Petros Markaris - Deadline in Athens

I didn't know where this would lead and I felt a tightening in my heart. "Listen. If the baby has nothing to do with your sister's murder, you have my word that no one will ever learn anything about it from me. If there is some connection, then I promise to discuss it with you before proceeding any further."

Which is more important? To find a murderer or keep a family together? Both, and neither, and this was the problem. You're jinxed, Haritos, I said to myself. You're always getting into the deepest water.

"Tell me. Do you have any mementos of your sister?"

"What kind of mementos?"

"Photographs… letters..:'

"I don't have any letters. Just a few photographs."

"I'd like to see them."

She got up and went out of the living room. Presently, she returned with a box of photographs. I looked through them one by one, but came across nothing of interest. Most of them were photographs of Yanna and Mina from their childhood; others were of Anna as a baby, with Yanna holding her in her arms. Some were from the trip that the three of them had taken together. And there was one photograph of Yanna wearing earphones and speaking-obviously taken during one of her radio programs.

"Are these all of them?"

"There's one more. One that Yanna had given to Anna, and she has it in her room"

"I'd like to see that one too."

She took me to Anna's room. It was a simple, pleasant room, with flowery curtains, a desk, a bookcase, and a single bed with a bedside table. On the bedside table was a photograph in a wooden frame, turned toward the bed.

"That's the one," Antonakaki said to me. "She told Anna to keep it close to her always, because it was one she was very fond of."

I looked at the photograph. It was of a group of young boys and girls in the country, in a clearing somewhere. I recognized Yanna in the center of the group. She was lying on the ground and had her head resting in the lap of one of the boys. Yanna was smiling at the camera. The boy's face was familiar to me. I leaned closer to get a better look and my gaze froze.

"Do you know when this photograph was taken?" I asked Antonakaki.

"No, but Yanna must have been about twenty."

That wily Karayoryi. She was still springing surprises on me even after her death. She'd given the picture to Anna so that every night before going to sleep, she would be able to look at her father.

Before leaving Antonakaki's house, I phoned Hellas Channel and asked to speak to the backstreet marine, the one who had been on duty the night that Karayoryi was murdered. They told me he started work at four.

It was still only twelve-thirty, but I was in no mood to go to the office. The two aspirins had had no effect and my head was still heavy. I was angry with myself for having chosen the previous day of all days to get smashed, and now, when I needed a clear head, I didn't have one. I decided to go home and lie down. I had to put my thoughts into some order.

Sovatzis was off the hook for good. Now that it had been verified that he hadn't killed the two girls, nor had he hired anyone to do them in, we had nothing on him. Dourou would simply be charged with buying and selling children. There was no longer any question of her being an accessory to the murders. And given that we were dealing with Albanian and not Greek children, a good lawyer would get her off with a light sentence. The two drivers and Hourdakis would end up bearing the brunt.

If I hadn't come across the file with all the material on Pylarinos, I might have found the murderer more easily. It was the file that had led me astray. The file and the fact that I had let Kolakoglou walk away. Though I had won laurels for my competence by Ghikas and for my compassion by Zissis. What I really deserved was a slap across the face. Okay, getting led astray did have its advantages. I'd broken up the gang. At least, in part. The big boys had got away, but even so, I'd get a few points out of it. Yet I wasn't happy. I thought of what was in store for me, and my heart sank.

By the time I arrived at Hellas Channel, it was four-thirty. The backstreet marine was at his post. He recognized me at once and stood up. I told him we should go somewhere quiet to talk. He took me to the security guards' room, which was empty.

"I want to go over a few details," I said when we were sitting down. "You told me that on the night Karayoryi was murdered, she arrived at the studios at eleven-fifteen. Correct?"

"Yes."

"And was she alone?"

"All alone.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Sure I'm sure. I have a computer memory, I told you."

"Fine. And since you have a computer memory, you will have no difficulty in remembering how many times you left your post after Karayoryi had arrived."

"I told you. Only once for two minutes, when one of the other guards came and told me that she had been found murdered."

"I'm talking about before she was found murdered. How many times did you leave your post?"

"Not at all," he said quickly.

"Cut the crap, sonny. Don't try pulling the wool over my eyes, because I know you left your post. Are you going to tell me yourself or am I going to have to take you in and give you the business? If you make it difficult for me, that's also fine, because I'll go as far as having you fired."

His muscles relaxed and he sagged. "There was a basketball game on that night. Just before the end, I nipped along to find out the score.

"What time was that?"

"I don't remember exactly." His computer had gone down.

"And how long were you gone?"

"Five minutes at the most."

"Shall we say ten?"

He heaved a sigh. "Let's say ten," he agreed.

And during those ten minutes, the murderer entered the studios as easily as he pleased.

I let him go back to his post and took the elevator down to the parking lot. It was filled pretty tight at that time of day. Only one man was getting ready to leave. I stood there and waited for him. He opened the door with a magnetic card. I timed it. It took ten seconds to go up, remained open for another ten, and took another ten to close. Thirty seconds. It was not unlikely that the murderer had gone out by the main gate. He hadn't known whether the guard would be missing from his post and would have been afraid to risk it. He'd hidden in the parking lot, waited for the first car to leave and had walked out behind it, before the door had closed.

The elevator stopped on the ground floor and Petratos got in. He was surprised to see me. He shot me a hostile glance and adopted his tight-lipped expression.

"I was just coming to see you," I said.

"I thought we'd finished."

"I was coming to ask for your help. You owe me."

"Why do I owe you anything?"

"Because if you hadn't made Kolakoglou into a red rag for your own channel's bull, he wouldn't have gone into hiding and we'd have caught the murderer much sooner."

"So it was him, eh? I knew it!" he said triumphantly.

"You know damn all," I told him brusquely.

My reply made the atmosphere even more hostile and we didn't exchange another word all the way to his office. As we passed the newsroom, the reporters all looked at us curiously.

"Be brief," he said coldly, as he sat down. "This is the time we prepare the nine o'clock news and we're busy as hell."

"When did Karayoryi begin her career in journalism?" I asked him.

"In 'seventy-five, if I remember correctly."

"How did she begin?"

"Same as all of us. From newspapers, magazines. Afterward, when commercial radio began, she got into radio. And finally into TV."

"Could she have worked anywhere before 'seventy-five?"

He thought about it. "Now that you mention it, she once told me something about having once worked for National TV or the Armed Forces Channel. But I don't remember when that was."