Veins bulged in Mangas’ neck. “I want him.”
“I know you do, but we don’t do things that way anymore.”
“He should die.”
“Greece doesn’t have the death penalty.”
“The Mani does.”
“Ease up on the drama, cousin. We’re going to get him. No need to start a war. It’s only one man, not a family thing.”
“I knew it,” Calliope screamed. Both men jerked their heads around to look at her as she shook her fists at the heavens. “That miserable bastard. I told father to have nothing to do with him. That he was not of our kind. We should have killed him when we had the chance and father would still live.”
“Who are you talking about?” said Mangas.
“The devil. That Ukrainian who wanted to build his hotel on our land.” She spit at the floor.
Mangas turned his head to look at Kouros. “Is that true?”
Kouros gestured no. “It’s not the Ukrainian. The one who killed your father also got Babis to kill himself, and hoped to kill the girlfriend in a way that would make you think the Ukrainian was behind all three murders.”
“But why?”
“To stop the hotel project.”
“I can’t believe all this over a golf course.”
“Come on, Mangas, you had to know about the Ukrainian and his arms dealing.”
“How would I?” He banged his fist on the tabletop, spilling a bit of his untouched coffee. “I didn’t know anything about the hotel deal until Father told us about it here the day before he died.”
Kouros looked at Calliope. “But you knew.”
“Of course she knew. She lived with him.”
“They would meet here. Sit at that very table. I would serve him coffee.” She spit again. “Father swore me to secrecy. He knew I’d find out about his plans and the Ukrainian’s background. I pleaded with him not to trust the Ukrainian.” With her right hand she pulled at the left sleeve of her black mourning dress. “It had to be the Ukrainian.”
“No, it wasn’t. I’ll tell you who, but first, Mangas, you must promise you’ll let us handle this.”
Mangas smiled. “Well, since you said he’ll end up in prison, that’s almost as good as turning him over to us.”
“I want your word you won’t go after him.”
“I promise not to interfere with the judicial process.”
“That does not give me comfort.”
“It’s all you’re going to get. Otherwise I start going after every miserable son of a bitch who could have done this.”
Kouros swallowed. “An arms dealer out of Kalamata called Niko set up the whole thing.”
“No,” said Calliope.
“Are you talking about one of the sons of that Pirgos guy my father arranged to take a fall in a drug bust a half-dozen years back?”
“The same. Niko’s father died in prison.”
“What about the other sons?”
Kouros gestured no. “Only Niko and Babis had anything to do with killing your father. No one else.”’
Calliope stood shaking her head, arms wrapped tightly across her chest. “I can’t believe this. It had to involve the Ukrainian. It just had to.”
“The Ukrainian had no reason to want your father dead. He’s a big-time arms, drugs, and human trafficker who wanted the deal to go through so he could build his airstrip. He planned on using charter flights in and out of the hotel property as cover for his operations in Africa. Niko found out about it and didn’t want the competition.”
“Why didn’t he just take out the Ukrainian?” said Mangas.
“He likely didn’t want to start a war with the Ukrainian mob any more than he wanted one with you. And by using Babis to kill your father before he signed the contract he also killed the deal.”
“I don’t believe this.” Calliope walked out of the room.
“What’s wrong with her?” said Kouros.
Mangas shrugged. “I have no idea what’s going through her head. She’s snapped or something. She knows she can live in this house for the rest of her life but all she keeps telling me is that she doesn’t want to ‘profit’ from Father’s death. I can only guess she somehow blames herself for not convincing Father to stay out of that deal.”
“But it wasn’t the Ukrainian who killed your father,” said Kouros.
“Calliope only sees things in black and white. Somehow Niko found out about the deal and saw it as an opportunity for getting rid of both my father and his competition. No deal, no Niko, no murder of our father.”
I hate somehows, thought Kouros.
“Any leads on where Niko might be?” said Mangas.
“You know better than to expect me to answer that.”
Mangas smiled, “I’m only asking because if you’d like to know I can probably tell you. Unless, of course, you’d like me to find him for you.”
“Where is he?”
“His wife’s family is from Gytheio. In the old days his in-laws were almost as tough a crew as our family. I’m sure if Niko tells them he’s hiding from us they’ll protect him.”
“Why?”
“The wife’s family is related to a family from here. The same family whose son was murdered by our grandfather for getting Calliope’s namesake pregnant.”
“You must be joking.”
“Nope, it’s true. A lot of intermarriage among the Mani clans. And that family link gives those folks in Gytheio another reason for protecting Niko from us. But you’re a cop, and who knows, the Petropoulakis clan just might be civilized enough these days to actually cooperate with the police.”
Mangas walked around the table to Kouros. “Just be careful about using your last name. Even shortened they might guess you’re one of us.”
Kouros shook his head. “All these Byzantine interconnections.”
Mangas put his arm around Kouros’ shoulder. “Cousin, welcome to the real Mani.”
***
Gytheio’s history as a hideaway dated back to the Trojan War, but it had likely been longer since an Athenian cop successfully convinced a Gytheio local to turn in a family member to the police. Andreas hoped it would improve their chances that Niko had only married into the family.
Tassos met Andreas and Kouros just outside the entrance to the Gytheio port. He’d hitched a ride there on the boat of a buddy from Syros rather than accept Andreas’ offer of a lift on the helicopter Andreas had requisitioned to get him there from Athens. The three cops drove north toward Sparta for about two miles before turning right onto a narrow blacktop road at a sign marked HOTEL PETROPOULAKIS.
“The Gytheio police chief said it’s about a mile up, at the top of the hill,” said Andreas. “‘Just follow the olives,’ he said.”
Kouros took his hand from the steering wheel and waved at the gray-green groves running across Tuscan-like hills of red earth. “They’re everywhere.”
Near the top of the hill, Tassos leaned over the front seat and pointed left at the crumbled skeletons of a few fieldstone buildings just beyond the first line of trees. “Looks like they went down in an earthquake.”
Kouros smiled. “Finally, my chance to teach the teacher. Nope, they’re what are left of what the Germans bombed in 1942. This whole area was hard hit. In fact, the first villages in Greece destroyed by the Nazis in reprisal for partisan attacks on German soldiers were here. On the road north to Sparta you’ll see monuments to two villages the bastards wiped out. A lot of family trees lost entire limbs to the Nazis. They did almost as much harm as the Turks, and in a hell of a lot less time.”
Tassos shook his head. “And right smack dab in the middle of the Gytheio port, I saw a huge sign for Chrysi Avgi.”
“They have an office there,” said Kouros. “Amazing how a political party openly praising the architects of Hitler’s methods for inflicting such horrific suffering upon the Greek people has such widespread support among the children and grandchildren of the Nazis’ victims.”
“Go figure,” said Tassos.
“I’d rather not,” said Andreas. “I’d prefer guys like that and Niko simply disappear.”
“Well, you’re about to have your chance at making part of that happen,” said Kouros. Dead ahead about thirty yards off the road sat a cluster of two-, three-, and four-story brown-beige-gray stone buildings.