Petros Markaris - Che Committed Suicide

Only towards the end did Logaras drop one or two hints about suspicious dealings. He devoted just two paragraphs to talk of an offshore company, with numerous international links and with somewhat shady business goals. This was the only slight stain on Favieros’s otherwise immaculate suit, even though Logaras barely touched on the offshore company and didn’t go very deeply into its activities. This was strange given that he had information on the most intimate aspects of Favieros’s life. It was as though he wanted to drop a hint and leave it dangling there.

I shut the book and looked at my watch. It was five o’clock. I wondered whether that offshore company might offer any clue. I decided that, the following day, I would send Koula back to Domitis to see if she could get anything more out of Zamanis. Of course, if we kept on questioning him, he would start to smell a rat, but I didn’t care. If the worse came to the worst, I’d direct him to Ghikas.

In the end, I spent all night in the armchair. I don’t know what time I fell asleep but I opened my eyes at one moment and saw that the book had slipped out of my hands and had fallen to the floor. The hot sun was pouring in through the half-open shutters. I looked at my watch and leapt to my feet. It was already nine and Koula would be there any moment. I threw some water over my face and thought about what my next moves should be. I would begin with Favieros’s offshore company. Even theoretically, there was half a chance that the reason for his suicide may lie in the overt or shady activities of the offshore company. It was the only point that Logaras left unclear and it required investigation. I wondered what was better: to search through the books of the Ministry of Trade or to go straight to Zamanis? I’d soon find what I was looking for in the records, but what use would a plain reference be to me? I’d still have to question Favieros’s associates. I decided upon the latter solution, but with a slight variation. I wouldn’t go in person, I’d send Koula. In that way, it wouldn’t be seen to be too important and people wouldn’t get suspicious. The next step, or rather the parallel step, would be to find Logaras, Favieros’s biographer. That was easily done by a simple visit to the publisher.

The kitchen was empty. My coffee was waiting for me on the table with the saucer covering the cup so that it wouldn’t get cold. Before I’d even taken the first sip, Adriani breezed in, wheeling her bag from the supermarket.

‘Good morning. Did you sleep well?’ she asked in a honeyed voice.

‘No. I fell asleep in the armchair without realising.’

‘Tomorrow, I’ll order you a wooden bed with nails, like those that fakirs use, so you’ll be more comfortable.’

I ignored her sarcasm and went on sipping my coffee that was only lukewarm, despite the protection of the saucer. When Koula arrived, I took her straight into the sitting room and told her about Favieros’s offshore company.

‘I want you to go back to Domitis to talk to Zamanis and Favieros’s secretary and to find out everything you can about that offshore company. Where its offices are…’

‘Say no more, I’ve got it,’ she said calmly.

‘If they give you a difficult time, say that Ghikas sent you. I’ve informed him.’

‘It won’t be necessary. Where did you find out about the offshore company?’

I picked up Favieros’s biography from the floor and handed it to her. She read the title and whistled: ‘That’s fast work for you,’ she said impressed. ‘With him still warm in his grave.’

I found it amusing that she should link the publication of the biography with his remains. ‘Do you want to read it?’

She stared at me in alarm. ‘Heaven forbid. I’m quite happy driving you around all day, but don’t ask me to read big books like that!’

I opened the book and discovered that Sarantidis Press had its offices in Solomou Street, in Exarcheia. We left the house together. Koula went over to her moped which she had parked outside the house. She put her helmet on, started it up and set off, while I headed towards Iphikratous Street to get the trolley to Omonoia Square.

We had been hit by an early heatwave and it was the first really hot day of the summer. There was no breeze at all and even though it was still ten in the morning, the sun was scorching. At every step, the dose of exhaust fumes increased. The trolley was one of the old yellow ones, without air conditioning. Sitting in the seat in front of me was a fat woman furiously fanning herself with a Chinese fan. I don’t know whether it was offering any relief to her, but it was certainly filling my nostrils with her sweaty smell. By the time we reached Omonoia Square, I had decided that I was going nowhere in future without the Mirafiori.

Sarantidis Press was located on the third floor of an old apartment block which didn’t have a lift. The green iron door was closed. I rang the bell and walked into a large space, more like a storeroom than an office, with an old wooden bench and three chairs. On the walls, there was a variety of shelves and bookcases, all packed with books. A narrow path led from the door to the bench. The rest of the room was filled with packages and copies of Favieros’s biography. Sitting on the chair behind the desk was a young man with a beard and hair down to his shoulders; the kind that, were you to run into after the events at the Polytechnic School, you would take straight to Security Headquarters without them having done anything. His eyes were fixed on a computer screen and he was typing away at the keyboard.

‘Sarantidis Press?’ I asked.

He waited for the printer to start up and then replied with a sharp ‘That’s me.’

I held up a copy of the biography from one of the piles and said: ‘Where can I get hold of this Logaras fellow?’

‘Why, do you want his autograph?’ he answered ironically.

‘No, I want to ask him a few questions. Inspector Haritos.’

The irony changed to sourness when he heard I was a police officer. ‘I’ve no idea where he is,’ he replied. ‘I couldn’t even point him out to you on the street. I’ve never actually met him face to face.’

‘So how did Favieros’s biography come into your hands?’

‘By post. Together with the manuscript, there was a covering letter saying that if I was interested in the book, he would contact me concerning the details and the date of publication.’

‘When did all this take place?’

‘Roughly three months ago.’

‘Didn’t the letter have an address on it?’

‘Neither an address nor any phone number, nothing. At first, I paid no attention. You know how it is, even a small publishing company like mine receives a couple of manuscripts each week. I don’t have the time to read them all. I put it to one side to read it at the first opportunity. About one and a half months later, I received another letter saying that if I wanted the rights, I had to sign a contract straightaway. I was forced to read it overnight and I decided to go ahead with it.’

‘What made you decide to publish it?’ I asked out of curiosity.

He reflected for a moment. ‘That strange mishmash of political activist and business tycoon. I thought it would sell and I was right. Though he imposed one condition on me.’

‘What condition?’

‘That he would decide when the book would be published.’

‘And you accepted?’

‘I modified it slightly. I stipulated that the publication date would be decided jointly.’

‘And how did you send the contract to Logaras?’

‘By recorded delivery. To an address that was on the second letter. He put the same address on the contract.’

‘Can you get it for me?’