was emotionless.
Sounds familiar, thought Andreas.
Tassos looked up. 'What's so bad?' he asked. 'Mykonians plundered Delos for centuries. Stolen artifacts are all over — and under — Mykonos. Our deal was simple: he'd find them in the mines or wherever and sell them to his Asian, Middle Eastern, and American contacts. Just keep away from Delos, and no customers from Interpol countries.'
He wasn't even trying to hide the truth.
'His work required a lot of traveling — or so he said. I never thought anything of it for him to be away for days at a time. When I saw the bridge, I remembered he'd told me he'd built something like that to keep the curious away from where he was digging.' He paused. 'I never went into the mines. That was all his thing.' He looked down again. 'I just covered for him.'
Silence.
Tassos looked up and stared directly at Andreas. 'Do you think if I thought he was killing those women I'd have covered up for him?'
Andreas said nothing. He wasn't looking at Tassos. He was thinking of his father — and how one betrayal begets another.
'Do you?' There was genuine pain in Tassos' voice.
Andreas looked at him. 'No.'
A shroud seemed to lift from Tassos. He reached across the table and squeezed Andreas' forearm. 'Thank you.'
'But I'm not sure where that gets us with everything else.' Andreas found it easier now to sound professional.
Tassos shrugged. 'Oh, I don't care about that. Do whatever you feel you should. I just wanted to be sure you didn't think I'd let that bastard kill them.' His anger flared only on the last words.
Andreas looked surprised. 'You really don't care?'
'No, why should I?' he said, sounding utterly nonchalant. 'You sound like your dad. And I really did like him. When I joined the force, I worked at the prison on Yaros.' He gestured toward an island between Syros and Tinos. 'It was where the Junta kept its more prominent political prisoners, ones who later rose to power.' He smiled. 'I always was nice to them, and they've always been nice to me.'
Tassos called for the check. 'The worst I've done is make black money from someone dealing in stolen antiquities and killed a very bad man. Making that sort of money isn't something anyone's likely to come after me for, and as for killing him…' he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Besides, first they have to prove it — then convince someone to prosecute. I know the prosecutors — that's not going to happen. No one wants the story to come out. No one. Worst case, some internal disciplinary proceeding costs me my pension. But, thanks to you know who, I really don't need it anymore.'
Andreas' head was pounding. Not from anger, from this rush of reality.
Tassos paid the bill and they both stood up. 'Andreas, I really like you, so do what you think best for your conscience. I'll be fine. I'm like a Mykonian: I'm used to living in a bordello — filled with police.' He smiled, gave Andreas a hug, and left.
Andreas sat back down at the table and watched Tassos cross the street and disappear around a corner. He looked down at what remained of his coffee, then up at the sky. To that bright blue, cloudless Aegean sky he said aloud, 'I don't know, Dad, I just don't know.'
All he knew for sure was that a South African jeweler from Mykonos — reported in Athens as missing by his wife and girlfriend — was dead. Or so he hoped.
