'What was Hellas Channel doing there?'
'They were the ones who found him,' he replied, and then I understood why he had his head down.
Once again we had our wordless dialogue, like every other morning, but now it was a little later than usual and through the rearview mirror.
He tried to change subjects. 'I have something new on Petratos's car.
'Tell me later, because now we've got our work cut out.'
Two motorcycle policemen had stopped the traffic at the level of Vourdoupa Street, where Treis Yephyres is. The block between Ionias Avenue, Acharnon Street, and Nirvana and Stephanou Vyzantiou Streets was sealed off by patrol cars, police, and TV crews.
The hotel looked onto the left-hand side of Ionias Avenue. We got out of the car and crossed the bridge over the train tracks on foot. As we passed through the cordon, I glimpsed the Horizon Channel van in front of the hotel entrance, but I couldn't see the crew anywhere. Then, when I got to the hotel, I saw lonias Avenue and Nirvana Street teeming with uniformed policemen, reporters, and cameramen. They were all looking up, as though watching a kite on Shrove Tuesday. I, too, looked up so as not to appear odd.
The balconies on the surrounding apartment blocks were empty and the shutters were down. Evidently, our boys had ordered the neighbors to keep back, and they were watching through the cracks.
'C'mon, get on with it. Some of us have to get to work!' How conscientious of this professional to be on his way to work at ten o'clock.
Kolakoglou was on the roof ledge. He was standing still, with the gun to his head. Dressed in a jacket and tie, he looked like a smalltime businessman who was about to kill himself because he was unable to pay his debts. Below, there was a huge commotion with police officers and reporters all shouting together as if all the noise would convince Kolakoglou to come down.
'Inspector Haritos. Who's in charge here?' I asked an officer standing beside me. He pointed to an older man in uniform, who was holding a bullhorn. I went over to him.
'Inspector Haritos, Homicide Division.'
'Since television was invented, it's meant only trouble for us,' the man said wearily.
'How did he get up there?'
'I'll tell you what the hotel owner told me.' And he did. Kolakoglou had been in the hotel for three days. He'd given his name as Spyrou. No one knew how he'd managed to hole up in there without being seen again.
They thought that someone must have booked the room for him and he'd sneaked in when the receptionist wasn't at her desk, because the owner swore he'd never set eyes on him before. Maybe it was booked for him by the man he was with in the bar. He'd kept himself locked up in his room all day. The reporters from Hellas Channel had shown up first thing in the morning. They'd played it both hot and cold. On the one hand, they'd terrified the owner saying that Kolakoglou was a dangerous criminal, and, on the other, they must have greased his palm so he'd take them up to Kolakoglou's room. They'd begun hammering on the door. He wouldn't open it to them. In the end, they'd threatened to turn him over to the police. And he'd jumped out in front of them, holding the gun to his head. He'd begun shouting that he'd blow his brains out. The other residents in the hotel had been alarmed, the owner had dialed 100. When Kolakoglou had seen our boys arriving, he'd found his way out onto the roof, still holding the gun to his head. That was an hour ago and he was still up there, motionless on the edge of the roof.
While the officer in charge was telling me all this, I saw Petratos and the newscaster coming out of the hotel.
'Excuse me a moment,' I said to the officer, and I went over to them. They'd taken off their suits and were wearing combat gear: anoraks and pullovers.
'Beaten to it again, Inspector,' Petratos said, with an ironic little grin.
I began to bristle, while inside I was cursing Thanassis, who'd screwed everything up again. 'What is it with you people? You keep going after a scoop and all you do is make a bloody mess of things!' I shouted.
'What you can't stand, Inspector,' the newscaster interrupted, 'is that we do our job properly. And instead of thanking us for helping you, all you do is scream at us.'
'If Kolakoglou suffers so much as a scratch, I'm taking you both in, you can be sure of that.'
'On what charge?' Petratos said, as ironically as ever.
'Don't worry about that. I'll have you for needlessly pushing Kolakoglou to suicide and I'll have you both sent down. If you'd informed us promptly, we'd have waited for him outside the hotel and we'd have nabbed him as soon as he showed himself, without even a nosebleed.' I would have gone on, but I was cut short by a heartrending cry.
'Petros, my dearest! Put the gun down! Don't do anything stupid! I won't be able to bear it!'
It was Mrs. Kolakoglou, in her habitual black. Every eye was turned to her. She was being supported by Sotiropoulos. Robespierre's countermove, I thought to myself. Sotiropoulos had brought her to compete with Petratos.
'Please, put the gun down and come down from there! Think of me!'
For the first time, her son showed some sign of movement. He was about to put the gun down, then remembered why he was up there and put it back up to his head. 'Go away, Mother. There's no reason for you to be here!' he shouted at the same time.
Sotiropoulos, still holding her, leaned over and said something in her ear. I couldn't hear what he said, but she began screaming again: 'Please, my dearest! Please, my darling boy. I know what you've been through, but don't do this. Don't break my heart!'
'Why did you bring her? Get her away from here!' Kolakoglou shouted from above. Evidently he thought that the police had brought her.
The officer in charge took advantage of the opportunity and spoke to him through the bullhorn. 'Petros, think of your poor mother! Come down and put an end to this! No one's going to harm you! You have my word!'
'Do you hear, Petros? The officer's given his word that they won't harm you!' his mother shouted with renewed hope.
'I believed them once before and I paid a high price for it!' Kolakoglou held the gun firmly to his head.
'All right, if you don't believe me, tell me what it will take for you to come down from there!' said the officer through the bullhorn.
Kolakoglou didn't answer immediately. He reflected. Meanwhile, I was back next to the officer.
'I want my mother to go away. I want the police to leave the hotel. I want everyone to go. Clear the street of those reporter creeps and the patrol cars. Then I'll come down.'
The officer lowered the bullhorn and turned to me. 'Tell me what I should do,' he said. 'I have no reason to arrest him. At most, I could hold him for illegal possession of a firearm. You're the one who's after him-you decide.'
I cursed the moment that I'd got mixed up with Kolakoglou. I'd reached the point of feeling sorry for him, the bastard. I was virtually certain that he had no involvement in the case, and yet we were pursuing him as if he were a kingpin.
'Have you cleared the hotel?' I asked the officer.
'Only our own men are still inside.'
'Do what he asks.' The officer looked at me undecided. He didn't like having to give in, and his expression showed it. 'Listen,' I said. 'Kolakoglou is like a trapped animal. And his mother coming has made it worse. You have no way of knowing if he's going to put a bullet in his head or if he will start shooting anyone in his sight, out of desperation.'
The officer didn't reply. He simply handed me the bullhorn. I put it to my mouth. 'All right, Kolakoglou. We're going to do what you ask so that you'll come down.'
Kolakoglou listened, perfectly still. All other eyes fell on me. That's it, I thought to myself. From now on, I'll be known as the chickenshit inspector who can't take the heat.
'Come on, Mrs. Kolakoglou. Everything's going to be all right,' Sotiropoulos said to the mother. Now that everything had been taken care of, he'd lost interest in Mrs. Kolakoglou. He handed her over to a policeman so that he wouldn't miss the rest of the show.
The officer in charge sent a sergeant to get our men out of the hotel. The other policemen began dispersing the reporters, together with the vans and patrol cars.
