The Minister reflected for a moment. ‘All right. That’s how we’ll proceed. We don’t have any options.’ He reflected a little more and then turned to me. ‘Do you think we’ll have more suicides, Inspector?’
‘I wish I knew, Minister. Perhaps Vakirtzis’s was the last, perhaps not. Unfortunately, we don’t know why they’re committing suicide and we don’t know who Logaras is, because evidently he’s the one who’s pulling the strings.’
‘The idea that there may be more terrifies me.’
‘Me too. But there is one ray of light after yesterday.’
Ghikas and the Minister both turned and stared at me in surprise. ‘And what’s that?’ asked the Minister.
‘The biography that Logaras sent me. He sent it because he wanted to open a channel of communication with me. And I believe he’ll continue.’
‘Why did he do that?’ asked Ghikas.
I shrugged. ‘Perhaps because he thinks he’s smart and he wants to play with me. Then again, perhaps he’s getting ready to reveal why he forced them into suicide. The one sure thing is that he knows that I’m the one dealing with the suicides. And for him to know that means that he must be one of the circle of people I’ve questioned.’
Just as I said it, the thought flashed through my mind that Logaras may have found out from Sotiropoulos. I had told Sotiropoulos almost all the details of my investigations. It wasn’t unthinkable that he had discussed it with a colleague and that it had leaked out that way. I didn’t dare reveal to the Minister and to Ghikas that I had had dealings with Sotiropoulos and let him in on my investigations. The former would have given me a dressing down and the latter would have thought I’d lost my wits during my sick leave because he knew how I detested reporters of all kinds.
It wasn’t often that Ghikas did me the honour of giving me a lift in his limousine, but that day he made an exception. Perhaps because that case was an exception to the rule. When you’re dealing with the murders of locals and foreigners, underground bosses and Russian Mafiosi, the patrol car is more than enough. But when you’re moving in the big league where business tycoons, politicians and hotshot journalists commit suicide, you acquire a different air and find yourself now and again stepping into a limousine.
As we entered Ghikas’s outer office, I saw the policeman quickly hiding a magazine in one of Koula’s drawers. It seemed that Ghikas had taught him well in the meantime, because he made sure he turned his head in good time to the wall.
‘Are you thinking of cutting short your sick leave and coming back?’ he said, once we were sitting in our usual seats.
I had already thought of it, and this time it wasn’t Adriani who was holding me back. ‘I’d prefer to carry on with the investigation in a discreet way and with Koula’s help. If I start investigating officially, the reporters will be all over us and the suicides will turn into murders. I’m afraid we might run up against the families of the three men. They’re big names and they could put a spoke in our wheels whenever they wanted.’
‘So at long last you’re starting to take those with clout into consideration. In future, I’ll be able to sleep more peacefully,’ he commented, breaking into an ironic smile.
‘It’s a case that needs careful handling.’
He reflected for a moment and then sighed. ‘You’re right, though it would suit me to have you return to the office.’
‘Why? Because of Yanoutsos?’
‘No. Because of Koula. I need her back to put some order in here.’
‘Why, isn’t the officer outside any good to you?’ I asked innocently, though I knew what his reply would be.
‘Me, no. But I might send him to my wife so they can exchange magazines. When she goes to the hairdresser’s, she takes a pile of them with her.’
We both burst out laughing at the same time, as though we had been waiting for an opportunity to find a moment’s relief from the stress.
‘What are you going to do about Yanoutsos?’
‘I’ll send him back to where he came from and I’ll personally take charge of Homicide till you’re ready to return.’
I left after promising to give him regular updates. I was about to press the button to go down to the basement when I had a sudden change of mind and pressed the button for the third floor. I walked down the corridor and burst into the office where Vlassopoulos and Dermitzakis, my two assistants – former assistants till just previously – were sitting. Obviously, they had written me off for good because they stared at me as if seeing a ghost. After a moment of embarrassing silence, they leapt to their feet.
‘Inspector!’ they blurted out in unison.
Because I still owed them for their conduct at the home of the two Kurds, I dispensed with the greetings and formalities.
‘I’m here to tell you that my leave is over in two weeks’ time. If you need me in the meantime, you can call me at home. I’ll be in Athens.’
‘You mean… you’re coming back?’ asked Dermitzakis timidly.
‘Why wouldn’t I be coming back, Dermitzakis? Have you heard mention of a disability pension?’
‘No, no, Inspector. It’s just that…’
‘Just what?’
‘Just that we’d lost all hope of you coming back, Inspector,’ said Vlassopoulos, who was always more forward because he’d been with me longer. ‘We’re the ones who’ve been contemplating retirement with that idiot over our heads.’ And he pointed to the door of my office. ‘Anyway. I don’t want to get started. Even the walls in this place have ears, as my old mum always says.’
They wanted to buy me a coffee for changing the terms of their retirement plan, but I used the excuse that I had jobs to do and that I was in a hurry. I had no wish to bump into Yanoutsos. I wasn’t out for revenge and seeing him with his tail between his legs would have ruined my good mood.
‘If I need your help before I’m back officially, I’ll let you know, but you’ll do what I want without asking for details,’ I told them.
They stared at me without having understood a word, but such was their delight that I was returning that they didn’t even try to fathom it out.
‘Anything you want, Inspector.’
I told them to arrange for a patrol car to take me home. I had no intention of roasting in the midday heat. In less than three minutes, the car was at the entrance waiting for me.
As we said, the situation only improves as it worsens.
35
The offices of Starad were in Vikela Street, opposite the Hygeia Clinic. Mrs Stathatos must have spent a small fortune on decorating her advertising company. As soon as you walked in, your feet sank into a thick carpet that deadened the sound of your footsteps. You sat down and the armchairs wrapped themselves around you lest you had any thoughts of getting up and leaving them. The paintings on the walls in their white frames depicted straight lines, cubes and circles in a variety of colours, but always with a dash of red as a trimming.
Stathatos’s office was different from the others because she had two expensive rugs on top of the carpet and on the wall behind her, where in our offices we usually put a picture of Christ wearing a crown of thorns, she had a painting of a tiny harbour, with fishing boats and a woman with a door opening in her back.
Stathatos was a well-preserved woman in her fifties, who, with make-up, would have looked much younger. That day, she was without make-up, wearing a dark blue outfit with some discreet white additions round the collar and she looked at me with a somewhat haughty expression that she had no doubt inherited from her father. Sitting at the side of Stathatos’s desk was Sotiria Markakis-Favieros. She, too, was without make-up, and wrinkled as she was and with short-cropped hair, it made her sex and age difficult to tell. When I had visited their home in Porto Rafti after Favieros’s suicide, I had been told that his family had gone away on their yacht. She must have shut herself up in the cabin all day because she was as white as white. She was sitting with her ankles glued together and was looking at us with a suspicious and frightened expression. When you saw them side by side, you understood from the first which of the two ran the business and which was there as a stand-in for her husband.