Petros Markaris - Deadline in Athens

"Dourou… no." He opened the door. "Anyway, I've clued you in and now I'm going to get some sleep," he said, pleased with himself.

"I'll take you."

"No need for you to go out of your way. I'll get a taxi."

"Why pay for a taxi? Come on, I'll drop you off."

"Do you know how many times I've done it on foot because I was broke?" he said. "At least I have the money to pay now."

As he was about to get out, I reached over and took hold of his arm. "Why do you help me, Lambros?" I asked him.

What was I expecting him to say? That he did it out of friendship? Out of love? Out of gratitude?

"When you don't have anything left to believe in, you believe in the police," he said with a smile filled with bitterness. "You're as low as it gets. I got that low and we found ourselves together. That's all."

He started to get out, then he changed his mind. "I also do it because you're all right," he said.

"What have I done to be all right?" My mind immediately went to Bouboulinas Street.

"I heard on the radio about that Kolakoglou. You did more than all right."

Through the windshield I watched him quickly walking away. A little farther on, he hailed a taxi and got in.

I shook my head. All the old-style leftists were the same. They think that the police are monsters who kill innocent folk and then live it up. And whenever they come upon someone who's different, they're surprised and happy, as if they'd discovered a new party member.

"Eleni Dourou is nowhere to be found," Sotiris said to me the next morning. "The address on her identity card is Fourteen Skopelou Street in Kypseli, but she moved five or six years ago when her husband died. No one knows where she went. The phone in Kypseli was in her husband's name, and there's no phone now in her own name. I can't find a lead anywhere."

"Keep looking. We have to find her."

"I do have some answers from the customs people concerning the refrigeration trucks belonging to Transpilar."

"Go on"

"They were carrying goods to Albania for companies belonging to Greeks and people from northern Epirus. They came back empty."

"Empty?"

"Yes. But there's something about it that bugs me."

"For God's sake, Sotiris. Out with it. What is bugging you?"

"All the entry documents from Albania into Greece were signed by the same customs officer. Name of Lefteris Hourdakis. Strange that all the trucks belonging to Transpilar should happen upon the same customs official."

It wasn't just strange. It stank at one hundred kilometers. "Get hold of the customs people at the border. I want to talk to this Hourdakis."

"He's no longer there. He took early retirement."

"Hand the airport over to Thanassis and start looking for Hourdakis. I want that man without fail."

There was no question it was a con. Someone notified the drivers in Albania and they made sure they crossed the border when Hourdakis was on duty. I would bet good money that the drivers were the same ones each time too. I could have got their names from Transpi lar, but Pylarinos would have heard of it and would have started asking questions of his own. I preferred to wait, until I had questioned Hourdakis.

The telephone sprang me from my thoughts. It was Ghikas. "Come up to my office." The usual sharp tone.

The elevator started acting up again. It kept going up and down between the third and fourth floors just to get on my nerves. In the end, I got out on the fourth and took the stairs. It arrived at the fifth at the same time I did.

Koula wasn't there and the outer office was empty. I walked straight into Ghikas's office without knocking. He had summoned me himself, so there was no need to stand on ceremony.

Ghikas was at his desk. Facing him was Petratos with another man, all spruced up. Koula was sitting at the edge of the desk with a pad on her knees, poised to take notes.

"Get a chair and sit down," Ghikas said to me. I took a chair from the conference table and put it at the other corner of the desk, opposite Koula. That way I'd have Petratos facing me.

"This is Mr. Sotiriou, Mr. Petratos's lawyer." Ghikas gestured at the other man. "Mr. Petratos has agreed to answer any questions we may have."

Petratos shot a venomous glance at me.

"Before we go any further," the lawyer said, "I'd like you to tell us the results of the test carried out on the handwriting sample provided by my client."

Ghikas turned and looked at me. Aha… he was assuming the role of the good guy for himself, making me the bad guy and leaving me to take the initiative. Okay, if the shoe fits, wear it.

"The results were negative," I said, as calmly as I could. Petratos's triumphant smile was worse than a slap across the face. "But that, by itself, means nothing."

"It means a great deal; otherwise you wouldn't have been so eager to get hold of it," the lawyer retorted.

"This conversation is unpleasant for all of us," Ghikas interrupted. "Let's get to the point."

I turned to Petratos. "At the time that Martha Kostarakou was murdered, your car was seen parked in Monis Sekou Street, two streets away from Ieronos Street, where Kostarakou lived. Can you tell me what you were doing there at the time of the murder?"

"Are you certain that it was my car?"

"It was a black Renegade, license number XRA 4318. That is your car, isn't it?" The witness hadn't made a note of the plate number, but I was fishing in the dark to see what I'd catch.

Flummoxed, Petratos looked to his lawyer, who didn't look at all alarmed. On the contrary, he smiled encouragingly at his client, full of self-confidence, it seemed.

"Tell the truth, Nestor, you've nothing to be afraid of."

"I don't know when exactly Martha Kostarakou was murdered, but I was in the area between five-thirty and seven-thirty that evening, yes. I'd gone to see a friend of mine."

"Who is this friend of yours? Name? Address?" At last, I could put pressure on him.

"Why do you want that information?"

"Come now, Mr. Petratos," said Ghikas, with a silky smile. "You know that we are obliged to verify what you say. We're not disputing the truth of your answers, it's simply standard procedure"

Petratos was even more discomfited. He hesitated and then said, "I'm sorry, but I can't give you the girl's details."

"Why?"

"There are certain reasons that bind me not to disclose her identity."

"We have no reason to embarrass the woman concerned unless it's absolutely necessary."

The lawyer interrupted once more. "Mr. Petratos is under no obligation to answer you.,

"I'm well aware of that, but if he does answer, he'll be helping both himself and us. Otherwise, he'll be forcing us to look more deeply into the matter."

"Then look more deeply," the lawyer snapped. "You looked into the handwriting sample and found nothing. And you won't find anything now either, because there's no murder without a motive. And my client had no motive for murdering either Karayoryi or Kostarakou."

"Mr. Petratos had a romantic liaison with Karayoryi. He helped her move up professionally and she ditched him. We know that Karayoryi was looking to get Mr. Petratos's job. So he certainly had grounds for disliking her a great deal."

Petratos suddenly laughed. "Perhaps Karayoryi was after my job, but she didn't have the slightest chance of getting it. Not the slightest, Inspector. I can assure you of that." He said it with such conviction that I was astonished.

Sotiriou got to his feet. "I think our conversation has come to an end," he said. "If you're so sure that Mr. Petratos is the murderer, you have no option but to detain him. But I warn you that I'll inform the public prosecutor that you are holding him without any evidence. And I'll have the whole journalistic world drag your name through the mud."