car or boating accident, or they were kids from a violent neighborhood where crime on the streets many times brought death, it would be different for them, but murder was outside the experience of the Athens Academy crowd.
Andreas and Kouros spent hours speaking separately to the boys in the presence of their parents. That was the quickest way of gaining the parents' cooperation. Now, though, it was time to speak to the two boys individually, and away from hovering adults. When the parents objected, Andreas courteously explained their choices: one, accompany their children to police headquarters for a formal interrogation with stenographer, lawyers, and all; or two, allow the police to complete the questioning, informally, in a private home.
Andreas thought that would get him the desired cooperation, but Greeks were notorious negotiators, even with police, and the father of one of the boys would not relent. Andreas was certain the two friends weren't suspects and knew if he pressed it to the point of involving lawyers it might be days, perhaps longer, before he got to speak to them. So, they compromised: no parents, but the boys remained together.
The home they chose was only a few blocks from the Kostopoulos residence, but settled in another world, one far more familiar to Andreas. He sat on a straight-back dining room chair in what he knew could be the home's only living room, facing two boys seated on a plush-cushion bright-red and green floral-pattern couch. The boys looked about to be devoured by the pillows. Kouros sat off to Andreas' right, at the end of the couch, in another straight-back chair.
Theo Angelou and George Lambrou were dark-skinned, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and pimply. Theo, at five-feet five inches tall, was noticeably overweight. George, though the thinner of the two, was only an inch or so taller. No doubt blond, blue-eyed, six-foot Sotiris Kostopoulos had been the face-man of this crew. The two struggled to sit up straight on the couch. It was obvious from their faces what was going through their minds: there-but-for-the- grace-of-God-go-I.
Andreas spoke to them as men, not boys, aiming to create camaraderie and attain a hoped for franker discussion of a very important — stunningly attractive — detail they'd been sheepish to talk about in front of their parents.
'A taxi driver you knew, from the car service you always used, picked you up at Sotiris' house and took you straight to the Angel Club off Pireos Street in Gazi?'
Both nodded.
'That's been your hangout for the past four months?'
More nods.
'And every weekend night it's open there's a specific table reserved just for you whether or not you showed up?' Andreas hoped his tone didn't show what he thought of high-school kids with private tables at one of Athens' hottest clubs, and of the parents who paid.
Perhaps he hadn't masked it well enough or, perhaps, the glamour of claiming such privilege was gone, but the boys didn't nod. George looked at Theo, then back at Andreas. 'Yes, sir, that's right, but really it was Sotiris who had the table. Everyone knew they could find him there after midnight.'
'Ever go to any other clubs, like in Kolonaki?' Kolonaki was Athens' most fashionable and expensive downtown neighborhood, and where Andreas expected these kids to gather, rather than in the dicier clubs of Gazi.
'Not really, Angel was our place. We didn't want to hang out in Kolonaki clubs with everyone else from around here. Once in a while, maybe, if there were a special party somewhere else, but most of our friends came to party with us at Angel.'
He looked at Theo.
'Yes, sir, that's right.'
Andreas paused. He almost was up to what he wanted to cover most, but first, a subject he hadn't raised in front of their parents. 'I understand Sotiris didn't have a girlfriend?'
'That's right,' said Theo.
'Was there some special girl in his life? Anyone?'
'Not that I knew of.'
Andreas looked at George. 'Did he ever have a girlfriend?'
'No, sir.'
'Okay, guys.' Andreas leaned forward. 'I've got to ask this question. Was he gay?'
There was genuine surprise, even a flash of anger on Theo's face. Perhaps because of what the question suggested about the three of them.
George spoke. 'No way, he was the best there was with girls. They were all over him. We'd hang around waiting for the ones he tossed back.'
Andreas shook his head. 'You're not convincing me, guys. You tell me he had no girlfriend and yet girls were all over him. Doesn't sound to me that he liked girls.' Andreas knew he was pushing an uncomfortable subject on already traumatized boys and didn't like it, but he had no choice.
George stared at a photograph of his parents on the coffee table next to Andreas. 'I don't know what else to tell you. He didn't have a girlfriend.' The boy paused, as if emphasizing what he was about to say. 'None of us did.' Then he looked at Andreas' eyes. 'But Sotiris wasn't gay. Neither is Theo.' No disclaimer for himself.
Interesting kid, Andreas thought, he's implying he might be gay to establish his murdered buddy was not.
George continued. 'He didn't want to be tied down to any one girl. That's the way a lot of guys are these days. If you have sex with the girl she thinks it's serious, and if you have it with her regularly she thinks you'll marry her.'
This I'm hearing from a high-school kid, thought Andreas. He smiled at how much simpler his own teenage years might have been had he known that little secret then. Even now, it might be useful.
Time to see if his challenge to teenager machismo resulted in an among-us-guys discussion of his real subject of interest. 'Okay, George, so tell me more about this hot girl Sotiris met last night at the Angel.'
'We never saw her before. As I told you, she looked about twenty, light brown hair, green eyes, great figure. Taller than me.'
Andreas smiled. 'So, guys, now tell me exactly what you said when you first saw her. Let's start with what Sotiris said. Don't worry, I can handle it.' He leaned over and gave Theo a man-to-man smack on the knee.
''Look at those tits.' Those were Sotiris' first words. 'Fantastic ass,' were mine. George said, 'She must be Olympiakos' — we're big fans of soccer — because she was wearing red.'
George added, 'Not just red, Olympiakos red. The dress, an Armani, drapee mini, and Jimmy Choo stilettos perfectly matched in our favorite team's color.'
Andreas nodded. 'Theo, anything to add?'
As if consciously trying to distance himself from whatever impression George may have been trying to create about his own preferences, Theo said, 'George's parents are in the fashion business; he knows that sort of stuff. Personally, I thought she was the greatest piece of ass ever to walk alone into that place.'
'We all agreed on that, Theo,' said George. 'But Sotiris said she had to be a hooker. 'Nothing that beautiful could be in here for free,' he said. We thought she was waiting for someone. But she sat alone at the next table just listening to the music. Didn't even try starting a conversation with us.'
'Was that unusual?'
'Well, a lot of people tried breaking into our crowd. They'd do whatever they could to get noticed by us,' said Theo.
He wondered if these kids had any idea how the other half — make that 99.5 % — lived. Andreas actually felt a little sorry for them. In a few years they'd be breaking into a new crowd, one the Greek media liked to call 'the 700ers,' kids raised among the clothes, cars, money, boats, and vacations of their (often debt-strapped) parents, thinking life always would be easy for them, until running head-on into the typical Greek university graduate's starting salary of seven hundred euros per month. Hardly enough to pay one night's bar bill at the Angel Club.
'So, how did they hook up?'
'Sotiris leaned over and asked if she wanted to join us. She said, 'No.' He asked if he could buy her a drink. She said, 'No.' He asked if he could marry her, and she laughed.'
'That's when he made his move,' said George. 'He slid out of his chair and onto the one next to her.'
'He was the best at picking up girls. A super-kamaki,' said Theo.
