‘It’s a tragedy what’s happening in that particular area. Ordinary people, family-men, who’ve managed to build a little place or buy a flat after a lifetime of saving are watching their fortunes evaporate, are selling up and leaving, because the place has been taken over by foreign hordes.’
Just imagine, I thought to myself, on his construction sites, Favieros was the champion of foreigners and immigrants, while the employees in his estate agencies longed for the old neighbourhood with its narrow streets and cursed the immigrants for spoiling the idyll for us.
‘Yes, but if they’re selling their places, it means they find buyers for them,’ Koula observed.
‘At the price they’re selling them for, anyone can buy them.’
‘And what price are we talking about?’ asked Koula.
Megaritis heaved a sigh. ‘I’m ashamed to say… really I am.’
‘Don’t be,’ I said. ‘It’s a shame for us not for you.’
‘Near Moni Arkadiou, you said? And is it a house or a flat?’
‘A flat?’
‘How big?’
‘Two bedrooms. Eighty-five square metres.’
‘Let’s see.’ He thought for a moment. Then he turned to me. ‘You’ll be lucky if you get twenty-six thousand euros for it,’ he said. ‘More likely, around twenty-three…’
‘What are you talking about?’ Koula jumped up almost spilling her iced coffee. ‘That’s what you pay just for altering the form factor!’
She was furious, as though she really were selling a flat. I nodded my head approvingly and tried to conceal my surprise at her reaction. Megaritis smiled sadly.
‘The good old days are over, miss. Now no one cares about altering the form factor in those neighbourhoods. That’s why people are trying to save something of their fortunes any way they can. He took a card from his desk and handed it to me with his fixed expression of sorrow. ‘What can I say… Think it over and we’ll still be here if you decide to go ahead… Give me a call so we can arrange for me to take a look at the flat and to get the keys…’
He saved the final shot for last, just as we were about to leave.
‘You shouldn’t lose any time if you want my opinion. Prices are falling day by day. Today it’s worth twenty-three to twenty-six thousand, tomorrow it might only fetch twenty.’
Koula didn’t even deign to turn round and look at him. I was slightly more conciliatory. ‘All right, we’ll think about it and if we decide we’ll contact you.’
‘Did you hear him, the crook!’ Koula screamed as soon as we were outside in the street. ‘Twenty-six thousand euros! You can’t buy a bedsit for that price!’
I was standing on the footpath staring at her. Now that we were outside, I openly expressed my surprise.
‘And what do you know about house prices and form factors?’
Suddenly, she looked at me with a feigned expression of sadness. ‘You’re not concerned at all about my personal life, are you? Have you forgotten that I was engaged to a building contractor?’
Of course, I’d completely forgotten about the contractor who had been building without a licence in Dionysos. As soon as he had become engaged to Koula, he had started using Ghikas’s name every time that he had problems with the police. Ghikas got wind of it, threatened to transfer Koula and she had sent the contractor packing.
‘So where do you propose we go from here given that you’re the expert,’ I asked her.
‘Why don’t you let me ask around a bit on my own and I’ll tell you what I find out tomorrow?’ she said sheepishly.
‘Why, what can you find out alone that we can’t find out together?’
‘At this time of day, the only people at home are women. And women open up more easily to other women.’
I wasn’t at all convinced that she would manage it better on her own, but I saw in her eyes how much she wanted to try, so I gave in. After all, if she didn’t manage it on her own, I would come back the next day without her finding out and complete the investigation.’
‘All right.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, glowing from head to toe.
She accompanied me as far as the Mirafiori to get her things. As she was about to go, she leaned over and planted a kiss on my cheek.
‘All right, all right, we’re done! We’re no longer father and daughter,’ I said to tease her.
‘You’re the only male colleague on the Force who doesn’t think all I’m good for is filing and making coffee,’ she replied in all earnest.
I watched her quickly walking away and started up the Mirafiori.
18
That afternoon, in addition to the heatwave there was a rise in humidity that made your clothes stick to you like postage stamps. Fanis came at nine to pick us up so we could go off in search of a little respite from the heat and we ended up in a taverna in a little back street square, parallel to Pentelis Street. He’d discovered it a few days previously with a group of his friends and he’d found it something of an oasis from the heat. He was right because now and again you felt a few currents of cool air hitting you. And even better, it was an old-style Greek taverna with fresh greens, string beans and split peas.
Adriani found the beans ‘a little’ undercooked, the split peas ‘a little’ watery and the main course of meatballs ‘a little’ dry. She added the ‘little’ each time to modify her criticism, not wanting to offend Fanis, who had taken us there. However, he knew her by now and was amused by it.
‘I brought you here to escape the heat, Mrs Haritos. I know it’s no match for your cooking!’
‘You know, Fanis dear, compared with the junk we usually get served today, the food here is at least edible,’ said Adriani, who always becomes magnanimous once her primacy has been re-established.
‘Anyhow, it’s paradise here compared to the oven inside the house,’ I said, not being one to split hairs.
‘The sun hits the house all afternoon and the heat is unbearable,’ Adriani explained.
‘Why don’t you install air conditioning?’
‘I can’t stand it, Fanis dear. It dries the atmosphere and starts me coughing.’
‘You’re thinking of the old ones. The new ones don’t have those kind of problems.’
‘You tell her because she doesn’t believe me,’ I chipped in.
Adriani made a show of ignoring me and answered Fanis: ‘A waste of money, Fanis dear. I manage just fine with the fan. As for Costas, he’s back to his old ways, roaming the streets all day. Maybe we should install air conditioning in that old crock he drives.’
My nerves were on edge because of the heat and I was looking for any excuse to let off steam, but I was cut short by the stir that suddenly filled the taverna. People were leaving their meals and rushing inside. We looked around without understanding what was happening.
‘What’s going on?’ Fanis asked one of the waiters passing by at that moment with a tray. He bumped into our table because he, too, had his eyes turned towards the interior of the taverna.
‘Stefanakos has committed suicide.’
‘What, the politician?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Just now. On TV. While he was giving an interview. Like that contractor! What was his name?’
He had already forgotten Favieros’s name, but now, thanks to Stefanakos, he would be dragged up out of oblivion. Because Loukas Stefanakos also belonged to that generation of students who had resisted the Junta and had had his share of prison, the dungeons of the Military Police and torture. Except that he had remained faithful to politics and hadn’t gone over to the world of business, with the result that he had become one of the politicians with the highest popularity ratings. In the mornings he was on the radio, in the evenings on TV and in between in the sessions of Parliament, where he was feared by all the parties because he wasn’t one to mince his words, not even with his party colleagues. Even I knew that he was the main candidate for succeeding the present leader of the party.