… Because certain people didn’t take our announcement concerning Favieros’s suicide seriously, we were obliged last night to execute two foreign workers who were working on Favieros’s construction sites, to prove to all concerned that we mean business. We call upon everyone to see sense and take what we say very seriously. From now on, the responsibility for whatever happens rests with the relevant authorities.
The announcement faded on the screen and the camera descended some narrow steps leading to a basement room, the size of a bedsit, with two divans against the two walls and a Formica table and two plastic chairs in the middle. White sheets were covering each of the bodies on the divans.
‘The victims, Ladies and Gentlemen, are two Kurds, who were living here, at 4 Frearion Street in the Rouf district,’ explained the newscaster. ‘Both were shot through the right eye.’
As I gazed at the screen, the questions were piling up inside me. How had we gone in the space of a few days from the suicide of Jason Favieros to the murder of the Kurds? And why did I continue to insist that the public suicide was a jarring note that no one else wanted to hear? At least not Ghikas or that twerp Yanoutsos. Suddenly, amidst everything, I felt a glowing sense of satisfaction run through me, because the previous day they had looked down their noses at me and now they really had their hands full. They couldn’t see what was staring them in the face. Even if we supposed that this nationalist organisation had come out after the event and claimed involvement in Favieros’s suicide, they wouldn’t have done it if Favieros’s suicide had not happened in public and they wouldn’t have needed to murder the two Kurds afterwards to convince any doubters.
What does a copper long for at such times? A patrol car. My feeling was so strong that I looked outside the refectory, sure that one was waiting for me. All I saw was some old doctor drooling over one of the nurses.
I turned to Fanis. ‘How quickly can I get a taxi?’
Two pairs of astonished eyes fixed themselves on me. Fanis’s on the right and Adriani’s on the left, because, at least according to Dimitrakos, omens coming from the left are considered not to bode well.
‘What do you want a taxi for?’ asked Adriani suspiciously.
‘I want to have a quick look round the crime scene.’
‘You’re on sick leave, have you forgotten?’
Her voice rang out like a bell and everyone turned round and stared at us in astonishment. Evidently, I had pushed her to the limit with my gradual extrication from her hands over the previous few days and she was ready to explode. I took the initiative and walked out of the refectory so that we wouldn’t create a scene.
‘Could you call a taxi,’ I said to Fanis.
‘Never mind, I’ll take you there. In any case, I only stayed for you. Yesterday I had the night shift and I’m off duty today.’
‘Well, I’m going home,’ said Adriani categorically. She had assumed the look of a crabby governess who doesn’t smack her young charge, but nevertheless makes it quite clear that from now on there are no more sweets or chocolates. To be honest, I’d missed that look and I found it amusing.
Fanis put his arm round her shoulders, took her aside and started to talk to her, breathing into her ear. Then he left her and called over to me.
‘Wait here and I’ll bring the car.’
Adriani came back over to me, but averted her gaze. As for me, by rights I should have explained to her why I wanted to see the two dead Kurds and their hovel, but I had no satisfactory explanation, not even for myself.
Fanis came and stopped in front of us. I let Adriani sit next to him. I tried to guess what they might have been saying and if she was planning to accompany me to the murder scene, which would make me a laughing stock, but I didn’t dare ask. I left it in the hands of fate.
Fortunately, I saw Fanis turning from Mesogheion Avenue into Michalakopoulou Street and realised that we were taking her home. When we got to Pangratiou Square, she told Fanis to pull over.
‘Leave me here, Fanis dear. I have some shopping to do.’ She got out without saying anything to me. It was our first tiff after nearly two months, but I couldn’t care less. I was only too happy to be back to old times.
‘What did you say to make her change her mind?’ I asked out of curiosity.
‘That as you would go anyway, it was better at least if your doctor went with you. I’ll wait for you in the car. Anyway, this whole business intrigues me too.’
It intrigued everyone except Ghikas and Yanoutsos, I thought with some resentment. This thought obliged me to confess one more reason why I had rushed to the crime scene: I wanted to see Yanoutsos’s face when he saw me there after having more or less thrown me out of the office the previous day.
We had turned into Amalias Avenue and were passing by the National Gardens. I began to feel remorse at having taken advantage of Fanis to satisfy my investigative perversions.
‘Why don’t you leave me here and I’ll get a taxi?’ I said. ‘You’re without any sleep and I’m putting you to a lot of trouble for no reason.’
‘I told you, the whole business has aroused my curiosity.’
‘And Katerina’s too. Last night we had a whole discussion on extreme right-wing organisations.’
Fanis laughed. ‘I’ll confess something to you, but you mustn’t tell her. Every night we sit in front of our TV sets, lift up the phone and discuss the various explanations. An amateur and a semi-amateur!’
‘And the semi-amateur is Katerina?’
‘I’d say so. At least she’s studying Law. I’m only a cardiologist. What do I know?’
‘And why is she hiding it from me? Why doesn’t she say something?’ I again felt that lump, just as always when I realise that someone else is closer to Katerina.
‘Because she’s afraid,’ Fanis replied.
‘Afraid?’
‘Yes, of her policeman father. Afraid of coming out with some drivel and making herself look ridiculous.’
We had now reached Achilleos Street, which at that time of day was chock-a-block with traffic heading in the direction of the city centre, and we turned into Konstantinoupoleos Street. Frearion Street was on our left as we were going up and so Fanis turned and parked in Megalou Vassileiou Street.
‘I’ll wait for you here.’
‘Won’t take long,’ I replied, certain that Yanoutsos would spot me straightaway.
The apartment block was one of those overnight constructions that were originally two-storey before their owners greased the palms of the police or someone in the local authorities in order to add another couple of floors on the sly to pay for their daughter’s dowry or their son’s studies. I saw no ambulances or any TV crews and I concluded that the bodies must already have been taken to the morgue.
As I was going down the steps to the basement, I bumped into Diamantidis from Forensics.
‘What are you doing here, Inspector? Are you back on duty?’ he asked, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
‘No, but I’m back in training as you can see,’ I said and he broke into laughter. ‘What’s going on down there?’
He hesitated for a moment as if about to say something, but then changing his mind. ‘Go on in and you’ll see,’ he said.
The door to the flat was open and voices could be heard. The flat was just one room, just as it had appeared on the TV, with a sizeable recess that served as a kitchen. Beside it was a door that must have been the bathroom.
The bodies had been moved as I had thought. Standing in the middle of the room was Yanoutsos together with Markidis the coroner. They were glaring at each other like cocks, ready to begin fighting.
‘I’m not saying a word,’ shouted Makridis at Yanoutsos. It was the first time in all the years I’d known him that I saw him losing his composure. ‘You can wait and read the report.’
Standing behind were my two assistants, Vlassopoulos and Dermitzakis. Their backs were half-turned to the other two and they were pretending to be chatting so as not to appear to be listening in to the conversation.
Suddenly, as though on cue, they all turned and looked at me. Yanoutsos was goggling. Even more odd was my assistants’ behaviour. They stared at me at a loss, unable to decide whether they should greet me or not. In they end, they settled for a formal nod of the head accompanied by a smile, before turning their backs again.
The most congenial of all of them was Markidis, who offered me his hand. ‘Glad to see you up and around,’ he said. His face had become somewhat friendlier as he had exchanged the huge glasses he had worn all his life for an oval-shaped, metallic frame.
‘Why are you here?’ Yanoutsos asked. ‘As far as I know, you’re still on sick leave and we’ve no need of
