Devil of Delphi: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery

by Jeffrey Siger

  “Especially since it’s not Kharon they fear.”

  “Then who do they fear? The mysterious woman in the SUV?”

  Andreas shrugged. “Could be, or she could be representing whoever wanted the message delivered to Tank. But no matter who sent Kharon, I’m betting this is no coincidence, and that it all somehow ties into Tank’s counterfeit booze business.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “From the way Tank is screaming about foreign terrorists muscling in on his legitimate business.”

  “But he’s asking for all of Greece to go after Kharon’s boss. That doesn’t sound like he got the message.”

  Andreas gestured no. “He got it loud and clear, but he needs political cover to explain why a mobster-style execution of his sister right in front of him doesn’t paint him as tied into something dirty. It’s a typical political misdirection ploy intended to cover the first thing that ordinarily comes to the Greek public’s mind: a conspiracy. To counter that, you tell enough of the truth for your version to be believed without implicating any of your real bad guy buddies. As long as Tank doesn’t identify the real killer, there’s no way to trace anything back to who ordered the hit. And if Tank does as he’s told and pays on time, the big boss in charge couldn’t care less what he says to cover his ass.”

  “This is all way too crazy.”

  “Come on, Yianni, it’s not all that different from the sort of intrigues we see Greeks and our government involved in every day.”

  “This still seems wilder to me.”

  “Really? Remember when our government in its wisdom imposed that special real estate tax you had to pay with your electric bill?”

  “Of course. The government knew if it just sent a tax bill no one would pay it, but this way if you didn’t pay, your electricity got shut off.”

  “Precisely. And if you happened to be a property owner who received electricity from a private company, that provider was required to collect your tax payments and turn them over to the government. Back in the early days of our financial crisis, one of those private electric companies collected over three hundred million euros in taxes and solemnly announced one day that it was transferring all of those funds to Cyprus for ‘safekeeping.’ And guess what happened? Poof. The entire three hundred million vanished without a trace.”

  “Four guys went to jail, didn’t they?” said Kouros.

  “They were arrested, sat in jail for eighteen months, but never came to trial.”

  “Son of a bitch. So the court had to let them out. Just like those terrorists who walked out of jail for the same reason.”

  “And in a midnight session of Parliament the four of them received amnesty.” Andreas bit at his lower lip. “Don’t get me started on my rant about the Greek justice system. I just arrest them.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll bitch for you. But I never saw anything in the media about the three-hundred-million-euro men walking away.”

  “Nor will you likely ever. Three hundred million euros buys a lot of cooperation. From everyone. Including the press. And with no ‘clawback’ law in Greece, I wouldn’t bet on the country ever seeing a cent of the missing money.”

  “Maybe the tax boys will decide to go after the original taxpayers. I can hear them now: ‘Hey, you still owe us, we never got your money.’”

  “That would lead to one thing for sure. A rise in Molotov cocktail sales.”

  Kouros shook his head. “I can’t believe all that could happen right under the eyes of Greece’s European and IMF Troika watchdogs.”

  “Yeah,” said Andreas. “Sort of makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  Kouros shook his head. “But what’s all this have to do with our problem with Tank?”

  “It’s meant as a lesson in the rigors of combating political power.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Care to guess the family behind the company responsible for the missing three hundred million? Here’s a hint, they never received a line of blame in the press.”

  “Tank’s?”

  “Bingo, you win. Tank’s family is all about maintaining appearances as it pillages and plunders.”

  “And how do you expect us to bring them down?”

  Andreas shrugged. “Not sure yet, but let’s start small and see what happens. Petro is supposed to be back around lunchtime. As soon as he’s in, grab him. I want us to take a little ride together.”

  “Why do I sense trouble?”

  “Because you’re a good detective.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Why are you driving?” asked Kouros. “You never like to drive.”

  Andreas smiled, “Because you and Petro would refuse to go to where I’m taking us.” He made a right turn out of GADA and drove west along Alexandras Avenue.

  Kouros turned and looked at Petro in the backseat. “The son of a bitch is taking us to watch his soccer team play.”

  Petro gestured no. “Too early. Besides, they’re still in mourning over last night’s loss.”

  “Laugh while you still can, guys, because you won’t be laughing long.” He turned left off onto Trikouri Street.

  Kouros stared at the side of Andreas’ face. “If you’re headed to where I think you are, what suicide wish possessed you to drive a marked blue and white screaming Athens police?”

  “I want everyone to know who we are. It’ll surprise them. They aren’t expecting us to be so bold.”

  “I think you mean crazy. May I remind you that cops haven’t been welcome in Exarchia since 2008 when two of our less than gifted brethren shot and killed an unarmed, sixteen-year-old demonstrator.”

  “Frankly, Yianni, cops haven’t been welcome in this neighborhood for a lot longer than that.”

  “Then what makes you think things have changed?” said Kouros.

  “I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” said Andreas. He drove past the southwest corner of Exarchia Square, made a left at Benaki and another left at Arachovis.

  “So, now we’re making a loop around the neighborhood, just to make sure no one misses us?” said Kouros.

  “Of course, I want everyone to know we’re headed to Jacobi’s.”

  “Are you out of your mind? You mean we’re actually going to stop?” said Kouros. “In case you haven’t noticed, every pair of eyes in the neighborhood is fixed on us.”

  “Yeah, I know. They can’t believe we’re here in a blue and white.” Andreas stopped by the eastern edge of the square and parked on the sidewalk right in front of Jacobi’s front door.

  “You really do want to be obvious,” said Kouros.

  “Okay, guys, it’s show time. We’re all going to act as if we’re old-time buddies of Jacobi’s just stopping in to have a coffee and say hello.”

  Kouros looked at Petro, held up his hand, and pinched his thumb and forefinger nearly together. “I came this close to getting my ass blown away in a cafenion up in Thessaloniki, and now I get to relive the experience at some shithole taverna in Exarchia. Where did I go wrong?”

  “Don’t worry,” said Petro. “I know how to get us to the nearest hospital.”

  “Comforting.” Kouros opened his door and got out.

  Petro did the same and they followed Andreas toward the taverna, each man scanning the area as he did. So far no one had picked up a rock to throw at them. Or a Molotov cocktail. But for late night revolutionaries it was early yet, and they needed their beauty sleep.

  As soon as Andreas entered the taverna a swarthy, bearded, bowling ball of a fellow waddled up to him. “What the fuck are you assholes doing in my place?”

  Andreas opened his arms, embraced the man, and kissed him on both cheeks. “Jacobi, mou. How we’ve missed you. It’s been way too long. I promised you we’d stop by and thank you personally for all you’ve done to help us.”

  Jacobi’s
eyed jumped frantically among the faces of his customers, then fixed a glare on Andreas. “What the fuck are you talking about? I never saw you before in my life.”

  “Oh, to pedi mou, how can you be so ashamed of your old friends?”

  “I’m not your child, asshole.”

  Andreas leaned down and whispered, “If you want me to say a lot more in front of your customers, things that will probably have you burned out by sundown, just keep pushing me. Now hug me and let’s sit where we can talk.”

  Jacobi paused for a moment and grunted them with a nod toward a table as far from the door and the other tables as possible.

  “Okay, I’ll pass on the hug.” Andreas nodded Petro toward the door. “Keep an eye on things.”

  Andreas and Kouros sat with their backs to the wall, facing into the room. Jacobi stood facing them.

  “Sit down,” said Andreas.

  “I don’t sit with cops.”

  “Your choice, but I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say sitting down.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Andreas shook his head from side to side and smiled. “Jacobi mou—”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Okay, we’ll call you shithead,” said a smiling Kouros. “Fits you better anyway.”

  Jacobi clenched his fist.

  “A very unwise decision,” said Kouros.

  “Especially for a man who is about to lose a hundred thousand euros given to him for safekeeping,” said Andreas.

  Jacobi blinked.

  “Yeah, I’d love to hear how you’re going to explain losing it to the guy who left it with you,” said Kouros.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Andreas patted the chair across from him. “Sure you do, and if you don’t start cooperating we’re going to tear this place apart until we find the money and what I expect will be a lot of other interesting things.”

  Jacobi sat.

  “Good,” said Andreas. “We’re really not interested in you.”

  “That’s what cops always say.”

  “And we really don’t want your money.”

  Jacobi raised an eyebrow. “That’s what cops never say.”

  Andreas nodded. “That should let you know we’re here for a very serious reason.”

  “What do you want?”

  “A simple name.”

  “There is no such thing as a ‘simple name.’”

  “Well, let me make it simple for you. Due to your most kind cooperation, we know who killed the pride and joy young woman of one of Greece’s most prominent political families.”

  Jacobi shifted in his chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t told you a thing.”

  “Of course you have. How else could we possibly know the shooter’s name?”

  “Beats me,” shrugged Jacobi.

  “No, no, I think what you mean is that when he finds out what you told us he beats you,” said Kouros.

  Jacobi shrugged again.

  “I’m sure you and he go way back together,” said Andreas. “Otherwise why else would he trust you to hold all the money he got just to show up at the Acropolis?”

  Jacobi tugged at his beard. “I don’t know what you’re taking about.”

  “You’ve already said that twice,” said Andreas. “But actually you do. And you also know that your buddy’s going to figure out that you’re the only one who could have fingered him.”

  “You don’t know shit. You’re fishing.”

  It was Andreas’ turn to shrug. “I know enough to get you killed.”

  “Fuck you do.”

  “When I leave here I’ll be smiling and happy and blowing you kisses. But the moment I get in the police car I’m on the radio putting a call out across Greece for the immediate arrest of the person identified as the Thessaloniki woman’s killer. And I’ll make sure that word leaks out through unofficial channels that, in exchange for the information, the informant got to keep the hundred thousand euros paid for the hit.”

  Jacobi jerked forward in his chair. “He’ll never believe it.”

  “Of course he will. Maybe not completely, but at least enough to think maybe you turned him in. And maybe to a guy like him can be deadly for a guy like you.”

  “I’ll never tell you his name.”

  “His name? I don’t want his name. I don’t even want to arrest him.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I want the name of the person who hired him to kill her.”

  Jacobi leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Oh, I see you want me to commit suicide.”

  “No, I want to spare you from certain death. The other is just a distinct possibility.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Of course I am. Just enough to pin a bullseye on your forehead that your buddy couldn’t miss. I want a name.”

  “No way.”

  “Then I’ll give you one. And after I say it I’m walking out of here, making my radio call, and spreading that name and yours all across Greece.”

  Jacobi swallowed. “You’re bluffing.”

  Andreas nodded to Kouros and the two cops got up and headed to the front door. Petro stood waiting for them. A couple of sixties-throwback student types stood near the police car, staring into the taverna as if waiting for reinforcements.

  Andreas turned and watched Jacobi rise from his chair.

  “Jacobi mou, next time we’ll actually let you buy us that coffee you promised.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “And don’t forget to say hello to our buddy,” Andreas threw him a kiss, cupped his hands around his lips and shouted, “KHARON.”

  The three cops strolled out of the taverna and into the police car. Andreas turned on the ignition, put the microphone to his lips and said, “One, two, three, four, five, six—”

  A pounding on the front passenger’s side window startled Kouros before Andreas had reached seven.

  “Just as I thought. I never got to ten. Open the window, Yianni.”

  As soon as Kouros did, Jacobi leaned in. “Have you called yet?”

  Andreas held up the microphone, “Just about to.”

  Jacobi bit at his lip. “You promise not to say it was me.”

  “Promise.”

  Jacobi lowered his eyes and leaned further into the car. “Teacher,” he whispered.

  “I didn’t hear you,” said Andreas.

  Kouros looked at Andreas. “He said, ‘Teacher.’”

  Andreas now swallowed. “Do you mean Teacher as in Teacher?”

  “Yes, that one. She’s who hired him.” Jacobi pulled back from the window and waddled back inside.

  “Uh, Chief,” said Petro.

  “Yes.”

  “Now there’s a half-dozen of those whack jobs behind the car with more coming. We ought to get out of here before all hell breaks loose.”

  Andreas put the car in gear and pulled away. “Too late, it already has.”

  ***

  Andreas spoke with Maggie on his mobile as he drove back to GADA while Kouros brought Petro up to speed on what he’d missed of Andreas’ conversation with Jacobi.

  After Andreas hung up, Petro said, “Sounds like your plan worked, Chief. He gave you the name you wanted.”

  “No, he definitely gave me a name I did not want. I can assure you I’d have preferred just about any other name on earth but that one.”

  “Why? Who’s Teacher?”

  Kouros answered. “A couple years back, before you were in the unit, we had a run-in with her on Mykonos.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it a ‘run-in,’ Yianni. More like, let’s hope she doesn’t notice we exist while we try to manipulate her.”

  “But it worked,” said Kouros.
<
br />   “Or so we thought.”

  “The problem went away.”

  “But now she’s back with all new players, as far as we can tell. And if this counterfeit booze business is as big as it seems, it’s a natural fit for what she does, which is providing financing for much of Europe’s big-time criminal activity.”

  “So, who is she?” said Petro.

  “Maggie’s pulling a file containing the little we know about her. But, the truth is, I’ve never met her, spoken with her, or even seen a photograph of her.”

  “Then how do you know she’s as bad news as you say?”

  “Sometimes it’s prudent to believe what you hear. Like don’t jump into a swimming pool filled with angry, hungry crocodiles.”

  “Or get between an Athenian housewife and a pair of crocodile shoes on sale,” said Yianni.

  Andreas slowed to turn into GADA’s parking area. “As you can tell, just the mention of her name is enough to cost Yianni his sense of humor.” He parked, and the three cops went inside the building and up to Andreas’ office.

  As Andreas passed Maggie’s desk she held out an envelope for him.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Sorry you had to ask for that one,” she said.

  “Me too.”

  Andreas went inside his office and sat behind his desk, Kouros and Petro sat on the couch.

  “I see Maggie’s down on Teacher, too,” said Petro.

  “Hard to imagine anyone who knows anything about her who’d feel otherwise.” Andreas opened the envelope and took out a thin document. “And now you, too, are about to know why we all feel as we do. This is a transcript of an anonymous telephone call that came to us courtesy of Europol. The question put to the informant was, ‘Who is Teacher?’ This is his answer.”

  Andreas cleared his throat. “‘My answer requires somewhat more of an introduction than you might think warranted, but it is necessary if you wish to understand the phenomenon that is Teacher. And I say phenomenon because she is far more than just a mortal being. At least in the world to which she belongs. And rules.

  “‘The world is no longer linear. There are no straight-line rules to follow, or confining borders to observe. Not in communication, not in business, not in political loyalties, and certainly not in crime. Those who seek to retain parochial influence within strictly drawn political borders fail to appreciate the implications of this new order. Today vast numbers live within various countries’ legal borders but owe their allegiances elsewhere, to leaders outside borders and beyond a government’s reach. Their loyalty is to a thought, an idea, one not offered in any embraceable form by the land in which they now live.