Petros Markaris - Che Committed Suicide

Koula opened her mouth for the first time as we got up to leave. ‘May we have your permission to search the computers used by Mr Favieros and Mr Stefanakos in their offices and in their homes?’

Mrs Favieros turned and looked at her in astonishment. Mrs Stathatos once again adopted her haughty expression as though the very sound of Koula’s voice was an annoyance to her.

‘And just what do you expend to find on the computers, young miss? If Jason and Loukas had left suicide notes, we would know about it.’

‘I’m not looking for suicide notes, Mrs Stathatos,’ Koula answered in a firm voice. ‘Mr Favieros’s private secretary informed us that Mr Favieros had been spending hours shut up in his office in front of the computer prior to his suicide. So much so that it had caused her to wonder. Mr Vakirtzis’s partner had also said the same thing about him to the Inspector – namely that he, too, had been spending a great deal of time in front of his computer. So we would like to search them in case they contain some evidence.’

Mrs Stathatos shrugged.

‘Loukas didn’t have a computer at home, only in the office. I’ll tell Stella, his secretary, who is still working there, to allow you access.’

The way she said it revealed her certainty that we wouldn’t find anything. Koula thanked her and I nodded to her that we should be going. The secretary sitting outside didn’t even raise her eyes to look at us as we left. Perhaps she didn’t hear our footsteps on the thick carpet.

‘I really don’t understand, Inspector.’

Coralia Yannelis looked at us with an expression that was both ironic and inquisitive at the same time. We had gone straight there from the offices of Starad, because it was only five minutes’ drive from Vikela Street to Aigialeias Street.

‘If I’m not mistaken, this is the fourth time you’ve come here and I can’t understand your interest in these suicides. I’m starting to suspect that there’s something else behind all this that you’re not telling us.’

‘There’s nothing else behind it, Mrs Yannelis.’

‘So are you telling me that your interest is purely on a human level? That you’re desperate to learn why Favieros and Stefanakos committed suicide in such a tragic way?’

‘And Vakirtzis. The day before last, Vakirtzis also committed suicide in an even more tragic way.’

‘All right, Vakirtzis too.’

‘Did you know him?’

‘Of course, along with ten million other Greeks. You couldn’t open a newspaper without coming across Vakirtzis, or turn on the radio without hearing his voice.’

‘But you didn’t have any connection or dealings with him?’

She laughed. ‘You still think that the reasons behind the suicides of Jason and Stefanakos are to be found hidden somewhere in Favieros’s group of companies or in their joint companies or in their wives’ companies. But where does Vakirtzis, a journalist, fit into all that?’

She waited for an answer from me, but she didn’t receive one because I didn’t have one. I didn’t have any answers, and the ones I did have were not all that convincing. Those who shared my suspicions did so simply because they had the same gut feeling that I had, like Ghikas for example, or because they were scared of some scandal, like the Minister.

Yannelis saw from my silence that I was at a loss and continued: ‘I can assure you that Jason and Stefanakos, at least, did not commit suicide because of the prospect of bankruptcy. If you don’t believe me, all you have to do is ask to see their companies’ balance sheets and give them to a specialist to examine. He’ll tell you that the companies are doing just fine.’ She paused for a moment and her tone suddenly became cold. ‘Three people have died by their own hand, Inspector, and before thousands of eyes. That’s tragic for their families and also for those who knew and loved them. But they weren’t murdered, so why do you care?’

Her irony had turned into controlled indignation. They were dead anyway, I thought to myself. If they had been murdered instead of committing suicide, I would have come up with a lead far more easily. How was I to explain to Yannelis, without any evidence, that to my mind the three suicides were indirectly murders? And how was I to convince her that if we didn’t come up with the reasons behind them soon, it was very probable that the suicides would continue and we’d be faced with a suicide epidemic that we wouldn’t know how to stop? If I had been dealing with a murder, I would have been able to involve another three or four divisions. I would collect evidence, have bank accounts opened and, sooner or later, I’d get to the bottom of it. But now I had neither evidence nor arguments and I was going round in circles like a mouse on a wheel.

‘Do you think it a mere coincidence that three leading figures from the world of business, politics and journalism should commit suicide in succession?’

She shrugged. ‘Some coincidences are inexplicable.’

‘And the biographies? The two were published within ten days of each suicide and the third was delivered to my door at the very moment that Vakirtzis was committing suicide.’

This time, she didn’t answer straightaway. ‘Agreed. The biographies lend some weight to your argument. But who’s to say they weren’t already written and the author is simply cashing in on the events? All three of them were well-known personalities and lived action-packed lives. That’s a temptation for any biographer. After all, there’s the example of that nationalist organisation that wanted to take advantage of the suicides to draw attention to itself. Perhaps the biographer was doing the same thing.’

‘He had three biographies of three hundred pages each ready and waiting, Mrs Yannelis. Two of them were already in the hands of the publishers. He can’t have written three biographies expecting his three protagonists to eventually commit suicide. Not to mention that this Logaras didn’t give any address to his publishers, or even a bank account so they could pay him his royalties.’

‘He’s not going to lose them. He can turn up at any time and ask for them.’

‘Perhaps, but his actions suggest that he won’t.’

She looked at me gravely this time and her question sounded sincere: ‘What are you looking for, Inspector?’

‘I told you. I want to find out why Favieros, Stefanakos and Vakirtzis committed suicide.’

‘And you think you’ll find out by investigating our companies?’ she said, again in an ironic tone of voice.

I was about to reply, but Koula beat me to it: ‘Excuse me, Mrs Yannelis, but are you sure there won’t be any more suicides?’ she asked politely. ‘We’ve already had three that follow exactly the same pattern.’

Yannelis turned and stared at her with a surprised look on her face, as though she had just noticed her for the first time. ‘How should I know, my dear girl?’ she said in the same disparaging tone used by taxi drivers when they talk to young women. ‘Let’s face it, not even you know.’

‘Precisely. And because neither you nor we know, you can try answering our questions so that we might get somewhere before we have more suicides on our conscience.’

Yannelis stared at her even more surprised. ‘All right, I’ll tell you whatever I can,’ she said in a conciliatory tone. ‘And if you ever get fed up with the Police Force, come to me and I’ll hire you.’

Koula blushed, which was an encouraging sign that she hadn’t lost her modesty. I took advantage of the window she had opened for me and I began my questioning.

‘Do you know whether Jason Favieros had any connections with Apostolos Vakirtzis?’

‘If you mean professional ones, no. Vakirtzis is neither a partner nor an associate in any of the companies in the group. I can tell you that with certainty.’