was as if they'd uprooted a tower from the Mani and planted it in Milessi.
'Are we going in?' Sotoris said, when he'd recovered from his surprise.
'Why? To ask why he was always on duty when the Transpilar refrigerator trucks arrived at the border? His house says it all. Now you see why I wanted us to come here, to see what kind of house he lives in.
Sotiris looked at me without saying anything. I released the brake and began going back in reverse. A little farther and we got stuck in the mud. Sotiris got out to push. As I was stepping on the gas and Sotiris was pushing from the hood, one of the windows in Hourdakis's house opened and a woman leaned out. She remained there at the window, looking at the pickle we were in.
'Tomorrow, you're going to go through the whole of Hourdakis's family tree,' I said to Sotiris, when, after much ado, we were back to the kiosk. 'Himself, his wife, his children if he has any, his parents if they're still living. You'll ask for approval from the public prosecutor to look into the bank accounts of the whole family. I want to know what amounts went into the accounts, when, and who deposited them. We'll talk to him as soon as we're ready to stand him up against the wall.' I had learned my lesson with Petratos. I didn't want to come anywhere near Hourdakis before I had first collected enough evidence.
The rain had stopped. When we were again passing through the pine forest, I opened the window and breathed in the scented air in order to clear my lungs.
CHAPTER 34
The next morning, I arrived half an hour earlier at the office, at eight-thirty, and went straight down to the records department in the basement.
'Your ears must have been burning,' Yannis told me as soon as he saw me. 'I was just getting ready to call you.'
'Any luck?'
'I went through the lists one by one. No one has asked for those files from the day they came down to the records department. I can vouch for that.'
'Thanks, Yannis.'
So whoever had photocopied the reports and given them to Karayoryi had done it while they were still in the office, before they went down to records. That meant that someone in the division was making a bit on the side by selling departmental documents. I felt a tightening in my stomach. The files stayed in the office for up to six months. During that time, anyone could take a file from the cupboard, photocopy what they wanted, and put it back in its place. There was no way to find out who was doing the dirty on us.
As I came out into the hall, I saw a girl waiting for me outside the door of my office. She had blond hair tied in a ponytail. She was wearing flat shoes, and she must have been as tall as me, around five ten. She was wearing a black leather jacket, expensive, and a miniskirt, sparingly cut, as it barely covered her behind. From below the skirt streamed a pair of legs like the stems of tall crystal glasses. As I got closer to her, I saw that she couldn't have been more than twenty-five.
'Are you Inspector Haritos?' she asked me.
'Yes.'
She was without any makeup, had blue eyes and a cold expression, which made me feel uncomfortable.
'I'm Nena Delopoulou, Kyriakos Delopoulos's daughter. I need to talk to you'
I'd heard that Delopoulos had a daughter, but I never imagined she would be such a dazzling bit of skirt. 'Come in,' I told her and opened my door, wondering why she'd cut short her beauty sleep.
She sat in the chair and crossed her legs. Her miniskirt slid upward, offering me a view of her thighs right up to her panties, which were white and shone through her black tights. I crossed my legs too, not in imitation, but to prevent an erection. I leaned back in my chair to appear relaxed, though I wasn't at all.
'So what's it about?'
'Nestor Petratos told me that you saw his car close to Martha Kostarakou's house and that you suspect him of two murders.'
'We simply asked him for an explanation,' I said cautiously. 'If we suspected him, we'd be holding him in custody.'
'Nestor was with me on the evening that Martha Kostarakou was murdered. Between about five-thirty and seven-thirty.' She looked at me and added with a touch of irony: 'He was with me the whole time. I'm telling you this so that you'll leave him alone.'
So this was the woman friend that Petratos had been protecting, and why he wouldn't tell us her name.
'Where do you live?'
'I own the Erodios Art Gallery on the corner of Iphikratous and Aristarchou Streets. It's an old two-story house. The gallery is on the ground floor. I live upstairs. leronos Street is two blocks away. Nestor didn't want to tell you that he was with me, as our relationship is somewhat unconventional.' She fell silent and then added with the same touch of irony: 'At least, it was until yesterday.'
It was unconventional because they had kept it hidden from Delopoulos. She hadn't wanted any trouble with her father, and Petratos hadn't wanted any with his boss. I gazed at her and Katerina came into my mind. Whether she eventually became a magistrate or a lawyer, it would be ten years before she had any career. Whereas this pretentious girl, who was only twenty-five and already had her own gallery, bought by her father, was carrying on behind his back.
Ms. Delopoulou considered our interview over and got up.
'Are you willing to sign a statement of what you've just told me?'
She held the door half open and turned around. 'My father and I see each other every three months, Inspector Haritos. Last night, when I learned of his intention to fire Nestor, I told him that if he did it, he wouldn't see me for three years. That changed his mind. So I'll sign whatever you want.'
She went out and closed the door behind her. Another one who didn't bother to say good-bye to me. What was that word? Boorish. Quite so.
Strangely enough, my first thought was of Sotiropoulos. He's turned the tables on you, Robespierre, I thought. You wrote him off, but he is sitting pretty.
Then I realized that it wasn't only Sotiropoulos who had come out of it badly, but me too. I could now forget about Petratos for good. Given that he was with Delopoulou, he couldn't have killed Kostarakou. And if he didn't kill Kostarakou, then he couldn't have killed Karayoryi either. The two murders went together, a pair. His solicitor had turned out to be right. In the end, Petratos had no motive. Why would he waste time hating Karayoryi when he was screwing the boss's daughter? And why would he be afraid of losing his job? The proof being that he hadn't lost it. I didn't know whether I was sorry or relieved that Petratos had come out of it clean. At least I was now free to turn my attention exclusively to Sovatzis. I had to keep Ghikas abreast, but there was no rush. First, I had to come up with a way to get close to Sovatzis. The surest way was through Hourdakis. As soon as Sotiris got the evidence I needed, I'd put him through the mill.
Then I had an idea. I dug out the photocopies of the letters from the unknown N:
For so long now I have been doing what you asked, believing that you would keep your word, but all you do is play with me. I now know that you have no intention of doing what I ask. You only want to keep me on a string so you can blackmail me and get what you want. But no more. This time I won't give way. Don't force my hand because you'll come unstuck and you'll only have yourself to blame.
What if N was Nena Delopoulou? But what had she done for Karayoryi and why would Karayoryi be playing with her? Had she put in a good word with her father on her behalf? In exchange for Petratos? But then Karayoryi wouldn't let him go and Delopoulou threatened her, evidently, with dismissal. Until Karayoryi, who didn't want to sacrifice her career, surrendered him to Delopoulou. This version suited me because it tied up everything without burdening us with any other suspect.
The ringing of the telephone interrupted this train of my thoughts. It was Petridi, the public examiner.
'Do you remember Seki, that Albanian you asked us to question in connection with the trade in children?'
'Of course. I was going to call you; you beat me to it.'
'I'd planned to interrogate him the day after tomorrow, but he was killed last night.'
The news was an appalling blow. 'Who killed him? Do they know?' I said, after a pause.
'One of his own kind. Stabbed him, in a lavatory.'
