Jeffrey Siger - Sons of Sparta

As expected, Niko was out of jail the next day and back in Gytheio where he promised to remain until “vindicated.” When the prosecutor learned from Andreas that Calliope had confessed to her role in the matter, and from Kouros of Niko’s claimed statement of the facts, he told both cops there was a better case for convicting Calliope than Niko. Even more so after Kouros’ wrestling buddy, the bear, denied ever telling Kouros of a link between Niko and the uncle’s murder. He denied being part of anything more that an effort to convince Niko’s old acquaintance, Babis, not to take his own life but rather turn himself in for the uncle’s murder.

Andreas and Kouros knew where this was headed. With the actual killer dead, the victim a notorious bad guy, and prosecutorial resources strapped to the limit by across-the-board financial cuts, there was very little chance that Niko would ever see the inside of a prison cell. At least not this time.

Andreas looked up to see who was coming through his office door. “You look pissed. What’s wrong?”

“I just got word the prosecutor isn’t taking my uncle’s case to trial.”

Andreas shook his head. “I hate this part of the job. We bust our asses catching scum everyone knows is guilty and some spineless prosecutor lets him walk because he doesn’t have the balls to risk hurting his conviction rate. We knew this was a tough case, but I thought the prosecutor would at least try to put him away.” Andreas pointed a finger at Kouros. “I want you to run a full financial background check on that prosecutor. If we find so much as a euro unaccounted for in his account I’m going to hang his crooked ass out to dry.”

“No one’s angrier than I am, but it isn’t all the prosecutor’s fault.” Kouros dropped onto the couch.

“What are you saying?”

“My cousins are very worried about Calliope. Niko was out of jail within hours after his arrest, but she’s been penned up in a psychiatric ward for nearly a month and a half. Mangas told me her doctors believe that if she testified it could send her over the edge forever.”

Andreas shook his head. “And Niko’s lawyers would make sure she testified.”

“In vivid, excruciating detail. That’s why Mangas told the prosecutor today that his sister wouldn’t testify. And her psychiatrist backed him up on that.”

Andreas blew out a rush of air from between his lips. “At least Babis is dead. That’s some justice. Which reminds me, maybe someone should let Stella know that Niko and his two numb-nuts buddies are free? Just in case they might still consider her a loose end.”

“I already told her. Her residency permit came through last week and she’s moving north to Thessaloniki.”

“What’s the matter, she didn’t like Athens?”

“No, she found a nice guy and he got a job up there, so she’s going with him.”

Andreas studied Kouros’ face. “How do you feel about that?”

He shrugged. “Fine, we’re just friends.”

“I see. So, what are you doing for Christmas?”

“Not sure yet.”

“Well, it’s the day after tomorrow, and you’re invited to our house if nothing better turns up.”

“Thanks. I was sort of thinking of going down to the Mani to spend it with my cousins.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“But I’m not sure about that anymore.”

“Why’s that?”

“Mangas told me Father Carlos has visited Calliope every day she’s been in the hospital and just obtained permission from her doctors to bring her home for three days over Christmas.”

“That’s terrific news.”

“Yes, but I don’t think I should be there for her homecoming. They don’t need me as a walking reminder of all she’s done and been through.”

“Your family can’t blame you for what she did.”

“I hope not. But, still, I don’t have be in her face the very first day she’s out. In time, I want to talk to her. Perhaps give her something her father didn’t think she’d appreciate.” Kouros turned his head and stared out the window behind the couch. “I think he was wrong about that. It’s a chest that once belonged to our Great-aunt Calliope.”

“Do I take all that as a ‘yes’ for dinner on Christmas? Tassos and Maggie will be there.”

“Sure. Thanks. Is the new kid you brought into the unit coming?”

“Petro? He’s on Crete, making Orestes’ life miserable. I told him to be his shadow until he found something to nail Orestes with big-time. Our new government says they want to fight corruption wherever it is, no matter who’s involved. So I thought, wouldn’t it be nice to start at the top for once?”

“May justice prevail in the end.”

“While you’re at it, don’t forget true love,” said Andreas.

“Yeah. Too bad this is real life, not fiction.”

***

At four in the morning on Christmas Day, church bells rang out across Greece. Services followed, in some communities right then, but in most not before six. The ensuing three-hour service ended a forty-day fast forbidding fish, meat, dairy, and on Wednesdays and Fridays, olive oil. Beneath the altar, waiting to be blessed, lay bread, sweet red wine, oven-prepared lamb and roasted potatoes donated to the community by those who’d lost relatives over the past year. It served as an offering for the souls of the recently departed and comprised the traditional Christmas Day feast shared with the community at tables set up outside the church expressly for the occasion.

Saint Petros Church was packed. But that was to be expected. Especially with less than thirty minutes to go in the service. Neighbors nodded to neighbors, friends introduced visiting relatives and guests to other friends, and women all in black, some in full nun’s veil, scurried around outside the church, readying the tables for the onslaught of diners.

One priest led the service and two others assisted. Lay participants and common worshippers performed their roles perfectly in rituals rehearsed since childhood, with a sort of clockwork-like precision rare to experience in Greece. As the service came to an end, worshippers hurried outside to find places at tables for their families. Some approached a table closest to the sea but were shooed away by a not-so-gentle-looking giant saying, “Sorry, taken.”

Many came to this tiny island with its solitary white church and gentle harbor backdrop to exchange vows, promising to remain as one until death did them part. Some perhaps came wondering whether similar thoughts might have passed between Helen and Paris as they began their own epic journey from this place. While others, like many here today, thought only of the festivities to follow.

A group of six walked toward the taken table. A tall man in black trousers, white shirt, and a dark zippered jacket led them there. He smiled at everyone he passed, exchanging Christmas wishes. A few said “Congratulations,” and he thanked each one.

He sat at the head of the table facing the church, his wife and two grown children to his right, his in-laws to his left.

Head-to-toe black-clad women hurried around distributing bread, wine, and platters of food to the tables. The sounds of toasts, rousing voices, and laughter filled the air. Priests moved from table to table, exchanging Kala Kristougenna greetings with the gathered, and men walked about, finding their friends and wishing Merry Christmas with a quick smack on the back or fast squeeze of the shoulders. Many came to greet the man at the head of the table. He smiled and toasted each one.

All the toasting had given Niko a buzz. No matter, he had much to celebrate. The prosecutor couldn’t prove a thing. Too bad Babis had screwed up and failed to get the vendetta angle to play. The old man hadn’t told anyone about Niko’s carefully scripted threats, rendering pointless the message Niko had Babis put on the back of the old man’s newspaper and the SMS Niko anonymously sent the day before the hit. The messages were supposed to emerge as part of an elaborate but feeble attempt by the Ukrainian to pass off a professional hit as a vendetta killing.