back and let me pass. Thanassis, who'd been listening to my statement from the door of the office, followed behind me.
'What are we going to do about Kolakoglou?' he said. 'Shall we continue the search?'
Logic dictated that I call off the hunt and leave him in peace. Even Ghikas would have no objections now. On the other hand, though, the hunt for Kolakoglou did, as they said, throw dust in the eyes of Delopoulos and Petratos, and it left me with a free hand.
'Continue with it until I give the word to stop,' I said to Thanassis.
'But do you seriously believe that Kolakoglou killed both Karayoryi and Kostarakou?'
I heard Sotiropoulos's voice behind me and turned. He'd entered unheard. He leaned against the wall, next to the door, and gave me an ironic look.
'Carry on, I'll see you later,' I said to Thanassis.
Sotiropoulos watched Thanassis leave, then sat, uninvited, in the chair facing me.
'Petratos died along with Kostarakou,' he said, not disguising his pleasure.
'How so?'
'Don't you see. He built Kolakoglou up to be the murderer, and now he'll have to admit that he was wrong. He's embarrassed the channel, and Delopoulos won't forgive him for it.' He gazed at me. Behind the round glasses, his two beady eyes were full of glee. 'Did you see my report yesterday?' he said.
'Yes.'
'Tonight, I'm going to take it a bit further. Who benefited from Kolakoglou's conviction. And who are the ones still using him as a scapegoat? As of tomorrow, Petratos will be yesterday's news.'
'Why do you dislike him so much?'
He was surprised by my question. Then he grew serious and seemed to hesitate.
'I have my reasons, but they're personal,' he said eventually. 'But one thing I will tell you. Petratos got to where he is by treading on others. I'll be only too pleased if he comes toppling down.'
'You'd be even more pleased if he was the murderer.'
He stared at me, trying to guess where I was going. 'Why?' he said. 'Do you suspect him?'
'Hate always gives rise to suspicions. In every direction.'
He burst out laughing. 'Do you suspect me too?'
I didn't reply. I left it in the air, to make him come out with more. 'I admit that I'd enjoy seeing him in handcuffs, and I'd enjoy sticking the microphone in his face so he could tell me why he killed them. But that's just a pipe dream. Petratos didn't kill them. You have to look elsewhere.'
'You're keeping something from me.'
'No, on my word. But instinct tells me that something else is behind the two murders, something that we can't imagine.' He got up and went toward the door. 'You'll see that I'm right. My instinct never fails me,' he said as he went out.
I turned my gaze to the window and tried to guess what he meant. Was he keeping something from me? Very probably.
On the old woman's balcony, the cat had squeezed between two plant pots and was looking at the passersby on the street, with its face pressed against the railings. It was already December, and if you excluded two days of bitter cold, outside it was like an oven. The weather was all over the place.
CHAPTER 22
Petratos lived on Assimakopoulou Street, next to the Aghia Paraskevi Youth Center. It was one of those new apartment buildings built for PR people, business executives, and academics living off EUfunded programs. There was no place to park in front of the entrance, as was usually the case, but instead a garden with a lawn and flowers. There was a separate underground garage. The doorbells were connected to a closed-circuit TV, so that they could refuse to let you in if they didn't like the look of you.
I picked a name at random and was about to ring when I saw a woman coming out of the elevator. As she opened the door, I darted inside. Petratos lived on the second floor. Each floor had three flats: two side by side and the other one on its own, across from the other two. I began with the one nearest to the elevator.
'Yes?' said the Filipino girl who opened the door.
The times were long past when well-to-do families brought girls from the villages to do all the chores and, in addition, give their darling son his first lessons in screwing. Today, you ring the bell, some Filipino girl opens the door, her English is broken, yours is irreparable, and you're supposed to communicate.
As soon as I said the word 'police,' she began trembling. Presumably, she was working illegally. 'No problem, no here for you,' I said to her, and my fluent English immediately put her at ease. I asked her whether she knew Petratos, whether she'd seen him the previous evening either coming or going and at what time. The answer to my first question was yes, to the other two no, and after the second no, she shut the door in my face.
I rang the bell of the flat that was next to Petratos's and this time fortune smiled on me. A sixty-year-old woman, and one of our people, opened the door. I explained who I was, showed her my badge, and she ushered me in. When I asked her about Petratos, she went into raptures.
'But of course I know Mr. Petratos! A wonderful man!'
'Do you happen to know what time he usually leaves his house in the evenings?'
'Why?' she said, suddenly suspicious.
I leaned over toward her as if about to divulge a Masonic secret. 'You'll have heard of the murder of the two reporters at Hellas Channel, where Mr. Petratos works.'
'I heard it on the news. Young women. Tragic!'
'We're trying to make sure there won't be any more victims, so we're watching the homes of all the reporters who work at Hellas Channel. That's why we want to know when they're at home, especially in the evening and at night. Yesterday evening, for example, did you happen to see him coming or leaving?'
'Why don't you ask him?'
'Reporters are strange people. They don't want the police under their feet. In any case, we're trying to be discreet, not to alarm anyone.'
My reply apparently convinced her because she gave it some thought. 'What can I tell you?' she said eventually. 'In the morning he leaves around eleven. I know because I'm often coming back from doing my shopping at that time and we bump into each other on the landing. I rarely see him in the evening.'
'When you do see him, what time is it?'
'Between six-thirty and seven. But yesterday I didn't see him at all.'
I was about to go when she suddenly remembered something that I would rather she had forgotten. 'The day before yesterday, there was another one of your men here asking questions,' she said.
Sotiris's inquiries that had made Delopoulos and Petratos furious. 'Yes, it was following the first murder. We'd suggested even then to Mr. Petratos and to the others to let us have their houses watched, but they'd refused. The result was that we had the second murder. That's why we decided to watch them discreetly, without them knowing, till we've found the murderer. You realize, I'm sure, that if there's a third victim, we'll have everyone down on our heads.'
'Ah, what a line of work to be in!' she said with understanding.
I took my leave of her, but went away with empty hands. The same was true of the other flats. Most people didn't even ask me in but kept me standing at the door. And their answers were all alike: 'I don't know,' 'I rarely see him,' 'Ask him yourself.'
The higher I went in the building, the more my hopes fell, but I'd started to get the bit between my teeth. On the one hand, there was Kostarakou's murder and, on the other, my set-to with the gang of three-Ghikas, Delopoulos, and Petratos-not to mention Sotiropoulos, who kept sticking his nose in. All this had dented my pride. I wanted to get some evidence so I could bring Petratos in for questioning and begin to put the screws to him.
I had reached the fourth floor and was talking to a tall, lanky woman with strikingly thin lips. She told me that she minded her own business and wasn't in the slightest bit interested in what her neighbors did. This sermon was interrupted by a tall, gangly kid with shaved head and earring, who pushed past her to get out.
He'd obviously heard us talking, because he turned and said to me: 'For what it's worth, his car wasn't in its parking place yesterday around six when I was putting mine in the parking lot.'
'What business is that of yours?' said the woman crossly.
