Petros Markaris - Che Committed Suicide

These thoughts were still running through my head as I reached the third floor of Security Headquarters and made a beeline for the office of my assistants. I found all three of them working feverishly. I didn’t know whether they really had work to do or whether they were pretending to be occupied because of Koula, afraid that she might snitch on them because she was Ghikas’s private secretary.

‘Come into my office,’ I shouted to them.

When I walked in, I got a surprise, because waiting for me on my desk was a coffee and croissant, my breakfast every day at the office. A croissant wrapped in cellophane and a so-called Greek coffee made with an espresso machine. I usually got them myself from the cafeteria. I attributed their willingness to bring them for me to my recent return from sick leave and I felt moved.

‘Who brought my coffee and croissant?’ I asked when they came into my office.

‘I did,’ replied Koula, overjoyed. ‘My colleagues here told me that’s what you have for breakfast.’

I immediately understood what was going on. Vlassopoulos and Dermitzakis had decided to demote her to filing and bringing coffee in order to keep her out of their way.

‘I didn’t assign you to bring me my breakfast,’ I said to her sternly. ‘I assigned you other work and that’s what I expect you to be doing. I can get the coffee and croissant myself.’

It was the first time I had asserted my authority. She turned pale and I saw that she was ready to burst into tears. I felt sorry for her, but I didn’t want the other two having her run errands.

‘We still haven’t managed to discover any secret from their past,’ said Vlassopoulos in an attempt to change the subject.

‘Forget the past for the time being. There’s something more pressing.’ I tossed the red Che T-shirt to Vlassopoulos, who caught it in the air. ‘I want you to find out who manufactures those T-shirts.’

He looked at the T-shirt and shook his head. ‘It won’t be easy! It’s shoddy work and there must be at least ten different factories that could have made it.’

‘Find out which ones. It’s urgent.’ I reached into my pocket and took out my notebook with the names that Zissis had given me. I looked at Dermitzakis. ‘Stellios Dimou, Anestis Telopoulos and Vassos Zikas. I want you to find out everything you can about them. And if they’re dead, how they died and when. If they’re alive, where they live and what they do for a living. And I want the information quickly, today if possible.’

I turned to Koula. ‘Does the name Yannelis mean anything to you?’

She hadn’t recovered from the scolding and still had tears in her eyes. ‘Coralia Yannelis at Balkan Prospect,’ she mumbled with some difficulty.

‘Exactly. Now I want you to search for a certain Athanassios or Thanos Yannelis. He’s probably dead, but, if he were alive, he’d be over seventy-five now. I want you to find out his particulars and check them against those of Coralia Yannelis. I want to know if they’re related and how closely. You’ve met Coralia Yannelis, you’ve talked to her and you know exactly what to look for.’

I stressed this last sentence to make it clear to the other two that Koula was more in the know concerning the case than they were and that they should stop treating her as though she were the errand girl. It seemed that Koula understood because I saw a smile appearing on her face.

‘And one more thing. Go up to the fifth floor and tell the Chief that I’d like to see him and Stellas from Anti-terrorism concerning the suicides as soon as possible. Tell him it’s urgent.’

They left, with Koula leading the way, while I removed the cellophane and began eating my croissant. I may have had to scold Koula for preventative reasons, but the coffee and croissant testified beyond any doubt to my longed-for return to routine. I took a sip from the coffee that, meanwhile, had gone cold. I got up to go down to the cafeteria and get another one, but then I immediately sat down again. Never mind, I thought, Adriani has spoiled me. At work, I almost always end up drinking my coffee cold.

As I was taking the last sip, Koula phoned to say that Ghikas was ready to see me. The lift kept me waiting a good ten minutes, evidently to take the wind out of my sails so I wouldn’t have any illusions about its workings.

I arrived at Ghikas’s office and saw Koula sitting at her desk outside, tidying up a mass of papers.

‘What are you doing here?’ I asked her.

‘He told me to spend an hour or so putting his papers in order because he was getting buried under them and didn’t know where to find anything.’ She took a deep breath and added: ‘It’s difficult to know where to begin.’

‘Don’t get yourself worked up about it. Till we’re through with this case, he’s not going to get you back. I made that clear to him.’

‘No, you don’t understand. I’m talking about afterwards. From what I see, it’ll take me at least two months to put everything back in order.’

‘Go and find out what you can about Yannelis and leave the rest to me. I’ll sort it out with him.’

The old Ghikas. Never missing an opportunity. But now we were in a hurry and there was no time for luxuries of that sort.

I found him poring over the brochure of the Worker’s Housing Organisation concerning the houses in the Olympic Village that would be allotted to the lucky few after the Olympic Games. I didn’t know whether he met the requirements, but if he were to enter the draw, no doubt he’d come out with one of the first-choice houses.

‘What’s happened all of a sudden?’ he asked, as he folded up the brochure and stuffed it in one of his drawers. ‘Have there been some developments? And why Stellas?’

I gave him a full and detailed report: about the T-shirt and the song and about all I’d learned from Zissis, without, of course, referring to his name or to the names he’d given me.’

‘In other words, we’re making progress,’ he said with satisfaction when I had finished my report.

‘It depends. Maybe yes, maybe no.’

We’d known each other for years and he could read my reactions. ‘What’s bothering you?’ he asked.

‘It’s not so much that we are making progress as that Logaras is leading us by the hand. That’s what troubles me. I’m not sure whether he’s leading me or setting traps for me that I keep falling into.’

‘When we were with the Minister, you said you wanted him to play cat and mouse with you.’

‘Yes. In the hope that while following his trail I’ll come up with something unexpected, something he hasn’t foreseen, and that I’ll get a lead from there. That’s what I’m counting on.’

Our conversation was interrupted as Stellas, deputy head of the Anti-terrorist Squad walked in. He took a seat opposite me and then looked at us in hierarchical order: first Ghikas then me.

‘So, what is it?’ he asked.

Ghikas glanced at me and left it to me to take the initiative.

‘Tell me, Nikos, have you heard of any resistance organisation from the time of the Junta called the Che Independent Resistance Organisation?’

He reflected for a moment. ‘You mean Yannelis?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Do you know him?’

‘Not personally. But I know what my older colleagues used to say about him.

‘What did they say?’

‘They did everything but get to their feet when they mentioned his name. Seems Yannelis was one of those few that you fight against and respect at the same time.’

‘Do you know who else was in the organisation?’

‘No, that’s all I know. It was the Military Police who dealt with them and their records were all burned in Keratsini. I’d know them only if they’d continued their activities after the fall of the Junta.’