'Does he give a reason?'
'The man claims that Seki had stolen from him. He asked for his money back, Seki denied that he owed him any money and was stabbed five times in the stomach. They took him to the General Hospital in Nikaia straightaway, but he died from loss of blood on the way. So Seki's case has been put on file.'
'Thank you for telling me;' I said politely and hung up.
I racked my brain trying to understand what the murder of the Albanian might mean. At first sight, nothing. Two Albanians had had a quarrel and one of them had knifed the other. It happened every day, inside and outside of prison. But was it a coincidence that he'd been killed just when Petridi was about to question him? Kara yoryi again came into my mind, her obsession with the Albanian couple's kids. She'd gone so far as to pay to get her hands on my report. Was she so certain that the Albanian hadn't killed the couple because he fancied the woman, but because they were all involved in a circle of trade in children? Of course, this was one explanation for the five hundred thousand found in the cistern. In this case, Seki had suffered the same fate as Karayoryi and Kostarakou. As soon as they'd found out that he'd been called for further questioning, he'd been killed to keep his mouth shut. But how had they found out and from whom? Had the information been sold by the same person that Karayoryi had been bribing to get her hands on the reports? But who would he have given it to? Hourdakis? That was the only name going around the station.
The only solution was for me to go to Korydallos Prison to learn what happened firsthand. I thought of the journey, and my spirits sank, but there was no alternative.
From Alexandras Avenue to Larissa Railway Station I moved at a snail's pace, but at least I was moving. When I turned onto Konstan- tinoupoleos Avenue, however, I found a mile-long line of cars before me that kept stopping every ten meters. Cars kept getting stuck in the middle of the junctions, blocking the way; those drivers wanting to turn out of the side streets were furiously honking their horns: It was absolute bedlam. By the time I reached Petrou Ralli Street, my mind had begun to crumble like a rotten cauliflower. I'd forgotten Sovatzis, the Albanian, even Nena Delopoulou's legs. The Mirafiori couldn't take all that strain and I was afraid it would break down on me in the middle of the road.
On Petrou Ralli Street, the situation improved somewhat and the Mirafiori began to roll along. On Grigori Lambraki Street, there was even less traffic, and within another quarter of an hour I was at the gates of the prison.
When I explained to the warden what had brought me to Korydallos, he shrugged in a gesture of perplexity. 'What can I tell you? Everything points to the fact that it was a common quarrel that ended in a stabbing.'
'Are you sure that there was nothing behind it?'
'How can I be sure? They always talk in their own language. Our lot don't want anything to do with them. The murderer was on the outside-the leader of a gang-that killed and robbed their own kind. He does the same on the inside. He apparently wanted something from the victim, and because he was being difficult, he killed him. Afterward, he put it around, as an excuse, that the victim had stolen from him.'
'Where did he get the knife?'
'He said he took it from the kitchen.' His grim laugh made plain his disbelief. 'We've got him in solitary confinement. Do you want to talk to him?'
What would he tell me? Even if he'd been put up to it, he would stick to his story. Just like Seki. 'No. But I would like to take a look at the victim's personal effects.'
'Come this way.'
He took me to the storeroom, where they'd put the Albanian's belongings. When I saw them, my mouth fell open. New underwear, new socks, two new shirts, a pair of shoes, evidently unworn, and a brand new anorak. I asked the warden: 'Where did he get all this from? When he left us, he was wearing an old anorak and a patched pair of jeans.'
'I'll ask. Maybe a visitor brought them for him.'
'You didn't find a wallet? Any money?'
'No, but if he had any on him, it would be at the General Hospital in Nikaia, together with the clothes that he was wearing.'
From what the warden found out, the Albanian didn't have a single visitor all the time that he was in the prison.
I went back the same way along Grigori Lambraki Street, more worried than I had been on the outward journey. The new clothes lent even more credence to the idea that the Albanian had been killed to keep his mouth shut. For that good-for-nothing to have had enough money to buy an entire wardrobe meant that someone had been paying him for his trouble. And the only trouble he'd gone to was to kill the couple. How he had got hold of the money, yet had no visitors, was simple. They'd sent it to him by means of a guard. After the first interrogation, they hadn't been worried because he'd convinced me that he'd killed them on account of the girl. They'd paid him and their minds were at rest. But when the public examiner had called him for a second interrogation, they'd been scared and had bumped him off so as to leave no loose ends.
Preoccupied as I was, I missed the turn for Chrysostomou Smyr- nis. I had to go back onto Petrou Ralli Street and return via Thivon Street.
The doctor who had dealt with the Albanian had gone, but I found a supervisor who was willing to help. She took me herself to the storeroom. The Albanian's clothes had been put into a large bag. I took everything out and went through them piece by piece. He had been wearing the same anorak he'd had when he left us, but his jeans were new. But again, I found no money.
'Didn't he have any cash on him?' I asked the supervisor, who had stayed to help me.
'If he did, it would be in the accounts department.'
The head of the accounts department was getting ready to leave and made no attempt to conceal his displeasure at being delayed. He opened the safe and handed me a wallet. It was a cheap plastic one with a gold outline of the Acropolis on it, the kind you find at any of the kiosks in Omonia Square. It was stuffed and difficult to fold. I opened it and took out a fistful of 5,000-drachma notes and three 1,000-drachma notes. I counted the 5,000s. There were twenty-five. The scoundrel had been carrying 128,000 on him. Add to that what he'd spent on his wardrobe. He must have had around 200,000. The rest of what was in his wallet were papers written in Albanian, so I couldn't read what they said, but they resembled official documents. Last of all, I unfastened the pocket for loose change. I didn't find any coins, but I did find a crumpled piece of paper and I opened it up. Someone had written in Albanian characters and in capital letters: 34 KOUMANOUDI STREET, GIZI. I studied the paper, then shoved it into my pocket, thanked the supervisor, and left.
CHAPTER 35
My stomach had settled, but the coffee and croissant made me feel sick. I had spent the entire previous evening in the kitchen. No dictionaries, no nine o'clock news, nothing. Adriani had been cooking so that I would have plenty to eat while she was away, and I'd been keeping her company. We were going through one of our sloppy phases. Roast pork, fresh beans, fried meatballs, all meals you could eat cold so that I wouldn't have to warm them up. I looked at it all and felt sorry for all the expense because as soon as her back was turned I'd be into the souvlaki. Adriani doesn't let me eat them because, she says, they make them from old meat and fat and it's bad for my cholesterol. I didn't give a shit. I loved them. It wasn't likely that I'd eat more than two meals worth of the food she was preparing. A day or so before she came back from Thessaloniki, I'd throw it in the rubbish so she wouldn't find it in the fridge and whine about it.
'What did you do with the names of the passengers that Sotiris gave you?' I asked Thanassis, who was looking at me, like every morning.
He raised his hands in the air. 'It was impossible for me to get anywhere with the airport. They asked me if they were scheduled flights or charters, and I didn't know. They asked me for the airline companies and the flight numbers. I didn't know that either. All I know is that they were arranged through Prespes Travel, but that's not enough. They referred me to the airline companies that fly those routes, but they can't help me either unless I give them more information. The only way is to get it direct from Prespes Travel.'
I knew that myself, but that wasn't possible for the time being. Once I was alone, I called Koula. 'I have to see the superintendent. It's urgent'
'One moment.' She put me on hold while she conferred with him. Then she told me that he was free and I could come up.
