Philip Kerr - Hand of God

‘Like I said, I don’t know anyone by that name,’ insisted Hristos.

‘Of course you do. You picked her up in your lovely black Maserati one night outside the Grande Bretagne Hotel. And knowing her, I bet you took her to Spondi. She’s fond of that restaurant. As was Bekim. He went there with her, too. Sounds like quite a place. While I’m here I’ll have to check it out myself. Perhaps I’ll go after the Panathinaikos game tomorrow. Chief Inspector Varouxis’s coming with me — he’s a fan of the Greens. Perhaps I’ll him about her then. You see, he doesn’t know about Valentina. Not yet, anyway. Although to be honest with you, Trik, I’m not sure he ought to know about her. Not for her sake but for yours and mine. Now I can probably take the heat for something like that, I think. I’m not married. But I should think it’s very different for you.’

There was a longish silence.

‘So what’s it to be? A little chat with me now or a longer chat downtown with the law? Not to mention an uncomfortable audience with Queen Sophia afterwards.’

Hristos sighed. ‘What do you want, Scott? Specifically?’

‘I want all the contact details you have for Valentina: mobile phone, addresses. Everything. Plus, the name of anyone else that knew her: pimp, clap doctor, other punters. Everyone. I’m doing you a favour. You talk to me or you talk to Varouxis. It’s as simple as that.’

‘All right, all right. Wait there. I’m coming down to the gate.’

‘Okay.’

I waited, staring at the three-storey modern villa that stood at the end of the drive; it resembled the wing of an expensive clinic, or a small boutique hotel. The lawn was so perfect it looked as if it had been painted.

Then I saw him walking quickly down the drive. He came to the gate and handed me a sheet of paper through the railings.

I shook my head.

‘This is the way you really want to do it? Like I was your Fedex guy? You know, I expected more of you, Trik. After all we went through together at St Mary’s. This insults me. At the very least I expected you to be a man. Not someone who would hide behind his security gates.’

I looked at the sheet of paper, recognising the same typewritten telephone number and email address that were now printed almost indelibly on my mind.

‘And I have these details already. Tell me something I don’t know.’

Hristos Trikoupis was looking shifty and embarrassed. ‘That’s all I have. Look, what do you want me to say? I met her just the one time.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘It’s true, I tell you.’

‘You just printed this off. So the details came easily to hand. Which doesn’t speak of someone you only saw once. What’s her surname? Did you file her name under V for Valentina, or something else?’ I crushed the sheet of paper in my hand and threw it back through the railings. ‘Like A for Adultery. Or perhaps C for Cleaners because make no mistake, that’s where Nana’s going to take you when she finds out that you’ve been a naughty boy. You forget, I came to your wedding. I’ve seen her temper. It’s almost as terrifying as the way she sings.’

‘Come on.’ Hristos shook his head with exasperation. ‘Who gets a surname from a girl like that? None of these girls show you their passport. Besides, they all have working names. Like Aphrodite and Jasmine.’

I let that one go. Maybe he knew Jasmine and maybe he didn’t, but I wasn’t interested in her relationship with Bekim Develi.

‘Please, Scott. I really don’t know anything about her. You’re right. I took her to Spondi. Maybe they knew her there. I’d really like to help you here. But I really don’t know anything.’

‘Where did you fuck her? I mean after dinner.’

‘I have a small apartment near the training ground.’

‘How did you meet?’

‘I met her at a charity evening arranged by the Hellenic Football Federation in the Onassis Cultural Center. On Syngrou Avenue. In aid of disabled sport.’

‘Who introduced you?’

‘You won’t say it was me who told you?’

‘I will tell your wife if you don’t spill the beans, you bastard. I just want to get home.’

‘It was a woman called Anna Loverdos. She’s on the International Relations Committee of the HFF.’

‘Yes, I know. She keeps calling me to offer her sympathies about Bekim. I’ve been avoiding her calls but now I think I’ll get back to her. Maybe tonight.’

‘As a matter of fact I’m pretty sure Anna introduced Valentina to Bekim Develi, too. Really, Scott, that’s all I know. Only please, don’t let any of this get out. Anna could lose her job.’

‘And I know how keen you all are to keep your jobs.’ I nodded. ‘On one condition.’

‘Yes?’

‘That when you and I see each other again, at next week’s game, you’ll shake my hand. Before and after the match. Properly. Because that’s the example we’re supposed to give those who watch the game. If we don’t have respect for each other we don’t have anything. And I’m fed up with the British press hunting for reasons why we don’t get on.’

As he nodded I grabbed his shirt collar through the gate, and pulled him towards me quickly so that he banged his head hard on the railings.

‘And if you ever call me a black Nazi again, you cunt, I’ll fucking have you up before a FIFA disciplinary committee.’

I got back in the car and Charlie drove off.

‘Speaking as a Green, sir,’ he said, ‘that was nicely done. Very nicely done indeed. I’d have paid money to see that bastard head hit something harder than a football.’

On the way back to the hotel I saw a tattoo parlour and had Charlie pull up outside so I could get an expert opinion on the dead girl’s tattoo, now on my iPhone. But here — and at another tat parlour closer to the hotel — the SP was that while the labyrinth was well-drawn, the design wasn’t unusual, not in Greece, where the idea of labyrinths got started, more or less.

About the only thing I knew for sure about labyrinths was that there was always a monster waiting at the end.

When I arrived back at the Grande Bretagne I found Vik having a meeting in the royal suite dining room with Phil Hobday, Kojo Ironsi, Gustave Haak, Cooper Lybrand and some more Greeks I didn’t recognise. I went into the bedroom, closed the door, picked up the telephone and called Anna Loverdos who sounded more English than Greek.

‘I’m so glad you called me back,’ she said. ‘And I’m so, so sorry about what happened to Bekim Develi. How is his poor wife?’

‘Not good.’

‘If there’s anything I can do for you and your players while you’re in Athens, Mr Manson — anything at all — then please don’t hesitate to get in touch.’

‘Well, there is something,’ I said. ‘But I hardly like to talk about it on the telephone. I was wondering if we might meet up sometime and have a drink.’

‘Of course. And I was going to suggest that myself. Where are you staying?’

‘At the Grande Bretagne.’

‘The Federation is just a ten-minute drive from there. Shall we say six o’clock tonight?’

‘See you then.’

I went into the media room and switched on the widescreen TV, looking for some football. There was a repeat of a UEFA Europa League play-off match from the previous evening, between Saint-Étienne and Stuttgart.

The door opened and Kojo came in, flicking the air with his fly-whisk like an African dictator.

‘Oh, good,’ he said, ‘you’re watching the match.’ He helped himself to a beer from the minibar and sat down.

‘What are they talking about in there?’ I asked.

‘Money, my friend, what else? It’s all those people ever talk about. Don’t get me wrong. I like money as much as the next guy. But to me it’s a means to an end and not an end in itself. I swear, all these fellows talk about is what they can buy and what they can sell and how much profit there is. It’s like hanging out with the International Monetary Fund. Numbers, numbers, numbers. It’s making me crazy, Scott.’