question, so he didn't answer. She turned her head and looked out the window. 'You know, this happened before.'
He felt a chill. 'What do you mean?'
'Perhaps that is why Marios suggested we meet. A year or so ago, another family experienced the unexpected death of a child and just as suddenly left Athens, selling everything. I know, because I was in the midst of arranging a very large gift from the family for the museum when it happened. Their reaction seemed very strange to me at the time, but I attributed it to grief.' She paused, still gazing out the window.
'I suffered a similar loss shortly before.' She drew in a quick breath and brought her eyes back into the room, but not to Andreas. 'They simply disappeared in the midst of completing the museum's paperwork and no one knew what to do. Through mutual family friends, I learned they were in Zurich and, when they wouldn't take my phone calls, I flew there and went to their home.' She looked at Andreas. 'I know, it wasn't very lady-like but, after all, it was a big donation.' She shrugged and smiled.
'Anyway, you'd think I was trying to storm Parliament from the way they treated me when I arrived at their flat. Their doormen, more like hoodlums if you ask me, refused to let me in. Only when the wife heard the ruckus and saw it was I did they let me pass. But she certainly wasn't happy to see me. I'm not even sure why she did, except to vent. It was three minutes of 'You Greeks this' and 'You Greeks that.'
'I know how provincial, at times, we Greeks who never left can seem to Greeks returning from other countries — I think that family had lived in Serbia — and how hard it is for anyone new to break into the 'establishment,'' she emphasized the word with finger-quotes in the air, 'but what I couldn't understand was her unvarnished hate for all things Greek. I mean, this was a woman I knew for years, and although we weren't that close, I never saw even a hint of that side to her.'
Andreas tried to stay expressionless. 'Do you recall anything she said to you?'
Lila bit at her lower lip. 'You mean aside from her curses that took up half the time, and the part about the only money the museum will ever see from her family is that which they use to obliterate it and everything else Greek off the face of the earth?'
'Ouch.'
'Yes, it was quite a pleasant afternoon. Everyone on our museum board was as shocked as I when I told them what happened. Come to think of it, that's probably why Marios knew to tell you to speak to me. I'm certain one of them must have told him. They're all such gossips.' She touched her right index finger to her temple. 'There was one thing I distinctly remember. Perhaps because it ended with her throwing something at me.'
Andreas looked surprised.
'It hurt, too.' She pointed at her left arm. 'It was at the end of a diatribe about child-murderers, and how the small-minded and jealous of modern Greece were destroying the country in much the same way as the same sort did in the past. That's when she yelled, 'Soon all of Greece will have banished itself,' and threw the thing at me. She'd been clutching it in her hand the entire time she talked, as if it were a rosary or something.'
Andreas wondered if she'd noticed his flinch at 'banished.' 'What did she throw?'
'It was a piece of broken pottery or something like that. If it hadn't struck my arm I'm sure it would have shattered into a thousand pieces.'
'Did you get a look at it?'
'Not really, I picked it up but as soon as I did she started running toward me. I thought she was going to hit me. But all she did was grab it out of my hand. I assumed she was on the verge of a breakdown and just let her be. She was crying and shaking her head when I left. It was a terrible scene.'
He nodded. 'Anything more you can tell me about that piece of pottery.'
'It was an ochre color, not that big, about the size of a pack of cigarettes. I'd guess it was something from her husband's family, a potsherd probably.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Because when I picked it up I noticed his family name written on it.'
Andreas jerked back on the couch as if touched by a live wire. He struggled to remember what he'd heard at the Tholos: 'Ostracize is from the Greek word ostrakizein, meaning 'to banish by voting with ostrakon.' Each vote was cast by writing the name of the one who should be banished on an ostrakon — a piece of earthenware, a potsherd.'
9
Lila's demeanor had changed; she seemed almost perky. 'Chief… Kaldos, would you like some coffee?'
He nodded. 'Thank you, it's Kaldis.'
She smiled. 'Sorry.'
'No problem, it's probably easier to call me Andreas, anyway.'
Why did I say that? he thought. He knew better than to make the relationship informal. You always keep an interview with uninvolved, responsible citizens on a formal, professional basis. That's the best way of getting them to talk. They want to help the justice system, not the cop wasting their time asking questions.
She paused, then picked up a tiny silver bell and shook it. The same maid appeared. 'Maria, would you please bring Chief Kaldis a coffee. Do you prefer American or Greek?' Her voice was back to professional.
Well, I guess that put me in my place. 'American, please.'
The maid turned to leave but Lila gestured for her to pause. 'And a frappe for me.' She turned back to Andreas. 'I prefer coffee chilled in the afternoon.'
What a gracious way to thaw an awkward moment, he thought.
'I know you didn't want to tell me before why you reacted as you did to my mention of the potsherd, but I'm sure you understand my curiosity. After all, it's a fatal flaw of my gender.' She was smiling again.
He grinned. 'And cops.' Andreas wondered how much he should tell her. Probably nothing. But she could be a real help. He's not likely to get anywhere with this case without knowing a hell of a lot more about Athens society. He needed someone with a real grasp of it, an insider's view. Not Maggie's sort of tabloid expertise.
The question that bothered him was, can I trust her to keep her mouth shut?
'What do you know about potsherds?' he asked.
'Yesterday's mayonnaise jar is today's artifact.'
He laughed.
'I know, I probably shouldn't be saying that, especially since I work for a museum actively involved in trying to recover genuine ancient treasures plundered from our country, but it's true. Generally, potsherds are simply bits and pieces of the most common sort of earthenware cookery and jars from a past civilization.'
'Why would someone write on one?'
'I don't know why one would today, but in ancient times paper was prohibitively expensive, broken pottery was everywhere, and the literate used them as scrap paper. Sort of like our Post-it notes.' She smiled again.
She seemed to like to smile. He liked it when she did. 'Can you think of any reason why that woman threw the potsherd at you?'
'Because it was in her hand.'
'Yes, but why was it in her hand, and why would she throw it at you? Had it been a rosary, do you think she'd have thrown it?'
She brushed some hair back over her right ear. Lila was a pretty woman. Not his type, of course, but pretty.
'I think you're right about that. I wouldn't throw something that was comforting me over such deep grief as the loss of a child. Perhaps I'd throw something I was dwelling on, something that represented what I was mourning.' She looked him straight in the eyes. 'So, where are you trying to take me with all this, Andreas?'
Wow, Marios was right; she really is smart. And knows just when to change the pace.
He smiled. 'I really can't tell you.'
'Don't trust me, huh?' She turned toward the door and raised her voice slightly, 'Maria dear, where's the coffee?' She looked back at him. 'See, I don't always need a bell to be heard.'
He shook his head and grinned. 'That's for sure.'
