men. Andreas wasn't looking forward to this meeting. He'd called the Vardi home, said Mrs Vardi was expecting his call and that he would like to meet with her this afternoon. He was put on hold for five minutes before being told, 'Mrs Vardi is busy this afternoon. Perhaps you could call back tomorrow?'
When he asked if she would be available to meet tomorrow the response was, 'She will let you know then.'
It took a typically Greek, high-decibel-level call from Andreas to Marios to arrange a meeting for that afternoon. How Marios ever thought this woman would be helpful was beyond him. She wouldn't even agree to meet until squeezed. Andreas decided to have a quick, courteous meeting and be done with her. What a waste of time.
Mrs Vardi's apartment building was at the old Olympic Stadium end of the street, facing the park. The lobby showed impeccable old-world taste, and the doormen behaved as expected in such a place: courteous to the point of obsequious while they determined where you fit into the pecking order of things. With cops, doormen could go either way, depending on how many favors they might need. Andreas gave just his name, not title, and waited while he was announced.
'Mrs Vardi's maid said you will have to wait until she's finished with her trainer.'
Andreas smiled. The doorman shrugged and pointed him toward an equivalently elegant sitting room. Andreas walked in, sat down, crossed his legs and gazed nowhere in particular. If anyone were watching, he looked as much at ease with the world as a tourist in a deckchair on a Mediterranean cruise.
Was this woman as self-absorbed as she appeared or just playing games? This was an old interviewing ploy: keep someone waiting to put them under stress and establish who was in charge. Andreas wondered if the camera inconspicuously mounted in the far corner of the room was connected to monitors in the apartments.
Ten minutes passed before the doorman came in and said, 'You may go up to Mrs Vardi's apartment now.'
Andreas smiled and walked toward the elevator as if all were perfect with the world. It's going to be tough being nice to this bitch.
Lila's apartment was on the sixth floor, about as high as any old residential building was built in earthquake- conscious Athens. In fact, it was the entire sixth floor with a view of both the Acropolis and Lykavittos.
The elevator opened directly into a large, welcoming entry foyer, decorated in the French neoclassical style of Louis XVI. But the openness, of course, was an illusion, because these days no one in their right mind left an apartment accessible to the outside world, with or without the most cautious of elevator operators and doormen.
Andreas stepped into the foyer, and the elevator operator pointed to a pair of French doors at the far end. 'There's a bell to the right.'
Andreas pressed the bell. He noticed that the curtains hanging on each door did not cover windows, but painted images of windows. And the doors weren't made of wood, but of high security steel finished in the same style. More illusion.
The doors opened and a woman dressed in a black maid's uniform — starched white lace apron and all — told him to follow her. She led him through room after room filled with antiques and paintings, none of which he recognized nor expected to. It wasn't his thing, even if he could afford them. Strange, he thought, with all the dead bodies he'd seen in his life, he still wasn't used to them; but his brief time in the Kostopoulos home made this seem just another rich person's house.
She led him into a room with a breathtaking view of the Acropolis and told him to make himself comfortable. He expected another let's-make-him-wait experience. He didn't mind, the view kept him occupied. He stood by the windows, looked out at the city, and wondered whether those who had such glorious views took them for granted.
'Mr Kaldis? Or is there a title I should be using?'
He turned away from the window to face the woman standing in the doorway, smiled, and said, 'Whatever makes you comfortable, Mrs Vardi.'
'Then, what exactly is your title?' She did not move. Her arms were crossed and her voice coldly professional.
'Chief inspector, Special Crimes Division, GADA.'
'Sounds impressive.'
'I think that's why they gave it to me.' He smiled.
She didn't. 'So, what can I do for you?' She looked at her watch.
He smiled again. 'May I sit down?' He wasn't going to let her rush him out of here simply by looking at her watch. That was too old a ruse. She'll have to be directly rude, something he doubted she'd dare with Marios behind the meeting.
She forced a smile. 'Certainly,' and pointed him to a couch perpendicular to the windows. She sat in a chair across from him separated by a small table.
'I sincerely appreciate your taking the time out of your busy day to see me.' He tried sounding sincere.
She simply nodded. Now both her arms and legs were crossed. She wore a black sweat suit, white sneakers, and no makeup. He noticed the sneakers were a brand even he could afford. Maybe there really was a trainer.
'I don't know what Marios told you-'
She cut him off. 'Absolutely nothing.'
He nodded for a moment. She said nothing more, just sat arms- and legs-crossed in the chair. 'Why do you think that would be?' he asked.
'Why what would be?'
He'd play; besides, it was her time she was wasting. He leaned forward and stared directly at her. 'Why would Greece's most famous television journalist insist that the chief inspector, Special Crimes Division, GADA, immediately drop everything he was doing to speak to you about a murder getting 24/7 media attention all over Greece and not mention a single word to you about why or how he thought you could help the investigation?' That gave nothing away and might just be the kick in the ass she needed to start taking this meeting seriously.
She looked away from his stare, leaned forward a bit, then uncrossed and recrossed her legs in the opposite direction, all without uncrossing her arms. 'I assume you mean Sotiris Kostopoulos?'
'Yes.'
'I really don't know his family that well, but my family and his do have summer homes on Mykonos.'
Mykonos, I can't seem to get away from that island, he thought. 'I don't think that's the reason he suggested I speak to you. I think it's more because of what you know of their ties into Athens society.'
She laughed. 'Ties into Athens society? Chief, the closest ties that family had to Athens society were the black ones Zanni Kostopoulos wore to formal, opening night affairs. I remember when he practically had to underwrite any he wanted to attend and, even then, most of old-line society wouldn't be there. They'd wait for the third night, after what they jokingly called the 'nouveaux rush' was over.'
Andreas smiled. 'Like I said, because of what you know of their ties into Athens society.'
She dropped her arms to her lap. 'Well, if that's of help to you, please, ask away. I think it's terrible what happened to that boy. Any idea who did it?'
'Not yet, but we're working on it.'
'In other words, you can't tell me.'
He smiled. 'Did they have any enemies?'
'Who'd kill a child?'
He shrugged. 'I'm not accusing anyone. I'm just asking.'
'But I thought it was a murder that happened because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.'
'We have to check out every possibility, and that includes determining if the family or the boy had enemies capable of doing such an act.'
'That seems quite unlikely among the people I know.' She didn't sound offended, just factual.
'Which I assume includes the Linardos family.'
'Of course.'
'I understand, but the problem I have is that the reaction of the Kostopoulos family to all this was… uh… unusual.' He paused but she said nothing. 'They've left Athens and put their property up for sale.'
'Really?' She seemed genuinely surprised. 'And before the funeral.' It seemed more an observation than a
