Petros Markaris - Deadline in Athens

"Are you Inspector Haritos?" she asked me.

"Yes.'

She was without any makeup, had blue eyes and a cold expression, which made me feel uncomfortable.

"I'm Nena Delopoulou, Kyriakos Delopoulos's daughter. I need to talk to you"

I'd heard that Delopoulos had a daughter, but I never imagined she would be such a dazzling bit of skirt. "Come in," I told her and opened my door, wondering why she'd cut short her beauty sleep.

She sat in the chair and crossed her legs. Her miniskirt slid upward, offering me a view of her thighs right up to her panties, which were white and shone through her black tights. I crossed my legs too, not in imitation, but to prevent an erection. I leaned back in my chair to appear relaxed, though I wasn't at all.

"So what's it about?"

"Nestor Petratos told me that you saw his car close to Martha Kostarakou's house and that you suspect him of two murders."

"We simply asked him for an explanation," I said cautiously. "If we suspected him, we'd be holding him in custody."

"Nestor was with me on the evening that Martha Kostarakou was murdered. Between about five-thirty and seven-thirty." She looked at me and added with a touch of irony: "He was with me the whole time. I'm telling you this so that you'll leave him alone."

So this was the woman friend that Petratos had been protecting, and why he wouldn't tell us her name.

"Where do you live?"

"I own the Erodios Art Gallery on the corner of Iphikratous and Aristarchou Streets. It's an old two-story house. The gallery is on the ground floor. I live upstairs. leronos Street is two blocks away. Nestor didn't want to tell you that he was with me, as our relationship is somewhat unconventional." She fell silent and then added with the same touch of irony: "At least, it was until yesterday."

It was unconventional because they had kept it hidden from Delopoulos. She hadn't wanted any trouble with her father, and Petratos hadn't wanted any with his boss. I gazed at her and Katerina came into my mind. Whether she eventually became a magistrate or a lawyer, it would be ten years before she had any career. Whereas this pretentious girl, who was only twenty-five and already had her own gallery, bought by her father, was carrying on behind his back.

Ms. Delopoulou considered our interview over and got up.

"Are you willing to sign a statement of what you've just told me?"

She held the door half open and turned around. "My father and I see each other every three months, Inspector Haritos. Last night, when I learned of his intention to fire Nestor, I told him that if he did it, he wouldn't see me for three years. That changed his mind. So I'll sign whatever you want."

She went out and closed the door behind her. Another one who didn't bother to say good-bye to me. What was that word? Boorish. Quite so.

Strangely enough, my first thought was of Sotiropoulos. He's turned the tables on you, Robespierre, I thought. You wrote him off, but he is sitting pretty.

Then I realized that it wasn't only Sotiropoulos who had come out of it badly, but me too. I could now forget about Petratos for good. Given that he was with Delopoulou, he couldn't have killed Kostarakou. And if he didn't kill Kostarakou, then he couldn't have killed Karayoryi either. The two murders went together, a pair. His solicitor had turned out to be right. In the end, Petratos had no motive. Why would he waste time hating Karayoryi when he was screwing the boss's daughter? And why would he be afraid of losing his job? The proof being that he hadn't lost it. I didn't know whether I was sorry or relieved that Petratos had come out of it clean. At least I was now free to turn my attention exclusively to Sovatzis. I had to keep Ghikas abreast, but there was no rush. First, I had to come up with a way to get close to Sovatzis. The surest way was through Hourdakis. As soon as Sotiris got the evidence I needed, I'd put him through the mill.

Then I had an idea. I dug out the photocopies of the letters from the unknown N: For so long now I have been doing what you asked, believing that you would keep your word, but all you do is play with me. I now know that you have no intention of doing what I ask. You only want to keep me on a string so you can blackmail me and get what you want. But no more. This time I won't give way. Don't force my hand because you'll come unstuck and you'll only have yourself to blame.

What if N was Nena Delopoulou? But what had she done for Karayoryi and why would Karayoryi be playing with her? Had she put in a good word with her father on her behalf? In exchange for Petratos? But then Karayoryi wouldn't let him go and Delopoulou threatened her, evidently, with dismissal. Until Karayoryi, who didn't want to sacrifice her career, surrendered him to Delopoulou. This version suited me because it tied up everything without burdening us with any other suspect.

The ringing of the telephone interrupted this train of my thoughts. It was Petridi, the public examiner.

"Do you remember Seki, that Albanian you asked us to question in connection with the trade in children?"

"Of course. I was going to call you; you beat me to it."

"I'd planned to interrogate him the day after tomorrow, but he was killed last night."

The news was an appalling blow. "Who killed him? Do they know?" I said, after a pause.

"One of his own kind. Stabbed him, in a lavatory."

"Does he give a reason?"

"The man claims that Seki had stolen from him. He asked for his money back, Seki denied that he owed him any money and was stabbed five times in the stomach. They took him to the General Hospital in Nikaia straightaway, but he died from loss of blood on the way. So Seki's case has been put on file."

"Thank you for telling me;' I said politely and hung up.

I racked my brain trying to understand what the murder of the Albanian might mean. At first sight, nothing. Two Albanians had had a quarrel and one of them had knifed the other. It happened every day, inside and outside of prison. But was it a coincidence that he'd been killed just when Petridi was about to question him? Kara yoryi again came into my mind, her obsession with the Albanian couple's kids. She'd gone so far as to pay to get her hands on my report. Was she so certain that the Albanian hadn't killed the couple because he fancied the woman, but because they were all involved in a circle of trade in children? Of course, this was one explanation for the five hundred thousand found in the cistern. In this case, Seki had suffered the same fate as Karayoryi and Kostarakou. As soon as they'd found out that he'd been called for further questioning, he'd been killed to keep his mouth shut. But how had they found out and from whom? Had the information been sold by the same person that Karayoryi had been bribing to get her hands on the reports? But who would he have given it to? Hourdakis? That was the only name going around the station.

The only solution was for me to go to Korydallos Prison to learn what happened firsthand. I thought of the journey, and my spirits sank, but there was no alternative.

From Alexandras Avenue to Larissa Railway Station I moved at a snail's pace, but at least I was moving. When I turned onto Konstan- tinoupoleos Avenue, however, I found a mile-long line of cars before me that kept stopping every ten meters. Cars kept getting stuck in the middle of the junctions, blocking the way; those drivers wanting to turn out of the side streets were furiously honking their horns: It was absolute bedlam. By the time I reached Petrou Ralli Street, my mind had begun to crumble like a rotten cauliflower. I'd forgotten Sovatzis, the Albanian, even Nena Delopoulou's legs. The Mirafiori couldn't take all that strain and I was afraid it would break down on me in the middle of the road.

On Petrou Ralli Street, the situation improved somewhat and the Mirafiori began to roll along. On Grigori Lambraki Street, there was even less traffic, and within another quarter of an hour I was at the gates of the prison.