‘Roman Boerescu?’
She nodded.
‘And the others? The two black guys?’
‘Let’s see now. The player was called something angelic. Yes. It was Séraphim.’
I nodded. ‘Séraphim Ntsimi. Panathinaikos bought him from Crystal Palace in the summer.’
‘If you say so. I wouldn’t know anything like that. I just sleep with them.’
‘And the agent?’
‘Tojo. At least I think that was his name. Tall guy. Head like a bowling ball.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, I know who that is.’
I was silent for a while.
‘How am I doing?’ she asked.
‘Good.’
She closed her eyes and held her face up into the sun.
‘Are you planning to stay at Bekim’s villa tonight?’ she asked.
‘That’s the idea.’
‘What are you going to do for dinner?’
‘I thought I might go into town and find a little taverna. Not to mention a telephone signal and a Wi-Fi signal.’
‘You won’t get into anywhere good. Not in August. Everywhere reasonable will be booked up. Why don’t you have dinner here?’ She shrugged. ‘I already made something. I generally cook for two and that lasts for two days. So you’re in luck, really.’
‘I’d like that. But on one condition. That you put on some clothes.’
‘Are you sure about that? There are some men who would pay a lot of money to have a naked woman cook for them. Besides, I never wear clothes at home, apart from my overalls. And I wouldn’t like to wear those while I’m serving dinner.’
‘Perhaps we can excuse them on this occasion,’ I said vaguely. ‘It is very hot, I suppose.’
45
Svetlana was a good cook and had prepared a variety of delicious Greek dishes.
‘It’s nice to have someone here for dinner,’ she said bringing one plate and then another out onto a terrace that overlooked a small yard that was full of blocks of stone. ‘When I’m here I tend to live like a nun.’
She poured me a glass of cold white wine and then went back into the house, leaving me to think a while. For some reason I was thinking about Sara Gill. At the same time I was thinking about football. The truth is, of course, I’m nearly always thinking about football; and quite often when I’m thinking about football I remember something that João Zarco used to say. He was much more of an original thinker than most people ever knew. I could almost hear him now:
‘I’ve been reading about this Greek philosopher called Zeno,’ he said. ‘You know? That story about the arrow in flight? It’s an argument against motion. That time is entirely composed of instants so that at every instant of time there is no motion occurring. I was wondering if his thinking could be applied to football, and I think it can. Everything in football can be broken down into distinct passages of play like the movement of the arrow; and every passage of play can be broken down into transitional moments, when a game turns decisively: a tackle, a poor clearance, a penetrating pass. These transitional moments can have the force of revelation when you see these moments of revelation for what they are. So that you can act on them. That’s all the future is, too.’
At that point I wouldn’t say I had a revelation, but I did stand up from the table and make a fist. Something Svetlana had said — I wasn’t even sure what this was — had made me guess the probable identity of the man who had helped Thanos Leventis attack Sara Gill; the man who had raped her and left her for dead in the harbour.
When Svetlana came back onto the terrace she was wearing an elegant pair of black slacks and a matching long-sleeved T-shirt, and she smelt of perfume.
‘You look pleased with yourself,’ she observed.
‘If I do it makes a change on this trip,’ I said, sitting down again. ‘I’ve never been one to sit around congratulating myself. I guess all football managers are like that: beset with thoughts about what could have been. Sometimes it seems that there’s a guy inside my head who’s always cross with me.’ I sighed. ‘Poor Bekim. This might have been his best season ever.’
We sat down at the table and started to eat.
‘I certainly admire your appetite,’ I said, watching her eat a large plate of moussaka. ‘It’s not many women who can eat like that with a clear conscience.’
I knew I didn’t have to make a cheesy remark about what a good figure she had — we both knew it was superb — but I was anxious to secure her continued cooperation. Svetlana had told me quite a bit, however I felt I needed to know everything.
When we finished dinner she lit a cigarette and since it was Sunday night — the only night when I allow myself to smoke — I had one, too.
‘Thank you for an excellent dinner,’ I said. ‘And for saving me from an evening on my own. It was the local taverna or tinned spaghetti.’
‘Tinned spaghetti?’
‘Bekim’s kitchen cupboards are full of the stuff.’
‘Yes, of course, it would be. He loved English food. You know, I think the last person I cooked for was probably Nataliya. She came out here to stay for a few days about six months ago. She was going through a bad patch, poor kid. She was depressed. I’m not exactly sure but I think there had been an attempted suicide when her boyfriend had cleared off to England.’
‘This would be the guy called Boutzikos.’
‘Nikos Boutzikos. Yes.’
‘You were friends then? You and she.’
‘It wasn’t just business. We were — well, let’s just say we were close.’
‘No, let’s just remember that you agreed to tell me everything,’ I said. ‘For keeping your name from the police. So I need it all, if you don’t mind.’
‘All right.’ For a moment she exhaled smoke from each nostril, like a dragon about to breathe fire. ‘If you really must know we went to bed together. It was her idea. She wanted me more than I wanted her, and I only did it because I thought it might make her feel better. As a matter of fact it was me who felt better. She made me come like a train. Which is odd because I have very little experience with women.’
I shrugged. ‘Then I guess she knew what she was doing. Professional girl like her. After all, that was her job, wasn’t it? Threesomes. Foursomes, for all I know. That kind of thing.’
‘You make that sound ugly.’
‘I don’t mean to. But in retrospect that’s how she seems to me: professional. How else am I to describe someone who was prepared to dope her clients?’
‘Nonsense. She wasn’t that kind of girl at all.’
‘What do you think these are? Breath fresheners?’
I tapped the Photos app on my phone and showed her the picture of the Rohypnol pills I’d found in Nataliya’s handbag.
‘These were found in her bag,’ I said.
But Svetlana was still shaking her head.
‘You’ve got it all wrong. Nataliya didn’t use these for knocking out clients. That’s not how this business works. Not at our sort of level, anyway. No, these pills were for her. They’re antidepressants. A girl on Omonia Square might have done what you’re suggesting but not someone like Nataliya. At a thousand euros for a two-hour GFE she wasn’t exactly a hooker off the street.’
I showed her the next picture. ‘And I suppose the ceftriaxone was just in case she caught a cold.’
‘Accidents happen. It’s best to be prepared.’ She frowned. ‘How do you know all this anyway? About the Rohypnol? I thought you said the cops hadn’t found anything.’
‘They didn’t find it. I did. With the help of my driver, Charlie. He used to be a cop with the Hellenic police. We persuaded her landlord in Piraeus to let us into her flat and then had a nose around. I took her bag away for safekeeping. And I photographed the contents, as you can see.’
I handed her my phone and let Svetlana look at the pictures I’d taken.