They had banished Koula and myself to the couch with its glass coffee table in front, at a distance of some ten yards from Stathatos’s desk. Koula was the one who had her work cut out for her as she tried to take notes with her notepad balanced on her knees. She had returned that morning from holidays in Aigina, suntanned and wearing linen slacks and sandals. And because she was smart and knew which way the wind blew in our house, she didn’t come to me to express her delight that we were starting the investigation again but went straight to Adriani to express her sorrow. ‘I’m so sorry you had to postpone your holidays, Mrs Haritos!’ Then she looked up to heaven and added: ‘Heaven forbid that I should marry a police officer.’ And instead of telling her that police officers are honest and sincere and, on the whole, good family men, Adriani stoically shook her head and replied: ‘Unfortunately, Koula dear, heaven has its own way of working!’
We were sitting facing the two women and trying to discover whether there was anything strange in the behaviour or actions of their husbands prior to their suicides, particularly with regard to Stefanakos, as we already had plenty of information on Favieros. The portents, however, were not good because the two widows were tight-lipped and made no attempt to hide their displeasure.
‘Why are you digging, Inspector?’ asked Stathatos. ‘Our husbands chose to kill themselves. Will your investigations bring them back?’
‘No, but we may be able to prevent others. That’s why we’re asking for your help. Up until now, we’ve had three suicides that all conform to the same model. Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?’
‘The police may find it suspicious,’ she replied almost with contempt. ‘But as there’s no murder, I don’t understand what you’re looking for.’
‘Did your husband have any reason to commit suicide, Mrs Stathatos?’
‘As far as I know… no.’
‘Then why did he?’
She shrugged in a manner indicating resignation. ‘Why do people kill themselves, Inspector? Because their lives didn’t turn out the way they expected… Because they don’t like the world around them… Because they’re tired of life and can’t take any more…’
‘Do any of those reasons fit your husband’s case?’
‘No. Loukas had everything he wanted and he was a person full of life.’
‘So?’
‘He went mad,’ she replied abruptly. ‘It happens sometimes that people suddenly go mad for no good reason. That’s what happened to Loukas. He went mad. It’s the only explanation.’
‘Do you think it was madness that drove him to commit suicide in public?’
‘If you’d met him, you’d know that Loukas liked grandiose gestures. He wanted to be in the limelight, he wanted his every word and action to create an impression. That in combination with madness can lead to extreme situations.’
If Stefanakos’s had been the only suicide, I might have believed it. But three people don’t go mad in quick succession, nor does anyone foresee that they’ll go mad and write their biographies. On the other hand, Greece is a country in which everything is explained away as madness. I turned to Mrs Favieros in the hope that she might have a different answer.
‘What about you, Mrs Favieros? Do you have any explanation?’
Panic-stricken, she looked first at Stathatos, then at me, at the same time crossing and uncrossing her legs.
‘What can I say? I don’t know. All I know is that I was living with a man who was in his office from morning to night, even at weekends; who arranged to go to the cinema with you and then called you at the last minute to say that something had come up and he couldn’t make it, or who, while you were ready and dressed up to go out for dinner, told you that someone had phoned and he had to go to meet him.’ And suddenly, without any warning, she erupted: ‘Leave me alone, I don’t even want to think about it!’ she cried hysterically. ‘Jason’s dead! Why he killed himself, what got into him, I don’t know! All I know is that he’s left me with his businesses, the inheritance, the houses and yachts to sort out and with two children that are in a world of their own and are going on as though their father were still alive!’
She covered her face with her hands and started sobbing. Stathatos rushed over to her and took hold of her by the shoulders. ‘It’s all right, dear,’ she said reassuringly. ‘It’s all right. I know what you’re going through, but be brave. It’s a bad time, it’ll pass, you’ll see.’ She lifted her head and looked at Koula. ‘Tell the secretary outside to give you a glass of water,’ she said to her commandingly as though talking to an office girl.
Koula put down her notepad and went out of the office. Stathatos then turned her gaze to me.
‘You see where all this pointless questioning leads, Inspector? You’re upsetting us unnecessarily and only making things harder, while we’re trying to put it all behind us and get on with our lives.’
I tried to keep my temper because it was not in my best interests to get into an argument. ‘I’m sorry for causing you any upset, Mrs Stathatos. However, we find it difficult to believe that three people suddenly went mad and committed suicide. And even if we were to accept that, there’s the question of the biographies that followed, all written by the same author and all written before the suicides.’
‘What are you saying exactly? I’m trying to understand.’
‘That there’s something behind the suicides, something that as yet we are unaware of. If our hypothesis is correct, then there may very well be more suicides. I’m sure you understand what that means, particularly when it concerns well-known figures.’
The glass of water brought by Koula saved Stathatos from having to reply because she took it from Koula and turned all her attention to Mrs Favieros. I waited for Favieros to empty the glass and for Stathatos to give her a pat of encouragement and sit down before I went on.
‘I won’t keep you much longer. I’ll try to be brief. Had you noticed any change in your husband’s behaviour in the period just prior to his suicide?’
A faint smile appeared on Stathatos’s lips. ‘Loukas and I both had very busy schedules and we rarely saw each other, Inspector. He spent all day rushing between his office and Parliament, while I was tied up with my businesses. In the evening, each of us had our own obligations: his were political, mine business. The only time that we saw each other was in the morning over coffee and even then we barely had time to discuss the essentials. Stella can tell you better than I can if there was any change in his behaviour.’
‘Who’s Stella?’
‘His secretary.’
If anyone had asked Adriani about me, she would have been able to tell them even when the rhythm of my blinking changed. I turned back to Mrs Favieros. I didn’t ask her anything so as not to oblige her to answer if she didn’t feel well. But she understood my questioning look.
‘Yes, I did notice a change in Jason,’ she said. ‘But there was a reason for it.’
‘Can you tell me what it was?’
She reflected as to whether she should tell me or not. Eventually, she took the decision and said very tensely: ‘He was very concerned about a serious problem that our son has.’
The way that she said it left me in no doubt as to the nature of the problem their son had, but it was still unclear to me whether it was his son or something else that so overcame Favieros as to lead him to suicide. Most probably it was one thing on top of the other.