‘He was in with the bastard Colonels, of course,’ Yiorgos said. ‘They were very happy to sell him permits to develop the hotel.’
‘Not sure if you can blame him for that,’ Mavros countered. ‘How many Greeks did the same thing?’
‘Greeks of the thieving, collaborating class.’
Yeah, yeah, Mavros thought. There was some truth in what the Fat Man said, but life wasn’t that simple. The dictatorship had lasted seven years and people had to feed their families somehow. He had a brief glimpse of his brother Andonis — long lost and a likely victim of the brutal regime — but, unlike in the past, the smiling face faded quickly.
‘Your problem, Yiorgo,’ he said, scrolling down more attachments, ‘is that Rudolf Kersten seems to be a genuinely good man, even though he’s a capitalist.’
‘And former Nazi. You should see what David Waggoner has to say about him.’
‘I’ve already heard him on the subject.’ Mavros found a file bearing the Briton’s name. There was a newspaper report of the sixtieth memorial of the Battle of Crete in 1941, when there had been tension between Allied and German veterans. A group of former SOE men, including Waggoner, had rounded on paratroop survivors and berated them for singing Nazi songs in the cemetery near Maleme. From what he could gather, Rudolf Kersten had stood apart with Hildegard and remained silent.
‘You see that story in the Free News?’ the Fat Man asked.
Waggoner had been interviewed following the death of one of his SOE comrades in Crete. He said that several Nazi war criminals, including one who had taken part in a massacre on the island, were still at large and had never been brought to justice — and one was even the head of a large enterprise near Chania.
‘Did you find anything else on that?’ Mavros asked.
‘Not even in Rizospastis,’ Yiorgos replied, naming the Communist Party organ. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if Kersten is friends with the capitalist press barons. Maybe he put his lawyers on our people.’
‘Or maybe they reckoned he was clean.’
‘What is he?’ the Fat Man demanded ‘Your new best friend?’
Mavros held back from mentioning the money he’d earned from the German.
‘No, but I’ve met him and he doesn’t strike me as a hypocrite, never mind the type that has his nose up the press magnates’ arses. There’s a look in his eyes-’
‘Oh, there’s a look in his eyes,’ Yiorgos said snidely. ‘A look that your hypersensitive antennae picked up, suggesting he never did anything wrong in his life. Despite being on the Eastern Front for over three years.’
‘You finished? Did you get anything else on Waggoner?’
The Fat Man paused. ‘I did actually,’ he said dramatically, like a magician pulling a halibut out of a hat. ‘I talked to one of the old comrades who was on Crete during the occupation. He said that Waggoner was a crazy man, always pushing for the most dangerous sabotage raids. It seems he was wounded during the original battle. The Germans took him to Athens for surgery — strangely decent of them — and some months later he escaped from a train in Yugoslavia, before getting himself sent back to Crete.’
‘A man on a mission.’
‘Looks that way. He was a hard-line anti-Communist as well, like most of the British agents, and our people suspected him of “disappearing” several EAM operatives.’ EAM had been the National Liberation Front, which was largely under Communist control. ‘Of course, we never had much influence in Crete. They have their own ideology down there.’
‘I’ve noticed. What’s this about Cyprus?’
‘I found that on one of the far-right sites so I don’t know how accurate it is, but they say he was in charge of a British undercover execution squad in the late Fifties, before independence. Several innocent citizens, including a young lad of seventeen, were left in the street with their brains blown out. Eventually Waggoner got thrown out for being too much of a headcase even for the occupiers.’
Mavros wondered about that. Could it be that the former SOE man had a worse past than the German he’d accused?
‘OK, Yiorgo, I’ll go through what you’ve sent. Thanks.’
‘Oh, it’s “thanks” now, is it? Well get this, weird eye. I made a galaktobourekoand it’s even better than the old woman’s.’
Mavros had a saliva rush. ‘Save me a couple of pieces.’
The Fat Man laughed. ‘What makes you think there are any pieces left?’
Mavros cut the connection and continued scrolling down the attachments. There was an article from one of the Chania provincial papers about the house Waggoner had built outside Kornaria — it had dark stone floors and was very Spartan, which wasn’t a major surprise. There were also several pieces saying how popular the ex-soldier was, acting as godfather to numerous villagers’ children. His exploits during the war were described in heroic terms — Waggoner had led plenty of ambushes on German patrols and was said to have personally killed over thirty of the enemy.
Mavros was interrupted by his phone.
‘This is Cara. I need you.’ The words were simple, but the tone less so. Mavros picked up more than a hint of flirtation. ‘I’m in my suite.’
‘And I’m in the middle of something,’ he said. ‘Give me a few minutes, please.’
‘All right,’ the actress replied, less silkily.
Mavros called Niki. He had to wait for her to answer.
‘Hello?’
‘Oh, shit, were you asleep?’
‘It has been known to happen at this time of day.’
‘Sorry.’ Niki didn’t often take a siesta, but she was never delighted to be woken from one. ‘I’m not sure what I’ll be up to later in the evening.’
There was a rapid intake of breath. ‘If you go near any Hollywood actresses, your dick is doomed.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve found the missing woman. I should be home soon.’
‘Oh. Well done. Are they appropriately grateful?’
‘I’m supposed to be going out with the director and his people.’
‘Would they include one Cara Parks?’ Niki asked.
‘Don’t know. Look, her assistant is in a bit of a state. She’s not talking and she may have been mistreated. I think Cara. . I mean, Ms Parks has got other things on her mind.’
Niki instantly picked up on the vagueness in his voice. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. I hope she’s not too upset.’ Her voice hardened and rose in volume. ‘And doesn’t need consoling, especially from a man she only met the day before yesterday.’
‘Love you, dearest,’ Mavros said. ‘Got to go.’ She wouldn’t like that rapid exit, but he had a lot on his mind — not least, the growing sense that finding Maria Kondos had opened several large and evil-smelling Pandora’s Boxes.
‘How is Maria?’
Cara Parks, seated in her usual place on the sofa and wearing a short denim skirt and multicoloured silk blouse, looked at him uncertainly. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m not sure,’ she replied, beckoning him to join her and pointing to the tray of drinks on the table. ‘Give me a vodka tonic, will you? Two of the former to one of the latter, a single rock.’
Mavros obliged and poured himself a shot of Wild Turkey.
‘The doctor. . how do you pronounce his name?’
‘Stavrakakis,’ he said, raising his glass.
‘Cheers, and thanks, Alex. I really appreciate what you’ve done. Anyway, the doctor says the tests are all clear. She hasn’t sustained any head or internal injuries. She hasn’t been raped or anything like that.’
‘Great.’
‘Yeah, but she’s obviously suffered some pretty major psychological damage.’
‘She still isn’t talking? Not even to you?’
Cara Parks looked down. ‘No. I’m just back from the clinic. She turned her head to the wall. The last person I saw do that was my grandfather. He’d had chemotherapy too many times and he wanted it all to end.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Mavros watched her eyes. ‘Do you know anything about Kornaria, the village she escaped from?’