“All right. Let’s work on the assumption that this killer isn’t stupid. Why do you think he shot your man in the eyes? Why would someone do something like that?”
“How should I know?”
“Humor me, please. I have my own theory on this but I’d still like to hear what even an ex-detective has to say about it.” He flicked the cigarette he was smoking out the French windows. “I am right, aren’t I? That you were once a detective?”
“Yes. All right, I was. A long time ago.”
“Where and doing what?”
“I was a Murder Commission detective in Berlin for the best part of ten years.”
“And you held what kind of rank?”
“I was a police commissar. That’s like a captain, I suppose.”
“So you were the man in charge of a murder investigation?”
“You might think that, yes. But back in Germany there was really only one man in charge all that time. And his name was Adolf Hitler.”
“Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. So tell me, Commissar Ganz, why do you think Mr. Witzel was shot in the eyes?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. My own guess is it was a revenge thing, maybe. That the killer is probably a sadist who enjoys not just killing people but humiliating them, too.”
“I agree. About the sadism, I mean. I have another question. Was Witzel by any chance a German Jew?”
“No,” I said. “I’m quite certain he wasn’t.”
“May I ask how you know?”
“He’d told us he was in the German navy during the war. It’s highly unlikely he could have served if he’d been Jewish.”
“I see. Look, Herr Commissar, I think maybe we can help each other out here. My name is Lieutenant Leventis and I’ll guarantee to keep you both out of jail if you hand over your passport and agree to help me. In a purely advisory role, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Two heads are better than one. Especially a head as gray as yours, Commissar.”
“Don’t think my gray hairs make that head wise, Lieutenant. They just make me old. And tired. That’s why I’m in insurance.”
“If you say so. But make no mistake, Commissar, Greece was never a country for young men. Not like Germany. It’s old heads that have always mattered here.”
“All right. I’ll do it.” I glanced at Garlopis. “But didn’t Cerberus have three heads?”
Garlopis pulled a face and then straightened his bow tie. “You don’t expect me to help, I hope. Really, sir, I don’t think I can. Especially now, with a dead body lying at my feet. I think I told you before that I’m a coward, sir. I may have misled you there. I’m an abject coward. I’m the kind of man who gives cowards a bad name. I joined the insurance business because the debt-collection business was too hazardous. People kept on threatening to hit me, sir. But that now seems to be a very small thing, given the condition of poor Herr Witzel. And by the way, Cerberus was killed. By Hercules.”
“Only in some versions. And I can hardly help the lieutenant without your invaluable assistance, Garlopis.”
“That’s right,” said the lieutenant. “Your German is fluent, I think. And certainly more fluent than my English. So you’re in. It’s that or a drive to the Haidari Barracks, where at least one of you will feel very much at home. During the war it was the local concentration camp run by the SS and the Gestapo. We will leave you there on remand, while I look for evidence to prosecute you for Witzel’s murder.”
Garlopis chuckled nervously. “But there isn’t any.”
“True. Which means it could take a while to look for it. Perhaps several months. We still use Block Fifteen at Haidari for keeping lefty prisoners in isolation.”
“He’s right,” I said. “Better helping him on the outside than being inside.”
Garlopis winced. “It’s Scylla and Charybdis,” he said. “Choosing between two evils. Which, if you’ll forgive me, is no choice at all.”
“Good, then that’s settled,” said Lieutenant Leventis. “So. If you’ll both come with me, there are some pictures at police headquarters I’d like the commissar to take a look at.”
TWENTY-THREE
–
On the way to police headquarters we made a detour. The Athens Gendarmerie was located on Mesogeion Avenue in a pleasantly large park. Surrounded with trees and grass, it was a three-story, cream-colored building with a red pantile roof and a series of arched windows and doors that were painted, patriotically, blue and white to match the flags that hung limply on either side of the main door. Lieutenant Leventis parked his car beside a row of squat palm trees that resembled a display of giant pineapples and went inside for a moment, he said, to hand over the spent brass we’d found at the murder scene to his ballistics people. Since I was handcuffed to Garlopis in the backseat I don’t suppose he was too worried about either one of us running away; besides, Garlopis didn’t look like much of a runner.
“What is this place?” I asked after a few moments.
“This is the police Gendarmerie, which has connections to the Greek army. Leventis belongs to the City Police, which is something different. They cooperate, of course. At least, that’s the rumor. In Athens, the City Police are headquartered at the Megaron Pappoudof, immediately opposite the Grande Bretagne Hotel, on the corner of Kifisias Street and Panepistimiou. Which is where we’re headed next, I think.” He looked at his watch. “I hope this isn’t going to take long. I’m worried about the car. My cousin will be less than pleased if something happens to it.”
“I wouldn’t worry about the car. Worry about us.”
“But why? The lieutenant said we’d be all right so long as we cooperate with him. By which he means you, of course. I don’t think there’s
