‘Because Yanoutsos is still looking for Mafiosos.’
‘It’s not the work of Mafiosos,’ I said categorically. ‘It’s what was announced: execution by nationalists belonging to that Philip of Macedon organisation.’
‘Try telling him.’
I was almost for telling him that it was his job to make him change his line of investigation, but I knew he was keeping quiet on purpose. He was letting him dig a hole for himself to fall into.
‘But I might have something new in a few days.’
‘How? Are you going to persuade Yanoutsos to look elsewhere?’
‘No, but I think I’ve found a way to dump the case on the Anti-terrorist Squad. Did you come up with anything new?’
I told him without going into detail about my visits to Favieros’s home, to his construction site and his offices.
‘So nothing suspicious?’ he asked me as though not believing it.
‘I told you. He was somewhat distant, lost his temper easily and shut himself in his office.’
‘Why? Why would a businessman like Favieros put himself into self-confinement when normally his day should be full of meetings and conferences? Ask me what I have to go through!’ he said, emphasising the last phrase and reminding me of the old Ghikas, who had only one point of reference: himself. But then, straightaway, he posed the very same question that had been bothering me: ‘Was there something unusual that had happened to Favieros? Why did he suddenly leave everything and withdraw into himself when, so it seems, he had no business or personal worries?’
I had no answer and so I confined myself to simply supplying him with a bit of information. ‘Koula had a quick look at the computer in his office, but she told me it needed more thorough investigation.’
‘You can trust her when it comes to those things. She’s a real wizard!’ He paused for a moment and then added: ‘And if someone from Favieros’s close circle wants to contact the police, give them my name and no one else’s.’
We hung up and, if nothing else, at least I had the satisfaction that he had given me a crutch to steady myself when I was stumbling in the dark.
Adriani was sitting in front of the TV, watching a game show. I wasn’t in the mood to hear her answer all the questions correctly and then listen to her moaning about all the millions she’d lost. I went into the bedroom to find Dimitrakos. I was stopped, however, by the sound of the doorbell and I went to see who it was. Fanis was standing at the door holding a paper bag in his hand and smiling. I imagined it must have been a little something for Adriani because he’d often bring her little gifts as a way of repaying her for all the cooking she did for him.
I was proved wrong, however, because he held the bag out to me. ‘Something from your daughter,’ he said.
‘From Katerina?’
‘Yes, a little gift.’
My surprise increased because Katerina was not in the habit of sending me gifts from Thessaloniki. She even saved money on the heating so as not to be a burden on me. I opened it straightaway and discovered a book with a cheap, garish cover, white, red and black, which reminded me of history books and resolutions by the Greek Communist Party. Its title was:
I was not in the least surprised that some people were trying to exploit Favieros’s spectacular suicide. What did puzzle me, however, was how the author managed to write and publish a 320-page biography in the space of only ten days after Favieros’s suicide? Unless they had had it ready and were releasing it now. Just a coincidence? Perhaps, perhaps not.
‘When did this come out?’ I asked Fanis.
‘I don’t know. They’re advertising it though.’
‘And where did Katerina come across it?’
‘Katerina doesn’t only read dictionaries like you do,’ he said laughing and winking at me.
‘You’re wasting your breath, Fanis dear,’ Adriani chipped in. ‘Costas only concerns himself with small print. Fills his life with it.’
Actually, the small print referred to the dictionary entries I read, but this time she was using it in its wider sense, to include all the little problems, usually to do with work, that filled my time and removed me from her supervision.
I swallowed my anger because I didn’t want us to get into a row in front of Fanis. Though I didn’t admit it to myself, deep down I didn’t want him to think that his girlfriend had parents who went at it like cat and dog.
I preferred to call Katerina to thank her. ‘How did you come across it?’ I asked her.
‘I saw it advertised in the newspapers and I thought it might interest you.’
‘Of course it interests me. Thanks a lot.’
‘How many pages is it?’
‘From what I saw, around 300.’
She started laughing as though she found it funny. ‘I feel sorry for you,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s not at all your cup of tea and you’ll break out in spots trying to finish it.’
‘No, I’ll fool myself into thinking I’m reading an official file. They’re equally boring.’
She came out with the same question I had. ‘How did they manage to write and print a 300-page biography in only ten days following Favieros’s suicide?’
‘They must have had it ready and simply printed it straight after the suicide.’
‘In that case, his family must have known about it. Usually the biographer is in contact with the person he’s writing about.’
‘Brilliant, Katerina!’ I shouted enthusiastically. ‘Why didn’t I think of that!’
‘Why do you think I want to become a public prosecutor?’ she replied, laughing. ‘Kiss Mummy for me,’ she said as we were about to hang up.
‘Your daughter sends you kisses,’ I shouted to Adriani, who was talking to Fanis.
She jumped up from where she was sitting. ‘Don’t hang up, I’m coming.’
The kisses went on for around half an hour, embellished with all the day’s events in Athens and Thessaloniki. Meanwhile I was chatting with Fanis, who found the business with the biography very suspicious and was sure that the name of the biographer would turn out to be a pseudonym.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Because if it were a real name, he’d be doing the rounds of the TV channels, giving interviews, at this very moment. What writer would pass up the opportunity of free publicity for his book? But this Logaras hasn’t shown up anywhere. Do you find it logical?’
No, I didn’t. The biography, together with Katerina’s observations and Fanis’s comments had roused my interest and I was in a hurry to begin reading. Fanis left at around eleven thirty, Adriani went to bed and I got comfortable in the sitting room with the book in my hands.
Logaras didn’t provide much information about Favieros’s childhood; he got it out of the way in the first twenty-five pages. Favieros had been born in Koliatsou Square. His father was a lawyer and his mother a school teacher. He had gone to the local primary and secondary schools and had got into the Athens Polytechnic School with exceptional exam grades. From that point onwards, Logaras appeared to know in detail all aspects of Favieros’s student life: how good he was as a student, who he mixed with both inside and outside the Polytechnic School, which of his fellow students he was close to. Favieros was one of the leading members of the student movement and he had become involved in the struggle against the Junta from the outset. The Security Forces had arrested him in ’69, but they released him six months later. He was taken into custody again in ’72, this time by the Military Police. Logaras knew how badly Favieros had been tortured, by whom, even what kinds of torture they used. It made you wonder where he had found and gathered all this information, if not from Favieros himself. Whatever the case, the portrait that emerged from the book was that of an exemplary young man. An exceptional student, liked by everyone, politically active, in the front line of the struggle, who had been subjected to terrible torture but who hadn’t broken.
