“I guess that’s your own middle name, Commissar.”
“My guess is that he waited for Witzel to show up at MRE’s offices around the corner, and then followed me when I followed Witzel to the place where he’d been lying low ever since the Doris sank. Went back a bit later and then killed him. He and Witzel probably knew each other from before the war. I’m not sure but I think Witzel was involved in some scheme to look for ancient Greek artifacts that he could sell on the black market. Assuming there is a black market for that kind of thing.”
“Sure there is. It’s a thriving one, too. There are lots of museums and private collectors who want a bit of Greek history on the cheap. Not just ours. Roman treasures, too.”
“I’m still working on that. I’m hoping I’ll have a little more information after I’ve spoken to the director of the Archaeological Museum in Piraeus. It looks like there was some agreement between the museum in Piraeus and a museum in Munich to share any discoveries. But that might just have been a cover. Maybe Brunner wanted a share, too. Or maybe it was a revenge thing. I don’t know. But if I had to guess some more—”
“You do.”
“Then I’d say that Brunner might have had something to do with the sinking of the boat. I have no idea how. Not yet.”
“Tell me more about Fischer.”
“Good suit. Gold watch, nice lighter, even nicer manners. He looked like he was doing all right for himself. He spoke Greek. Or at least as far as I was able to tell. What I mean to say is that he was reading a Greek newspaper and he seemed to speak to the barman fluently enough. He said he liked it here. And I got the impression he was in Greece a lot.”
“Is that all?”
“Look, I’ve got lots of faults but protecting Nazi war criminals isn’t one of them.”
“Says you.”
“Frequently.”
“And Meissner? Has he agreed to meet you, yet?”
“Right now that’s a maybe, too.”
“You’ve got a lot of maybes, Commissar. Enough to operate a roulette wheel, maybe. Certainly many more than your old bosses in Germany would ever have tolerated. From what I’ve read of the SS and the Gestapo they didn’t much like maybes. They preferred results. We have that in common at least. In case you’ve forgotten, my own boss is a man called Captain Kokkinos and he’s an impatient man. He thinks I should bring you in and sweat you and your fat friend, Garlopis. He’s been hitting the walls because I don’t.”
“I’ve seen your walls. And I don’t think your decorator will care.”
“Because then I’d have to waste time listening to your lies. So I tell you what I’m going to do, Ganz. From now on, you’re gonna tell me every move you make. Anything you do, I want a report. Just like you were a cop again. You can have your secretary type it. If you don’t, I’ll make sure they bury you in the deepest cell in Haidari. Solitary confinement for as long as it takes to break you. I don’t much care about Garlopis. He’ll say anything to stay out of prison. But you’re another story. You’ll be talking to yourself inside a fortnight. Because no one will be listening. Not even me. I’ll forget all about you, maybe. This is the home of democracy but we can behave in some very undemocratic ways when we put our minds to it. So you can take your choice. But you need to start confiding in me like I’m your father confessor. Only then can you get absolution. And only then can you go home.”
I nodded, full of compliance and cooperation, like I was the most craven informer ever to be bullied by a policeman. But I could already see I was going to need the firm of lawyers in Piraeus that Dietrich had recommended and later that day I called them and made an appointment on the same day we were scheduled to see Dr. Lyacos again.
THIRTY-ONE
–
Latsoudis & Arvaniti were located on the corner of Themistocles Street, in a modern building overlooking the main port of Piraeus, from where I could easily have taken a ferry to one of the Greek islands. After my conversation with Lieutenant Leventis I was seriously considering it.
Garlopis had at last swapped the Oldsmobile for a smaller Rover P4 and while he parked it I waited in the yellow church on the square and, but for the idea that there were other mugs who tried it already, I might have prayed. When he fetched me, he said the church was built on the ruins of the Temple of Venus, and being a bit of a pagan and generally fond of goddesses, I said it didn’t look like much of an improvement.
We went up to the firm’s offices and met with two lawyers, neither of whom was called Latsoudis or Arvaniti, who told us in a mixture of Greek and English and the pungent smoke of Turkish cigarettes that we had their sympathy, that one of them would gladly represent us in court, that what had happened was entirely typical of Athens, and that the Attica police were little better than the Greek army, and fascists to boot, for whom torture and the abuse of human rights were second nature, and that Captain Kokkinos fancied himself to be a man with a political future, not to say a potential dictator. It was best, they advised, that
