And my guess is Giorgos had something on him which showed he worked for the Grande Bretagne. One of the uniformed police radioed in to headquarters, reported to you…'
'That's enough,' Sarris said quickly. 'I know you are a top foreign correspondent, but you'd have made a good detective.'
'… and this is Marler, my assistant, learning his trade…' Newman was talking rapidly before he could be stopped. 'My driver Nick I have used on previous visits…'
'I said shut up…'
'… and this afternoon we used him to take us on a peaceful tour round Piraeus and the port of Zea…'. '.' said shut up!' Sarris, livid, was on his feet. He gave the instructions rapidly in Greek to the searchers. 'One of you take the Englishman there to his room. This Greek, Nick, is to be taken immediately to a police car and held at headquarters.' As his men moved, he stood over Newman. 'I have one more word out of you and you will find yourself inside a police cell.'
'On what charge?' Newman enquired amiably.
'Suspicion of accessory to a murder…'
'Which one? Harry Masterson's?'
Newman shot out the words as Marler and Nick were bundled out of the room. In time for both to hear what he said. Sarris waited until the door closed and then offered Newman a cigarette, took one himself and sagged back into the same chair.
Did you have to do that?'
'Do what? I thought you wanted information.'
'You're a bastard.' Sarris spoke in a resigned tone. 'But a clever bastard. When you've finished your cigarette you will have to come to police headquarters.'
'Why waste time? Let's get on with it…'
Outside the hotel Sarris was in time to stop Nick being taken away in a police car. 'Where is your own vehicle?' he asked.
'Parked down the hill. The silver Mercedes…'
'You will drive it to police headquarters. One of my men will accompany you.'
Sarris drove Newman by himself in an unmarked police car. He began chatting amiably as soon as they drew away from the kerb.
'I have to do this, I'm afraid, Bob. How long is it since you were last here?'
'Two, three years. I'm not sure,' Newman replied vaguely.
'I can see you are going to be difficult to interrogate. Maybe one of your companions will be more forthcoming. You will all be interrogated separately…'
'Bully for you…'
'A little cooperation would help all round.'
'Not after you searched my room without waiting for me.'
'We have a new police headquarters. Very modern. All the latest equipment.'
'Bully for you…'
'It's on Alexandras Avenue. Built about a year ago.'
'You make it sound like the bloody Hilton.'
'There are some similarities. Although not with the Athens Hilton. One of the places your hired snoopers visited when asking where Harry Masterson stayed.'
'Keep talking…'
Sarris gave up. Skilfully he drove through the night. Headlights appeared, flashed past them. They were on Alexandras now. Close to the football stadium on the opposite side a small colossus of a building faced with white marble loomed. A very modern rectangular block twelve storeys high it soared up towards the night sky above a vast entrance hall. No premium on space for government buildings in Athens, Newman thought as he followed Sarris inside.
To the left was a reception counter. A uniformed policeman hastily donned his peaked cap. Sarris led Newman to an inner lobby with a bank of four lifts on the right-hand side. His office on the eighth floor overlooked Alexandras. Sarris used an intercom to order coffee.
'Now,' he said, facing the seated Newman across his desk, 'may we start at the beginning?'
'We arrived in Athens.
4 a.m. Sarris in his crumpled shirt-sleeves was showing signs of strain. The ash tray was crammed with his cigarette stubs. Only one of them belonged to Newman.
'So,' Sarris summed up, 'it comes to this. You came here to investigate the accidental death of Harry Masterson, sensing a story. Marler came to learn the ropes, despite his being described on his passport as an insurance executive?'
'I told you. He's fed up with that job. He wants a more adventurous life.'
The murdered man, Giorgos, took an interest as soon as you arrived at the Grande Bretagne. He saw the photograph you showed the receptionist. Later, he tried to get information from your driver, Nick. You thought he could be a lead. So Nick found out where he lived from reception. You went there with your two companions to question him. You were too late?'
'End ot story.'
'Bob, you really should have been a barrister. You so neatly make all the facts fit what I know…'
'Presumably because they do fit.' Newman drank more coffee. His fifth cup. 'Haven't we just about covered everything – except for what happened to Harry Masterson? An accident, you said.'
'I gave you the official explanation at the moment. He was murdered.'
Newman, cup raised, stared at the Greek. For the first time since the interrogation had begun he was taken aback.
'You change your mind quickly, Peter.'
Sarris stood up, wearily stretched himself, then leaned over the desk, spread both hands flat and stared straight back. His tone changed, became grim, almost spitting out the words.
'You think I have lost my touch? Homicide is my profession, my business. I'm supposed to be able to recognize murder when I see it. You think I park my backside here all day? Let me tell you something. I've visited Cape Sounion. No one with the savvy Masterson had staggers round above that cliff and walks over it. And I met Masterson by chance.'
'When? Where?'
That night at the Hilton when he pretended to be high as a kite, did his death-defying walk along the rail beyond the entrance hall. I was attending a party. When I walked into the Hilton Masterson was just beginning that charade. I watched him. I tackled him afterwards, asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. Drunk? He was more sober than I am now after all that coffee. I talked with him for maybe ten minutes. He was able, tough, alert and street-wise. And he had the women in the palm of his hand.'
'Women? Any particular woman that night?'
'Christina Gavalas couldn't get enough of him. More coffee? You look shaken…'
A few minutes later. Sarris stood by the window, had opened the blinds. The first light, the false dawn, was casting a glow over the dead city. The peak of Mount Lycabettus was a massive silhouette in the distance.
'Why?' Newman asked. 'Why the official line that it was an accident?'
'The tourist industry is sacred to Greece, the billions of foreign currency it brings in, a commodity we're a little short of…'
'Oh Christ! Not the Jaws syndrome again?'
'The film about a shark off a resort island in America. The mayor didn't want to know about any sharks. Again, it might have frightened the tourists away.'
'Ah, yes, I remember. I see what you mean. Yes, there is a similarity. Murder – especially of an Englishman -would be bad publicity. The British come here like lemmings.'
'So you buried the case?' Newman said bitterly.
'You will apologize for that insult.' Sarris left the window, stormed back to his desk and sat upright in his chair. 'The case is not closed for me. No mealy-mouthed politician gives orders here.. .'
'You have your apology. Unreservedly.'
