‘Cut the bullshit, Haritos!’ he said vexedly. ‘That’s why you and I have never been able to get on together. Every time I start to like you and think what a good copper you are, you try to bullshit me and we’re back to square one.’
‘I don’t always tell you the truth because I know very well that in less than an hour, it’ll be on the news bulletins.’
‘So you sell me a lot of hot air to keep yourself safe.’
He had forgotten his vexation and laughed. ‘Listen to me, if what you tell me is not for airing on TV, I won’t air it. Because if I did, you’d shut up shop and I’m not so stupid as to want to lose my sources. So, what’s bothering you with the Favieros business?’
I continued to look at him hesitantly. He took his identity card from his wallet and placed it on the table.
‘Keep my ID as security,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that what we used to do in the old days? If I gave you something and I wanted to be sure you’d return it to me, I’d keep your ID. So keep mine till you’re sure that I won’t shout whatever you tell me from the rooftops.’
His action persuaded me and I decided to lay my cards on the table, some of them at least. I gave him back his ID and told him that I was investigating Favieros’s suicide, but unofficially, because something didn’t ring right about it. I kept Ghikas on the sidelines and didn’t even mention Yanoutsos. As I had foreseen, he first wanted to make sure I would repay the favour.
‘Okay, I’ll tell you what I know and keep you informed of whatever I find out, but if you come up trumps, you’ll give the story to me first.’ He saw that I hesitated and added: ‘What are you looking at me like that for? If you’re carrying out an unofficial investigation, you’re under no obligation to stick to formalities when it comes to impartial dealings with the press.’ He laughed, as though suddenly coming up with an idea. ‘If I’m pushed, I’ll say I got the information from Yanoutsos.’
His argument, though he didn’t know it, left me with no choice but to agree.
‘Have you read Favieros’s biography?’ I asked him.
He shrugged. ‘No, but what could it tell me? Is there anything about Favieros that I don’t know?’
‘So tell me about his offshore company, because I have a feeling that there’s something fishy about it.’
He burst into raucous laughter. ‘You’ve obviously not found out anything, Haritos. Because if you had, you’d be reeking of fish. Favieros was up to all sorts of tricks. There wasn’t one public project that he was involved with that hadn’t been cut and tailored to suit him. If, with hindsight, he discovered that some project interested him, the competition for it would be annulled on account of some formality so that it could be repeated and his company could take part. If he wanted to set up some international consortium, the government would go out of its way to exert pressure so that he got what he wanted. There wasn’t a bank that he didn’t have dealings with and, not only was he not put under any pressure by the banks, but he was able to take out loans without any limit. He got approval for letters of guarantee for any sum simply by making a phone call.’
‘Is it true he had close ties with ministers?’
‘Close ties? He ate with a different minister every day from Monday to Saturday, and on Sundays he ate with the entire Cabinet.’
‘He said that they were friends of his from the time of the Junta.’
‘What’s the difference between pre-Junta and post-Junta Greece?’
‘From being a kingdom, we became a democracy!’
‘Wrong. Pre-Junta, when you were asked how you knew some government official, you said “from the army, we did our national service together”. Post-Junta, you said “from the Security cells in Bouboulinas Street, we were in the resistance together”. An acquaintance in the army got you, at best, a post in the civil service. An acquaintance in Bouboulinas Street made you into a millionaire in five years.’
‘If it’s as you say, it makes it even more difficult to explain why he founded an offshore company for real-estate dealings.’
‘Real-estate dealings?’ he repeated as if not having heard properly.
‘Yes. A network of real-estate agencies covering Greece and the Balkans.’
‘Are you sure it’s not just claptrap on the part of his biographer?’ he asked me.
‘The offshore company is called Balkan Prospect and its offices are in Maroussi. Its manager is a Mrs Coralia Yannelis.’
‘That’s news to me. I’ve never heard anything about it.’
‘So I found out something after all,’ I said ironically.
He stared at me with the look of someone flicking through his mental address book to find a suitable reply. ‘Wait a moment, we’ll find out,’ he said. He took out his mobile phone and dialed a number with the speed of a concert pianist.
‘Stathis, Sotiropoulos here. Tell me, does the name Coralia Yannelis mean anything to you?’ It appeared that the answer was negative because he went on with a second question: ‘Some real-estate agency by the name of Balkan Prospect…? Exactly, Favieros… Fine… Listen, I’m sending a police officer over, Costas Haritos, who wants the lowdown, okay?’
He hung up and turned to me. ‘That was Stathis Horafas. He’s an estate agent who sold me my apartment and since then we’ve been friends. Go and see him and he’ll tell you all he knows. His office is 25 Karneadou Street in Kolonaki.’
I told Sotiropoulos I’d be in touch and left him in order to go and see the estate agent. I soon got to Karneadou Street, but it took me a good half hour driving around the block between Herodotou and Ploutarchou Streets to find somewhere to park. In the end, I left the Mirafiori right at the top of Herodotou Street, close to Dexameni Square.
Horafas’s real-estate office was located in an old, stately apartment block from the fifties, the kind built immediately after the Civil War, in a period when economic growth was identified with building work. Horafas was a smartly-dressed fellow of around forty-five. He ushered me into his office, told his secretary that we didn’t want to be disturbed, and closed the door behind us.
I came straight to the point. ‘Mr Sotiropoulos has explained to you, I think…’
‘Yes,’ he said, interrupting me. He leaned across his desk and brought his face close to mine, at the same time keeping an eye on the door.
‘What I’m about to tell you must stay between these four walls, Inspector,’ he said in a whisper. ‘If you make use of it, you mustn’t say where you got the information.’
‘Don’t worry. Besides…’
Again he didn’t let me finish my sentence. ‘Listen, I’m a well-known estate agent with a very select clientele. I don’t want to make an enemy of a colossus like Balkan Prospect, owned by the late Jason Favieros.’
‘But is Balkan Prospect such a big company.’ I still couldn’t see what profit a tycoon like Favieros could have got out of a medium-sized business like real-estate dealings. ‘Its manager told me of a network of real-estate agencies.’
Horafas smiled. He was more relaxed. ‘Correct. It is a network, but you won’t find it under the name Balkan Prospect.’
‘Why? Is there some other company?’
He reflected whether he should go on and voted in favour. ‘Favieros’s company is not a very old one. If you remember, it was founded in 1995. Five years ago, it made a dynamic appearance and began buying up real-estate agencies, without, however, changing their business names. Today, there is a whole series of real-estate agencies that still bear the names of their previous owners, while being run by managers belonging to Balkan Prospect.’
Because I’m a complete dunce when it comes to real estate, I wanted to make sure I had understood: ‘You mean that the corner estate agents might be called Yorgiou’s or Sotiriou’s, but in fact belong to Balkan Prospect?’
He burst out laughing. ‘Not on this corner anyhow. Balkan Prospect has no interest in Kolonaki.’