou. So we have to find him, and quickly."
"We disagree on that too, Inspector Haritos." He looked at me as if I were a person with special needs, who had to be taught basic literacy. "Would that the public were so concerned about Yanna Karayoryi's murder as to take to the streets tomorrow and look for her murderer. That would not only be a huge journalistic coup, but also a mark of recognition for everything Yanna achieved."
"And what if the murderer was someone else? Okay, there's incriminating evidence with regard to Kolakoglou, but we cannot yet be certain that he killed her. He may be innocent."
"What are you afraid of?" the newscaster said. "That you might tarnish the reputation of a pederast who was sentenced to six years in prison?"
"No. I'm afraid that we may waste time looking for the wrong person.
"First of all, it's not our job to prove Kolakoglou's guilt," Petratos broke in. "We're simply handing him over. Everything else is up to you.
In other words, they were lumbering us with Kolakoglou. It was for us to run around and prove his guilt. Meanwhile, they'd fill their news bulletins with the story and up their ratings.
"Anyway, you're worrying for nothing," Petratos went on. "It's ninety percent certain that he's the murderer. If it hadn't been for Yanna, he'd have got away with his squalid little crimes. He's the only one with a motive."
"You're wrong," I said quietly. "There are others who had motives too. Even you."
He stared at me open-mouthed and the image of the doughboy was complete. He couldn't decide whether I'd said it seriously or in jest. In the end, he evidently plumped for the latter, because he let out a howl of merriment.
"Me? You are pulling my leg, of course."
I didn't reply, but turned to the newscaster, who was trying to recover his poise. "Would you leave us, please?"
The newscaster was taken aback and didn't know what to do. He responded, however, to Petratos's nod and got up.
"I don't like your tone at all, Inspector," he said to me icily.
"Nor I yours, especially when you're presenting the news." It left him speechless. He would happily have slammed the door behind him, but it was made of aluminum and he was probably afraid of bringing the whole cubicle down behind him.
"So, Inspector? What motive did I have for killing Yanna Karayoryi?"
"You had an affair with her. She used you to scramble up the ladder, and when she'd got where she wanted, she dumped you."
He made an effort to maintain his ironic smile but failed, because he hadn't liked what he'd heard.
"Who told you that?"
"We asked and we found out. That's our job."
"Just because we had an affair and split up-I stress that she didn't dump me, we split up-that doesn't mean that I had a reason to kill her."
"I heard it differently, Mr. Petratos. You didn't split up, she dumped you as soon as she had direct access to Mr. Delopoulos and could do as she liked without having to go through you. She offended not only your male but also your professional pride. You would have given anything to teach her a lesson, but she had Mr. Delopoulos behind her. You could neither control her nor fire her. And from what I know of Karayoryi, she would have made sure she re minded you of that every working day, which of course made you furious." If I'd had the photographs with me, I'd have stuck them in his undefaced face, but I'd left them in my office.
He was fuming inside but was trying hard to appear calm. "That's all speculation on your part, there's no evidence whatsoever for it."
"It's not speculation. It's the conclusion from statements made by witnesses. Karayoryi's murder has all the elements of a crime of passion. That fits Kolakoglou's case, but it also fits yours, given that you'd written her threatening letters."
His surprise seemed genuine, at least as genuine as a journalist could get. "Me?" he said after some time. "I wrote Yanna threatening letters?"
"We found them in the drawer of her desk. In the last one you openly threaten her."
"And is my signature on those letters?"
Now it was me who was in a tight spot. "You signed them N. Your name is Nestor, if I'm not mistaken."
"And because you found some threatening letters signed by someone with the initial N, you automatically concluded that I wrote them? What can I say? The police force should be proud of you."
I ignored the insult and said, very calmly: "It's easy for us to prove who's right. The letters are written by hand. Give me a sample of your handwriting and I'll compare it with that on the letters."
"No!" he answered in a rage. "If you want a sample of my handwriting, you can take me down to the station for interrogation and ask for it officially, in the presence of my lawyer! And if you're wrong, I'll drag your name through the gutters!"
And the whole of the police force with it. From the mini
ster down. I'd be lucky to get away with a transfer to the VIP guard.
"First, you have to prove that I had the opportunity to kill her. Yanna came to the studio at around eleven-thirty. I'd left by ten. At least four people saw me leaving."
"They saw you entering the elevator. That doesn't necessarily mean that you left."
"So where did I hide? In a cupboard or maybe inside a wardrobe?"
"In the parking lot," I said. "You took the elevator down to the parking garage, hid there, and came back up just before the latenight news."
So far I'd been doing quite well, but then he lost his temper, jumped to his feet, and started shouting: "You won't get away with this. You can't go around making unfounded accusations."
"What accusations?" I said in all innocence. "Weren't you the one to suggest we exchange information? I'm giving you what I have. You can hardly complain."
By the time he realized that he'd walked into the trap, I was outside his office.
As I crossed the newsroom, some young reporters who were still at their desks turned and looked at me inquisitively. I walked out without paying any attention to them. I'd pressed the button for the elevator when, coming down the corridor, I saw Kostarakou.
"Hello," she said rather formally and walked on past me. I let the elevator go and went after her.
"Are you sure that Karayoryi didn't say anything else to you on the phone?"
"I told you all I know this morning," she said coldly. "There's nothing more. Because of you, I got into hot water with Petratos."
"Did you say anything to Petratos about the photograph I showed you?"
"Of course not. If I'd told him about the photograph as well, he'd have canned me on the spot, given the vile mood he was in."
"If Karayoryi spoke to you on the phone about the story she was preparing, it would be better for you to tell me now, before it's too late."
She didn't even trouble to reply. She shot me a poisonous look and walked off.
When I stepped out of the elevator, I ran into the backstreet marine. He puffed up his body, his arms and legs apart.
"Here again? Any developments?"
"Why do you always stand like that with your legs apart? Are you chapped?" I asked, and went off to find some souvlaki.
CHAPTER 17
"The profile fits at any rate."
It was the first time he'd used the English word profile. I made a note to look it up later in the OED. It was nine-thirty in the morning and I was giving my report to Ghikas concerning Kolakoglou. He guessed that I hadn't understood "profile" and was waiting to see how I'd react. But I was wise to what he meant-that Kolakoglou would do quite nicely for the murderer-and I began listing everything that didn't ring true. It didn't ring true that Kolakoglou had gone to the studio and risked being recognized. It didn't ring true that he'd have gone without a murder weapon if he'd gone to kill her. And I reminded him that Kolakoglou was not the only suspect.
"I know," he said. "We have the unknown N and his letters."
"Did you know that Petratos's name is Nestor ... ?"
He studied me in silence. He was trying to connect the man in the photograph with the Nestor of the letters, and the two seemed to him to fit, just as they seemed to me to fit. "Stay away from Petratos," he said. "You won't go near him unless you have enough incriminating evidence to convince me. I don't want to find myself at daggers drawn with the minister."
His look stopped me in my tracks and I didn't dare to tell him about the conversation I'd had with Petratos the previous evening. If he found out that I'd asked him for a sample of his handwriting, he'd have my ass.
"Find Kolakoglou quickly and get him behind bars."
This was a classic way for a superior to say to his subordinate: "All right, I've listened to your bullshit, now do what you have to." He wanted the tidy solution, just like Delopoulos, Petratos, the newscaster, and everybody else. No complications and no ministerial in terventions because of the involvement of upstanding citizens, etc. The reprobate was the easy solution. Always.
"The only incriminating evidence we have on Kolakoglou is that he threatened Karayoryi after the trial. What if he can prove that he was elsewhere at the time of the murder?"
"The alibi of a pederast with a criminal record doesn't hold water," he said. "When all's said and done, he should have spent six years in prison and he got away with three. It won't hurt him to spend another couple of weeks in jail. He's used to it."
There was no point in arguing. I collected my papers and turned to leave.
"You still don't get it, do you?" I looked at him surprised, and without hiding the fact that he was amused by my foolishnes. "Get Kolakoglou behind bars. Maybe he's the murderer, maybe not. We'll say that we're holding him for interrogation. Meanwhile, they'll publicize all the dirt on him. They'll rake up everything from the trial again and go knocking on the doors of the girls he raped to get interviews from them. If in the end Kolakoglou proves to be the murderer, then we come out and say that we owe our success to our valuable collaboration with the media and everybody will be happy. If it's not Kolakoglou, and we produce the real murderer, then they won't know where to turn first Either way, we come out smelling of roses.
You had to hand it to Ghikas! Now I know why he became chief and I remained a humble inspector. He rarely got a smile of admiration from me, but this time he deserved one. He saw it and laughed, obviously pleased with himself.
"As for Petratos, check him out, but at a distance. Discreetly," he said generously because I'd made his day. "And make sure you find out what profile means. In a few years' time, we'll all be using it."
The herd of reporters was massing in the corridor, outside Koula's office, waiting. They'd got nothing out of me the previous day, and so they were now knocking on my boss's door hoping to get something out of him. Among them was Kostarakou, but she didn't add her gaze to the collective, provocative look that the others gave me. She avoided my eyes.
I told Thanassis to come in. We hadn't spoken since the previous evening and he looked at me as though frightened. He thought I was going to start on about his meeting with Karayoryi. As soon as I told him that I wanted a large-scale hunt to find Kolakoglou, that I wanted his photograph circulated and a call put out to all patrol cars and so on, he looked relieved, as if he'd just emptied his bowels after ten days of constipation. He was good at organizing. I also told him to find out where Kolakoglou's mother lived and to get me a car and backup ready.
"Will you require a search warrant, too?"
"As if I needed a search warrant to get into a pederast's house. That would take the cake!"
The croissant was on my desk, in its cellophane. I opened it and took a bite. Souvlaki at night, croissant in the morning. I wondered when they'd serve souvlaki wrapped in croissant with tzatziki, tomato, and onion. I recalled some paintings depicting war chiefs in the court of King Otto, dressed in fustanellas with their dress coats over the top. The profile fitted, as Ghikas might say.
I bit into the croissant and addressed the pile of documents on my desk. I began with Markidis's report. Nothing new there, other than that Karayoryi had eaten approximately two hours before her death, which confirmed what Thanassis had said. The murder had taken place between eleven and twelve. I knew that too. I put the coroner's report aside and looked over the files from Karayoryi's computer. I didn't find anything of interest there either. Articles, interviews, and ideas for topics. There was nothing in them about Kolakoglou. Nothing among her papers either. How the hell could she be investigating something and not keep any notes? I reached the bottom of the pile as the telephone rang.
"Haritos."
"Haritou," I heard a girl's voice say, laughing. It was Katerina.
Katerina didn't have a phone in the house where she lived and so we weren't able to call her. When she called us, it was usually at night. It was very rare for her to call me at the office. Every time she did call me, I was immediately filled with worry that something had happene
d to her.
"How's things, Daddy?" She sounded happy, carefree.
"As always, love. Too much work. How come you're calling me in the morning? Is anything wrong?" I thought it better to make sure. "Nothing's wrong, I'm fine. I phoned Mum at home first and she told me you had had a scrap again."
If I'd had Adriani in front of me, I'd have given her what for. What did she mean by upsetting the girl? When you're a long way away, everything seems bigger than it is.
"Come on, Daddy. You know how she is. She's alone, I'm away, and she's always on edge. She flares up at the slightest thing."
"You don't have to tell me. But sometimes she gets my back up with her ingratitude."
"She's a bit touchy, but don't pay any attention to her. Make it up. I can't bear knowing that you've had a fight and you're not speaking."
"All right. I'll make an effort." I said it halfheartedly, because I'd made a whole strategic plan to find a little peace and now I was going to have to retreat in disarray. But I couldn't say no to Katerina.
"You're such a sweetie," she cried, overjoyed that she'd succeeded, and I simply melted. "And because you're the sweetest daddy in the world, I'll tell you something else. Sismanis, my criminal law tutor, suggested that I do a doctorate with him. He even told me that he'd manage to dig up some funds from somewhere so I could work in the department and get paid."
"Well done, my princess!" I wanted to shout, but my voice cracked with pride and emotion.
"I kept that for last to put you in a good mood. Anyway, I'm going to hang up now, otherwise I'll spend my whole lunch break on the phone. You have best wishes from Panos."
We'd never talked about it, but she knew I couldn't stomach that hulk that she dragged around with her. But she always gives me his best wishes. It's her way of telling me that she's still with him.
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