‘You were on your phone long before I dropped that hint, weren’t you?’ he said, kissing her.
‘I’m not a complete idiot, Alex.’ She looked over his shoulder. ‘What next?’
‘Good question.’ Mavros looked at Yannis. ‘We need to get out of here.’
The burly young man nodded. ‘Mr Tsifakis is talking to the hotel owner.’ He sat Roufos down in the armchair as if he was a rag doll. ‘This wanker will be paying for the damages.’
‘Agreed?’ Mavros asked the antiquities dealer.
‘If you leave me alone, agreed.’
‘Oh, I’ll leave you alone — as long as you’re on the night boat to Piraeus.’
Roufos signalled his agreement with a sullen nod.
‘What about this piece of shit?’ Cara demanded, glaring at Luke Jannet.
‘Another customer for the clinic,’ Mavros replied, then switched to Greek. ‘One of you guys can keep an eye on him. I don’t trust the police, at least not till I’ve got to the bottom of his ties with Kornaria.’
They left Tryfon Roufos in his now less-than-private suite, Mavros taking the cardboard file with him. That would slow his business dealings down, though he had no doubt he’d be back to work as soon as he got back to his office in Athens. He also relived him of his mobile phones, as he did with Jannet. Holding people incommunicado was a useful way of finding which rats came out of the sewers to help them, although in the director’s case it was obvious who the first one would be — his sister, Rosie Yellenberg.
‘Where to now, Saint Peter?’ Cara asked as they walked back to the Jeep, the Cretans having headed off to their pickup with Jannet, to take him to the clinic.
‘You like early Elton John?’ Mavros said, impressed. ‘You must have been about minus five when
‘Good music is good. . what the hell?’
Mavros looked ahead and his gut performed a somersault. A crowd of skinheads was moving rapidly towards them down the narrow backstreet.
‘Don’t think that bunch of keys is going to work this time,’ Cara said.
‘Back to the harbour,’ Mavros said, taking her and Niki by the hand and running.
Before they got there another line of far-right scumbags blocked the way.
Petros Lagoudhakis, the Cretan Renaissance leader forced to dig his own grave by Mavros and Mikis, was in the centre.
‘Roufos,’ Mavros said under his breath. ‘The bastard must have called in the troops on a landline.’
Then the punches started raining down on his head. He ducked as low as he could and kept driving forward. He had no idea how long the uneven contest lasted, but suddenly he found himself round the corner, the harbour and its busy cafes only a few yards away. Cara was on one knee, her chest heaving and her hair loose.
Of Niki and their attackers, after he had cleared the blood from his eyes, there was no sign at all.
Hildegard Kersten looked through the spyhole and saw her grandson outside the apartment. She undid the chain and opened the door.
‘Hallo, Grandma,’ the young man said, embracing her. ‘I’m so sorry about Grandpa.’
Hildegard held him close, unsure how real the display of emotion was. Oskar had never been demonstrative, even as a small boy.
‘Come in, child,’ she said, pushing him gently away and closing the door. ‘Did Alex Mavros give you the message to come?’
‘Mavros?’ Mesner recoiled as if he’d been jabbed with a cattle prod. ‘Why would I have seen him?’
‘He’s looking into your grandfather’s death. It wasn’t suicide, you know.’
Oskar stared at her. ‘But the police. .’
‘The police are controlled by other interests. You’re not in Germany now.’
‘What other interests?’ he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.
‘Never mind. You won’t be here for long. It doesn’t concern you.’ Hildegard busied herself with preparing coffee.
Her grandson followed her into the kitchen. ‘Who said I wouldn’t be staying? With Grandpa gone, I thought I could look after you.’
Hildegard smiled. ‘I can look after myself. It’s time you went back to work. I know about the people you spend your time with. Fortunately for you, I didn’t tell your grandfather. He had no time for Nazis and even less for their modern followers.’
‘The war made Grandpa crazy,’ Oskar said, in a low voice.
‘Wrong!’ Hildegard said shrilly, trying to convince herself as much as Oskar. ‘The war made him a true human being, one who understood the sufferings and plight of others. It is you who betrayed his values.’ She bustled through to the living room with a full tray.
Oskar sat opposite her, his head hanging. ‘I can’t find work in Germany, Grandma. I’m not cut out for the way people work today.’
‘You’re not cut out to work at all, you mean,’ she replied tartly. ‘Well, I hope you aren’t expecting anything from your grandfather’s will.’
He lifted his head, his face white. ‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s nothing apart from the coins — and they are going to museums.’
Hildegard took out the paper she’d found in her husband’s pocket. ‘Explain this to me, Oskar. “Waggoner — Oskar to dispose of with contacts. Coins value 100K”. And don’t tell me Rudi didn’t write it — I know his hand like my own.’
‘I. . will I still get the one hundred thousand euros’ worth of coins?’
‘I might consider it,’ she replied. ‘If you tell me what happened.’
Oskar suddenly looked less pale. ‘It was after I stole the thirty coins. He called me and told me he’d give me more, but I had to arrange for the Englishman to. . to have an accident.’ He smiled weakly. ‘A fatal one.’
Hildegard put her hand to her heart. It was as she had feared. Rudi had crossed the line from victim to killer as regards their long-term tormentor. She felt sick, but managed to conceal that from her grandson.
‘And how was that to be achieved?’ she asked.
‘Well, I have some pretty dangerous friends. The plan was to burst into his place in Chania and rip it up, so it looked like a burglary that had gone wrong. But we got distracted.’
‘And were you the one who was going to kill the Englishman?’
‘I. .’ He looked away. ‘No. One of my friends from Rostock has finished off more than one ni- I mean immigrant. He likes killing.’
The widow was struggling to keep her breathing regular. ‘I see. Have you ever met this man Waggoner?’
‘No. Grandpa showed me a picture of him.’
‘Ah.’ She paused. ‘How about a man called Roufos?’
Oskar kept his eyes her. ‘No. I’ve heard of him. Your friend Mavros knows him.’
‘Indeed? Did your grandfather ever say anything to you about Alex Mavros and Kornaria?’
Oskar looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Only that he thought it was a pity Mavros came back from the village in one piece. He said there were people up there who would stop his interfering permanently.’
Hildegard stood up and walked slowly over to the desk. The object she wanted was in the top drawer now. She picked it up and moved back to her grandson, who was facing away from her.
‘Get up!’ she said, firmly.
Oskar Mesner turned his head and was confronted by the gleaming blade of the Wehrmacht bayonet.
‘Out, now!’ his grandmother screamed. ‘I never want to see you again!’
Oskar stood up and edged away from her, then ran for the door, slamming it behind him.
Hildegard Kersten sank to her knees, the bayonet falling from her hand. Everything she had believed about Rudi — his determination to make reparations, his generosity to the Cretans, his essential humanity — had been completely destroyed. He had conspired with far-right thugs to kill David Waggoner; he had planned to sell half his coins to Roufos — the fact that the proceeds were apparently destined for her made her feel even worse; and he had plotted the death of the very man who was investigating his murder, using violent men from the drugs village he had always purported to despise.
To her horror, she found she couldn’t weep. It had dawned on her that Rudi had deserved to be murdered.
