‘Who was this girl that she can cause so many problems?’ demanded Vik.
‘A hooker,’ said Phil. ‘That much seems certain.’
Vik got up from the table and walked around the dining area before helping himself to coffee from a silver pot on the sideboard. With the suite’s expensive draperies, crystal chandeliers, gilt mirrors, bronze sculptures and original oil paintings, he looked quite at home. Beyond the drawing room and through the door you could see a bed big enough for any self-respecting oligarch and a couple of mistresses. Or hookers.
‘I mean, just because she might have shagged Bekim doesn’t mean he knew anything about her. Since when did that make you responsible for the rest of someone’s life?’
He stared out of the window but his temper was not assuaged by the fine view of the Acropolis and Constitution Square. I didn’t blame Vik for being upset. The Greek constitution and its poorly functioning legal system was depressing. I was feeling upset myself but not about our catch-22 situation in Athens so much as what had happened back in London. Bekim’s girlfriend, Alex, had taken an overdose of cocaine the previous night and was now at Chelsea and Westminster Hospital where her condition was officially described as ‘poor’.
‘Your policemen,’ Vik asked our buxom lawyer. ‘What are they like?’
‘What he means is can they be bought?’ asked Phil.
‘Exactly, so,’ said Vik. ‘Well, why not? This is a heavily indebted country in its seventh year of recession. According to the annual Corruption Perceptions Index this country is the most corrupt country in the EU.’
Dr Christodoulakis shifted uncomfortably on her large backside.
‘Ordinarily I might answer yes,’ she said carefully. ‘But with two government ministers involved, and the press already invested in the story, the possibilities for a miza or a fakelaki...’ She glanced at the bag carrier.
‘A backhander,’ said Nikos.
She nodded. ‘They are limited. For such a public case it would not be wise for anyone to take a backhander. But even if you did manage to bribe the investigating police officers you should also be aware that the Greek police are not to be trusted. They’re closely related to the Golden Dawn — right-wing neo-Nazis.’
‘I don’t see that their politics matter very much,’ said Phil. ‘A bent fascist can be just as useful as a bent communist.’
Toby Westerman put his hands over his ears theatrically, and managed to look like one of the three wise monkeys. ‘I don’t think I should be listening to this kind of talk,’ he said.
‘Rubbish,’ said Phil. ‘What do you think the Germans have been doing since the beginning of the recession? They’ve been bribing the Greek government not to bring down the whole edifice of the EU temple. When the European Central Bank is involved a very large bribe is called a bail-out.’
Vik laughed.
‘You’ve met him, Scott,’ he said. ‘This Greek Chief Inspector. What was your impression of him?’ He looked at Dr Christodoulakis and grinned. ‘Our manager, Mr Manson, knows all about bent cops, let me tell you. Being an ex-con you might say he’s an expert on the subject. Isn’t that right?’
I answered politely — more politely than the abbreviated biography Vik had just given of me might have led the two Greek lawyers to expect. ‘It was my impression that Varouxis is a man who takes his responsibilities very seriously. And in spite of the sheer bloody inconvenience of what he had to tell me, he struck me as a fair sort of man.’
It all seemed a very long way from football; and I thought I’d better try to fix that since it was the only thing I really knew about.
‘He even went to the trouble of telling me that he’s a Panathinaikos fan which means he holds no love for Olympiacos. He didn’t have to do that. And he could have given us the bad news before the match last night. The fact that he didn’t speaks for itself. And don’t let’s forget this: it’s not just Chelsea we have ahead of us but Olympiacos again, at home: the second leg of our Champions League match, next week. The Chelsea game can be postponed. I imagine Richard Scudamore is already expecting your call, Phil. But the situation with UEFA is going to be harder to fix. If we can’t play the home leg against Olympiacos then we stand a good chance of going out of the competition at the first hurdle.’
‘Christ, yes,’ said Phil. ‘He’s right, Vik. Just to stay in the Champions League is worth anything up to fifty million quid.’
Vik nodded. ‘At the very least,’ he said, ‘I think we need to know what the police know. Can this be done?’ He was looking at Dr Christodoulakis now.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m sure we can find out what they know and what they manage to find out. That much is possible. My instincts tell me that the dead girl’s the key to everything. The more we know about her the greater the possibility that we can find someone who knows what happened to her in the moments that led up to her death, which might put your team in the clear. You might consider posting signs around Piraeus and the Marina Zea where her body was found, offering a small reward for information about the dead woman. You’re right about one thing, Mr Sokolnikov. In Greece money doesn’t just talk; it shouts in a voice of thunder from the top of Mount Olympus.’
22
The GADA — the Attica General Police Directorate — was immediately across the road from Apostolos Nikolaidis, where we parked our fleet of cars. Bedecked in Panathinaikos’s shamrock green, the stadium looked as if it belonged in Glasgow or Belfast. After Silvertown Dock and the Karaiskakis Stadium, the AN Stadium was a bit of a third-world ruin; to say that it had seen better days was something of an understatement. On the crumbling walls were the mainly English slogans of Panathinaikos, Last End Fan Club, Mad Boys Since 1988, Victoria 13, East End Alcoholics, and crudely painted scenes celebrating the club’s former glory, daubed years before by naïve, inexpert hands. It was hard to believe that these ‘mad boys’ could be the descendants of the proud Athenians who had built the Parthenon.
‘Jesus Christ,’ exclaimed Phil. ‘What a slum.’
‘Isn’t it?’ said Vik. ‘Reminds me of home. Kiev, not London.’
‘No wonder they hate Olympiacos,’ said Phil.
But seeing it had given me an idea.
‘I’ve been thinking more about what we were discussing with Dr Olga What’s-her-face,’ I said as we crossed the busy main road where another car was now depositing our new lawyer and her bag-carrier.
‘Christodoulakis,’ said Phil.
‘If the lawyers’ and doctors’ strikes last for any length of time,’ I said, ‘we’re going to need a plan of how to make the best of things here, in Athens. The longer we stay in Greece the bigger the problem we’re going to have keeping our lads in check.’
‘You’re the boss,’ said Phil. ‘Team discipline is down to you, Scott. Hand out a few fines. Kick a few backsides. Remind them that they’re diplomats for English football and all that crap.’
‘I don’t think that’s the right way to handle it,’ I said. ‘We may need to offer them a diversion. In case these bastard government ministers and police lieutenant generals prove to be as intransigent as the Chief Inspector I met last night. And I want your backing if I suggest it.’
Toby Westerman and Dr Christodoulakis joined us in front of the GADA building as I outlined my idea.