Jeffrey Siger - Sons of Sparta

Andreas drew in and let out a breath. “There is another angle to take on this.”

“Being?”

“If you want to find the rotten apple in a barrel, follow the worm.”

“I never heard that one before.”

“Because I just made it up. But that worm Orestes inspired me. I’ll just keep an eye on him and see where it leads me.”

“Yeah, it sure sounds like it isn’t personal.”

“I don’t like being set up.”

“Just be careful. Is Kouros working on this with you?”

“He’s down in the Mani. His uncle died.”

“That uncle?”

“Yes, ‘that uncle.’”

“I knew him.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Cute, wiseass. It just so happens that back in the late 1800s, when Syros was in its heyday as the shipping capital of Greece, a businessman from Syros with roots in the Mani and a merchant from the Mani teamed up to create a commercial center in the Deep Mani port of Gerolimenas. It thrived for generations. Those days are long gone but many families from both places still remain close.”

“Yianni thinks his uncle’s death might not be the accident it seemed.”

“That should lead to some fun times in the Mani.”

“He’s worried about that, too.”

“If he needs any help, just tell him to give me a holler.”

“I’ll pass it along.”

“Notice I didn’t offer to help you,” said Tassos.

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“It’s because Yianni’s problem is capable of having a solution. Yours is not.”

“I guess that means I won’t be seeing you.”

“Of course you will. Maggie spoke to Lila while waiting for me to get to this landline and call back. We’re all having dinner tonight.”

“Why am I always the last to know?”

“I see we’re back to questions for the oracle. See you tonight. Bye.”

Andreas put down the phone. Tassos was right. He should forget about going after Orestes.

“Maggie, get me the prosecutor on the phone.”

Andreas drummed his fingers on the desktop. “And the personnel file on that cop Petro. I might just have a special assignment for him.”

***

Kouros stood at the entrance of a one-story gray and brown stone taverna built along the road just above the beach at Marmari. Its heavy, dark brown wooden door bore the word “Entrance” in English. Uncle had come to this taverna every morning to meet his friends for coffee and he died on his way home from here. His children thought it only fitting that they host the traditional post-funeral meal of fish soup and fish in the place that had played such a large part in their father’s life.

Kouros saw the taverna as something quite different. A crime scene. Here Uncle received a death threat delivered in his morning newspaper and, if his death were not an accident, the most likely spot that led to his end. Kouros turned his head and stared back up the road toward the cemetery and the place of his uncle’s crash. But I’m not a cop today, he thought. I’m family.

What better time to start an investigation ?

“Yianni, get your ass in here,” yelled one of his cousins from the taverna’s doorway. “The priest wants to say a blessing and Mangas won’t let him start until you’re inside.”

“Okay, I’m coming.”

Kouros jogged the few paces to the front door and down four stone steps into a room the size of a deep, three-car garage filled with empty, well-worn, square-top tables and tattered, lattice-seat taverna chairs. Stone walls and floors made the practically windowless room look much the same as it must have a hundred years before. But no one was in the room.

Directly across from Kouros a wide stone archway opened into a much larger modern room overlooking the sea through broad, wood-framed spaces shielded from the winds by transparent, retractable shades anchored to the floor. Lines of long tables ran parallel to the sea, packed with guests who’d come to pay their respects.

The instant Kouros appeared in the doorway the priest began his prayer and Mangas waved for Kouros to sit beside him at the far end of the row of tables closest to the sea.

“Thanks for coming, Yianni.”

Kouros nodded.

“Your mother looks well.”

“Puh, puh, puh. Yes, she does.”

“You’re lucky to still have her.”

Kouros nodded again. “I know.”

Mangas patted Kouros on the back. “What did you think of Calliope’s mirologia performance?”

“She’s very talented.”

Mangas smiled. “I thought you were a cop, not a diplomat.”

Kouros shrugged. “What else can I say, it’s her father’s funeral. She has every right to be emotional.”

“What about me? Should I be emotional too?” There was no anger in Mangas’ voice.

“If it makes you feel better.”

“Good. I’ll take that as a blessing from you that I should find someone to kill to make my sister happy.”

“Since when have you ever listened to your sister?”

Mangas laughed. “Can you stay for a few days? You make me laugh.”

“I will if you want me to, but first a question.”

Mangas nodded.

“What the hell’s going on?”

Mangas rocked his head from side to side. “It’s pretty clear Calliope’s upset. I don’t know what was going through her mind to chant a mirologia at the funeral. Especially that mirologia , but despite what she said, the mechanic found nothing wrong with our father’s car, and according to the coroner who did the autopsy, he died from a massive heart attack.”

Kouros shook his head. “A real tragedy.”

“I’d like you to take a look at the autopsy report. Just to see if you agree.”

“Sure. But if it’s technical, I might have to send it on to Athens.”

Mangas nodded. “No problem.”

“Don’t you trust the guy who did the autopsy?” said Kouros.

“I trust him, but he’s not a big-time criminal investigator like my cousin, Athens Yianni. And before I go head-to-head with Calliope over her craziness about our father being murdered, I want to make sure she’s not right.”

“Understood.”

Both reached for shot glasses of whiskey sitting in front of them. “ Theos singhorese ton ,” each said before clinking glasses and gulping down the shots.

God forgive his soul indeed, thought Kouros.

***

The afternoon dragged on slowly for the family. Though many of the guests had left, the family lingered, as if reluctant to return to a world without Uncle’s presence. Most sat staring out to sea, adding one story after another to what was fast becoming the legend of Uncle. Not the least of the tales were of Uncle’s way with the ladies. Stories his sons took pride in retelling and his daughters feigned to ignore.

At the other end of the same table, five men of about Uncle’s age sat drinking, toasting, and laughing. None of them seemed in a hurry to leave.

“Who are they?” said Kouros, nodding in their direction.

“His coffee buddies,” said Mangas. “They met for coffee here every morning. Been doing that since long before the new owner took over.”

“How long ago did he take over?”

Mangas shrugged. “Six years or so? Why do you ask?”

“Just my natural cop curiosity. I’ll be right back.” Kouros slid his chair back from the table, stood, and walked over to the five men.

“ Yia sas . Mind if I sit down?”

A chubby, bald man with a bulbous red nose and fisherman’s cap said, “Of course not. Our friend’s favorite nephew is always welcome here.”

“Even if he’s a cop,” said a silver-haired, wiry fellow with bright blue eyes.

Kouros smiled as he sat. “I see I don’t have to introduce myself.”