Petros Markaris - Deadline in Athens

"The rod entered beneath the left thorax at an angle of approximately fifteeen degrees. It pierced the heart and came out through her shoulder. The murderer was standing behind her."

"Why behind her?"

"From the front he wouldn't have been able to run her through with such force without knocking over the chair." He went and got one of the metal stands. "He must have killed her something like this." He held it in both hands just above the middle, raised it, and brought it down with force. "He must have been quite tall and muscular."

"How do you figure?"

"If he was short, either the wound would have been higher, or he wouldn't have been able to run her through at all because he would have lost some of his strength when leaning over."

He may have seemed grumpy and dispirited, but he knew his job. "What can you tell me about the time?"

"Two or three hours. No more than three, but no less than two. I might be able to be more exact after the autopsy."

He left without saying good-bye. "Sir," said Sotiris, whom I'd notified and who had meanwhile arrived. "There are a lot of reporters outside asking to see you. And Mr. Sperantzas, the newscaster, is annoyed that you're making him wait."

"I don't give a shit! First, I want to see whoever it was who found the body. Have him brought here."

"It wasn't a he, it was a she. A girl from the production team."

"Just get her here!"

How on earth could the murderer have come up to Karayoryi from behind, with the stand in his hands, without her having seen him in the mirror? She must have seen him, but not thought anything bad because she'd known him. So we were looking for a tall, well-built acquaintance of Yanna Karayoryi's who at the time of the murder, obviously, was at the studios.

The girl who came in couldn't have been more than twenty-two and was pretty nondescript. At most she was five one, or maybe five two. She was wearing jeans, a shirt, and boots. She was still shaking from the shock, and her eyes were swollen from crying. Sotiris stood her before me, holding her by the arm, so she couldn't get away from him, like the thoroughbred police officer that he was, instead of sit ting her down on a chair so she might feel relaxed and we could get to the bottom of things.

"Have a seat," I said to her gently, and I had her sit in the third chair, which was the only one available. She sat with her legs drawn in, her hands clamped on her knees, and she stared at me silently.

"What's your name?"

"Dimitra… Dimitra Zoumadaki…"

"Listen, Dimitra, there's nothing to be afraid of. Just tell me what you know, in your own time. If you forget anything, don't worry, you can add it later."

She remained silent for a while to collect her thoughts. It wasn't easy for her. She unclamped her hands and began rubbing them on her jeans. "We were about to move on to the news bulletin when we suddenly saw that a spotlight had burnt out, and so Mr. Manisalis sent me to get another one-"

"Who is Mr. Manisalis?"

"The director… I'm his assistant…"

"Okay… go on..:'

"I came running in here, and I didn't notice her. I was in a hurry to replace the spotlight. But when I turned around to leave, I suddenly saw-" she covered her face with her hands as if wanting to block out the memory.

"You saw the metal rod sticking out of her back," I said coaxingly, to help her. She nodded emphatically and began sobbing.

"Open your eyes," I told her, but she kept them shut. "Open your eyes. There's nothing to be afraid of." She opened them and looked, first at me, then, hesitantly, all around her. The room had been emptied. The corpse was in an ambulance on its way to the mortuary, and the forensics boys had left. There was only Sotiris, who was standing discreetly outside her line of vision.

"Try to remember, Dimitra. Was this chair here, as it is now, or was it turned toward the mirror?"

She stared at the chair and thought for a moment.

"It must have been like that because I didn't touch anything, I'm sure of that. I screamed and ran outside. And Mr. Manisalis, who came back with me afterward, didn't enter the room at all. He looked in from the door and went at once to the phone."

"When you were coming to get the spotlight, did you see anyone outside in the corridor? Anyone coming out of the room or leaving?"

"I didn't see anyone, but I heard something."

"What did you hear?"

"Footsteps. Someone was running. But I didn't pay any attention, because there's always someone running in here. We're all run off our feet."

"That's my girl, you reeled it off like an expert. I'll let you know when to come to make an official statement, but there's no urgency. Tomorrow, the day after, when you've got over the shock. Go on home now and have some rest. But find someone to take you, don't go on your own.

She smiled at me, relieved. As soon as she opened the door to go out, they all poured in, pushing her back inside. I'd put an officer on guard outside, but he got caught up in the bedlam too and ended up inside the room. At their head was Sotiropoulos, leader in the Taking of the Bastille.

"What happened is tragic," he announced to me sorrowfully. That's to say, only the tone of his voice was sorrowful, because his expression revealed nothing, unshaven as he was, and as for his eyes, these looked, behind his round glasses, like two tiny beads that reacted only to intense light.

"Yanna Karayoryi was the personification of the honest and conscientious journalist, who went fearlessly and determinedly in search of the truth. She will be sorely missed."

I listened to this worthless spiel in silence. He raised the tone of his voice-not because I said nothing. He would have done it anyway, he'd rehearsed it. "And while the journalistic world is in turmoil, the police provocatively keep silent and have made no statement. We demand, Inspector, that you tell us what you know about the heinous murder of our colleague Yanna Karayoryi. 11

"I have no intention whatsoever of telling you anything, Mr. Sotiropoulos." He was at a loss as to how to react to the officiousness of my manner.

"That's unacceptable, Inspector," he said, in an equally officious tone. "You cannot treat us in this way when we give our lives for the truth."

"I can't make any statement, or reveal any aspect of the investigation, before questioning every one of you."

"Question us?" A brouhaha consisting of three ingredients rose up from them: bewilderment, alarm, and protest. Two cups of water, four cups of flour, and half a cup of sugar, as Adriani says when she gives the recipe for her famous cake, which-just between us-is inedible.

"There is evidence that the victim knew the murderer. And you were all colleagues or friends of Karayoryi. It's perfectly obvious that we would want to question you."

"Are we regarded as suspects?"

"I can reveal no part of the investigation to you before questioning you. That's all. Tomorrow morning, I want every one of you in my office, and that's not because I intend to make a statement. Sotiris, take all their names before you show them out."

"Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. That's a fundamental rule of law, or perhaps they didn't teach you that in the academy."

"That's what the lawyers say. In the eyes of the police, everyone is guilty until proven innocent." I pushed through the crowd and went out into the corridor.

Behind me swirls of protest and indignation rose and fell, but I was content. Of course, the next day Ghikas would give me a chewing out for ruining his good relations with the media, but I'd been through far worse.

Sperantzas was sitting where he sits when he reads the news, behind the oval table. He was alone because on the late-night news, he appears without any entourage. He wasn't the one with the handkerchief in the breast pocket of his jacket to wipe away the tears; he was the other one, the one who shouted the news as if he were selling watermelons in the market. He looked at me as I came in and couldn't decide whether he should lead with displeasure at being kept waiting or distress at the murder of his colleague. In the end, he settled for a deep sigh that covered both. I went and sat next to him in the seat of the girl who presents the sports news.