Petros Markaris - Che Committed Suicide

I got up to take my leave of her, but her farewell was far from cordial. ‘I trust this will be the last time that we meet, Inspector,’ she said. ‘I find your presence distressful, as I don’t like talking either about my husband or about my businesses.’

‘I quite understand,’ I said in all sincerity.

As I turned into Vikelas Street, I toyed with the idea of paying a call on Zamanis. But I thought better of it, coming to agree with Stathatos’s opinion. Apart from his dedication to the ideals of conspiracy, Zamanis was even more fed up of seeing me than Stathatos and he would send me packing as soon as he heard my name. I would wait first to see what Vlassopoulos and Dermitzakis came up with. I very much doubted they would discover the common secret linking the three men, but they might discover something that would help me to break Zamanis’s silence.

It was six in the evening and I decided to go home. Before I’d left the office, Koula had phoned me to say that I would have to rule out getting anything from Favieros’s computer in Porto Rafti. So I wasn’t expecting any more earth-shattering news unless, of course, another new biography by Logaras was delivered to me. The thought made me shudder, but I tried to convince myself that no such thing would happen.

Everything was quiet when I got home and I heaved a sigh of relief. Adriani was sitting in her usual place of honour in front of the TV. The air conditioning was on and the room was cool. She had had it on regularly during the previous few days.

‘I see you’ve got used to the air conditioning,’ I said to tease her.

‘I put it on so the money we paid for it won’t go to waste,’ was her glib reply.

I sat down beside her to watch whatever was on till it was time for the news bulletin, but the only choice was between indifferent chat shows and game shows. After five minutes, I’d had enough. I was about to withdraw to my dictionaries, when I felt two hands covering my eyes.

‘Katerina!’ I shouted, because we had played that game when she was a little girl.

‘So you haven’t forgotten our game, eh?’ I heard her say, as she pulled her hands away from my eyes and wrapped them round my neck.

‘What time did you arrive?’

‘On the 12.10 from Thessaloniki. We were at Larissa Station just after six.’

‘And why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’

‘So I could see you as you are now,’ she said laughing.

‘How long are you staying?’ I asking, hugging her. From the moment she came home, I was always immediately gripped by the fear of her leaving.

‘I’m staying a week. Then Fanis and I are going on holiday and in August, when Athens is empty, I’ll be back here again.’

‘We’d better make plans for going in July, because I can’t see us leaving in August,’ said Adriani, cutting in.

‘We’ll go, don’t worry. Besides, I can’t see this case going on for much longer.’

‘Do you really believe that?’ asked Katerina.

‘It’s like this, dear. Either the investigation will stop or the suicides will.’

‘And what if the suicides don’t stop?’ asked Adriani. She had made a hobby of bringing bad luck.

‘Then we’ll go away so I won’t see them.’

I almost believed it when I said it. I would have found it unbearable to stay in a scorching Athens waiting for my daughter to get back from her holidays. Whereas being on a cool island counting the days till I would return to Athens and find my daughter waiting for me seemed a much better prospect, whichever way you looked at it.

It had been months since I had experienced the delight of the family breakfast in the kitchen. I certainly hadn’t felt it since returning from the hospital. It was nine in the morning and the three of us were sitting round the table: Adriani with her cup of tea, Katerina with her iced coffee and me with my sweet Greek coffee. We were all sipping at our beverages, with Adriani casting a sideways glance at Katerina every so often. I attributed it to the fact that she had missed her and couldn’t get enough of looking at her, but, as usual, I was wrong.

‘So, Pop, do you have any objections to meeting Fanis’s folks?’ Katerina suddenly asked me.

I immediately understood Adriani’s sideways glances. She had been waiting impatiently for her daughter to broach the topic. I must have been expecting it too, because it didn’t surprise me.

‘Is there an engagement in the air, or am I mistaken?’ I asked calmly.

‘Call it what you like, but Fanis knows you both and I know Fanis’s parents, and only our parents haven’t met each other. So we decided to get you together before we go off on holiday.’ She paused momentarily and then added somewhat restrainedly: ‘Fanis’s parents are quite keen on the idea.’

‘The question is whether it’s something you and Fanis want.’

‘It is,’ she answered without hesitation.

‘So arrange it for whenever you want.’ She got up and planted a kiss on my cheek.

‘Anyhow, my opinion is that if we’re going to meet, we should exchange the rings too,’ Adriani cut in.

‘Mum, don’t start rushing things. Everything in its own good time.’

‘Katerina dear, your father is a police officer, and when the bonds aren’t tied officially, the rumours start to fly.’

‘And when did the police start arresting couples not wearing engagement rings?’ I asked her.

She was about to have a go at me when the doorbell rang and Katerina got up to see who it was. Adriani took a time-out and waited for her daughter to return before continuing.

‘Dad, it’s for you!’ Katerina shouted from outside.

I suddenly feared the worst. I left my coffee and rushed to the front door. I encountered a young lad wearing a helmet and carrying a shoulder bag, the classic attire of a courier.

‘Sign here!’ he said and thrust the envelope together with the receipt into my face.

It was exactly the same kind of envelope as the one containing Vakirtzis’s biography. Instead of taking hold of the envelope, I grabbed hold of the lad and pulled him into the house.

‘Tell me who gave you this envelope and where! I want the exact address and a full description!’

‘What’s got into you, Dad?’ I heard Katerina’s voice but it was no time for explanations.

The young lad looked terrified and didn’t know whether he was dealing with a policeman or a madman. ‘12 Nisaias Street,’ he murmured. ‘It’s written there.’

It was the deserted ramshackle house that Logaras always gave as his address.

‘An old house?’

‘Yes.’

‘And where were they waiting for you? Inside or out?’

‘Outside, on the pavement.’

‘And who gave you the envelope? I want you to describe him to me in every detail.’

He reflected for a moment. ‘An Asian girl. Thai, Filipino, I couldn’t say. Small, a little chubby, wearing jeans and a brown T-shirt.’

The simplest thing in the world. You send your Filipino maid to hand over the envelope in front of a deserted house so the police would have no chance of ever finding her.

‘Where did the order to pick up the envelope come from?’

‘I don’t know. The orders are taken by the people at the central office. They notify the courier for that area to go and pick it up.’

I scribbled my initials on the receipt and took the envelope. The lad ran through the door and jumped into the lift before I changed my mind.

‘What’s got into you?’ Katerina asked again, staring at me strangely.

‘Vakirtzis’s biography was sent to me by courier and in exactly the same kind of envelope!’

She realised what that meant and stood over me to see what was in the envelope. The biography wasn’t as thick as the previous ones because, as I held the envelope, I could tell that whatever was in it was thin and light. I ripped it open, but, instead of finding paper, I found a piece of red material folded into four. I opened it up and it turned out to be a T-shirt imprinted with the face of Che Guevara.