“Our women?”
“Those I’ve seen seem very nice, too.”
“How about our wine?” he murmured.
“I like it. At least I do when I manage to get over the taste of the stuff. It tastes more like tree sap than actual wine. Still, the effect seems to be much the same and after the first bottle you hardly notice the difference.”
Garlopis smiled. “That’s very good,” he said. “Most amusing.”
I didn’t think Leventis was really listening, but I carried on anyway: “They say the Romans used to make wine in the same way. That would certainly explain the decline and fall of the Roman Empire.”
He didn’t answer and, after a while, I said, “You know why we were at the house in Pritaniou. Why were you there, Lieutenant?”
“This morning one of the neighbors reported hearing the sound of an argument, followed by two shots. A patrol car found the body and then summoned me. The witness, who was cleaning the Glebe Holy Sepulchre Church opposite number 11, claims she saw two men leaving the house just before midday but couldn’t describe them in any useful way.”
“Any idea yet who owns that house?”
“The neighbor thinks that Witzel might have been living there without the owner’s knowledge. Squatting. It may even be that the owner has died. We’re investigating.”
Leventis came back to his desk and sat down, smiling, but this time there was no cruelty in his smile, which made a nice change; only he wasn’t yet through with threatening us.
“All of what I’m about to tell you now is confidential,” he said. “I should hate to read about any of this in a newspaper. If I did I should certainly assume that one of you was responsible and have you both sent to Haidari Barracks. My captain—Captain Kokkinos, would insist on it.”
“We won’t breathe a word of what you tell us, Lieutenant. Will we, Herr Ganz? You have our word. And let me just add that we’re very happy to cooperate with you and Captain Kokkinos in any way you see fit.”
Leventis ignored him as he would probably have ignored a mosquito, or the relentless sound of Greek traffic.
“If,” persisted Garlopis, “earlier on I gave you the impression that I was less than happy to help I should like to correct that now. We’ll do anything we can to make sure that this murderer is caught, and soon. Anything. Including, might I add, paying a small fine or compensation for the illegal entry we made at the house in Pritaniou. In cash, of course. And whatever amount you think is appropriate. You yourself might give it to the owner when eventually he is found.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Leventis. He knew perfectly well what was being suggested but, generously, he chose to ignore that, too. “Now then, to business. About a week ago, a lawyer was found murdered. In the suburb of Glyfada. His name was Dr. Samuel Frizis.”
“I think maybe I read about that in The Athens News,” I said.
“Yes,” said Leventis. “But the paper didn’t publish any specific details. We’ve been keeping those back deliberately. You see, Dr. Frizis was shot through both eyes, just like your friend Siegfried Witzel.”
“I wish you’d stop calling him our friend. Neither of us liked him, did we, Garlopis?”
“Indeed no. He was a most disagreeable fellow. Very bad-tempered. We were both afraid he might shoot one of us. Ironic when you think about it. Given what happened. But life’s like that sometimes, isn’t it?”
Leventis handed me a sheaf of color photographs from the file. They showed a man lying dead on a plush-looking couch. There were several autopsy shots, which made for unpleasant viewing. All the blood in his head had drained away from his blackened eyes onto one shoulder of his tweed suit, while the other shoulder was quite unspoiled. On the marble table in front of the sofa was a little bronze statue of the goddess Diana holding a spear. It almost looked as if she might have inflicted the damage to the dead lawyer’s eyes. Cruelly, I offered one of the photographs to Garlopis, who shook his head and then looked away uncomfortably.
“The killer used a rimless, tapered, 9-mill round just like the one that you found on the floor at the house in Pritaniou Street. My guess is that the ballistics people back at the Gendarmerie will find they were fired from the same gun. Most likely a Luger pistol, they tell me. We’ve been through Frizis’s client list and appointment book and found nothing of any interest. So this new murder is a break for us, since it’s very likely these two murders are connected. Although I really don’t have any idea how.
“Back at the house in the old town you suggested that Witzel was possibly killed by Jews, in revenge for the confiscation of their property by the Nazis. But I must tell you that I think it’s unlikely that Dr. Frizis was murdered by Jews, not least because he himself was a Jew. And until Witzel was killed we had even considered the possibility that Dr. Frizis might have been murdered because he was a Jew. I am sorry to tell you that this is becoming quite an anti-Semitic country. Anyway, Siegfried Witzel’s murder also puts paid to that particular theory.”
“What kind of a lawyer was he anyway?” I asked.
“He must have been a good one if he could afford to live in Glyfada,” said Garlopis. “That’s the most expensive part of town. Everyone in Athens aspires to living in Glyfada.”
“He may have been a good lawyer,” said Leventis, “but he wasn’t particularly honest.”
“You won’t hear me arguing that one down,” I said. “No good lawyer is particularly honest, in my experience. But dispensing with a lawyer is usually more straightforward. Withholding payment will do the job most effectively.”
Leventis took off his glasses and raised a finger. “Fortunately, I have another theory. It’s about who killed him, if not why he was killed. It’s a little
