The Last Symphony

by Tonia Lalousi

  I am lost in his kiss, indifferent if Violeta is watching us. He wraps his hand around my waist and pulls me on him. Damn. The power that he is exercising on me is not annoying. It is stimulating. It is very stimulating.

  ‘‘The unpredictable factors, Mrs. Iliopoulou…’’ he whispers in my ear, biting it gently while I recall last weekend’s images. Grandma Barbara had taken care of the children and we were left alone. Alone. A shiver in the form of electroshock upsets my body and my mind. But not all weekends are the same… The previous one I discovered Peter’s every erogenous zone while this one I will chase would-be assassins! My tired logic supports me and guides me to the door.

  ‘‘Good evening my girl!’’ Peter’s grandma greets me heartedly and I kiss her crosswise, hugging her. ‘‘Oh, what’s caused that big smile of yours?’’ she addresses her grandson holding Violeta by the hand.

  ‘‘Magda is the reason,’’ he says, and I feel bells, flowers, and butterflies dancing in my stomach, like the time when the boy I liked in high school texted me. ‘‘For anything you need, give us a call right away, I don’t need to tell you every time…’’ he criticizes her unjustifiably. So little did his joy last? He is capable of even timing how much he allows himself to be joyful.

  I pass the car seat belt in safety and I realize I am hungry. It was probably not wise not to have eaten a piece of the fresh cake I bought from the bakery’s yesterday. I have to admit that Peter is right. I am not a good cook. I think that I can make any recipe just because I have never tried to. Every day either he cooks, or his grandma brings us food. Of course, this is not the right time to feel incompetent. Not now that I have to back up my plan.

  We drive again to Nomikos’s villa, staying parked one step away We count more than three hours waiting in our car. My beloved husband is texting and calling the Directorate of Criminological Investigations. We have to find something today. Even the slightest clue may help us find the edge in this crazy puzzle. We have nothing. And this professional moment of despair has prompted me to start a bedroom murmur of a peculiar form.

  ‘‘I didn’t expect that our relationship would develop like this…’’ I state staring with undivided attention to the entrance of the house. I feel his questioning look on my shoulder. Now of all times you choose to talk about this? I believe I can read his thought.

  ‘‘Neither me,’’ he replies, and once again my prediction misses the target. Basically, I have never made a correct prediction for Mr. unsolved riddle!

  ‘‘What do you mean?’’

  ‘‘I expected you would learn to cook.’’

  I close my eyes and start the ritual with the breaths. Breath in - Breath out. This is the method I adopted the moment I arrived at the church dressed in white. The ‘‘you are very beautiful, my love’’ that I just had time to say as soon as he handed me the bunch of flowers, received the answer ‘‘I know’’ from the man sitting next to me. That moment I understood that nothing had changed, nor would change in the future, which of course I cannot imagine away from him. I leave our wedding memories and return to his attack. You are not a good cook, Magda! Yes, I am not. Why should he constantly remind me of this?

  ‘‘In marriage, the relationship wears out. Time leaves on it its marks. The couple changes, not because their characters change, but because their initial roles in the relationship change,’’ he explains to me in an attempt to speak as a marriage counselor. ‘‘When do two people have a relationship? When they are in love. So, at that moment, they hold the roles for the most successful version of their erotic coexistence. And then, depending on the couple’s ideas, marriage might also come.’’

  I do not understand where this vague analysis will end up, but I am waiting for him to complete his syllogism.

  ‘‘If these roles are not maintained, the recipe will cease to be just as successful. In our case from the beginning, I was more dynamic than you. Smarter, more eloquent and generally more ready to face every challenge. From the beginning, I was the dominant and you were the submissive…’’

  What is he saying?

  Dominant and submissive?

  My proud princess is trying to remember if it came to her notice that Peter has read the ‘‘Fifty Shades of Grey’’. Curiosity seizes control over me.

  ‘‘…and for the rest of our lives, I will take care to maintain these roles. I will be the bold and you the weak,’’ he continues, and I open my lips for the counterattack. ‘‘Even if the opposite is true…’’

  ‘‘Did you call me sir?’’

  Aimilios is standing at the door waiting for Aris’s answer. He distinguishes a spark of terror on his face and looks at him with an inquisitive look, trying to read his thought.

  ‘‘My father?’’

  ‘‘In the office.’’

  ‘‘I am going to my sister’s place. If he looks for me tell him I won’t be late.’’ He buttons the leather jacket high up his neck.

  The housekeeper lowers his head positively. He is the only person Aris trusts in this house. Alone for a lifetime, their faithful servant. Now that he is in his past sixties, he will probably ask to retire. Aris looks at the Aimilios’s black circles underneath his eyes and discerns an affection, which may simply be respect and appreciation for the ‘‘boss’s’’ son, but for a moment he feels a first-time familiar intimacy which makes him think he would prefer to have Aimilios as his father.

  He leaves the emotional thought inside the villa and the icy air hits his skin. Now he is alone with himself and does not need to pretend to anyone. He weighed all the options. He has made his decision. He will speak to her. He will take advantage of the fact that Natalie does not have the best relationship with their father and will take her on his side. The love between father-daughter dissolved the moment she decided to become a violinist and he intends to applaud her choice for his benefit today.

  Orpheus Nomikos hates all forms of art and in no case did he want his children to be involved in this field. His daughter accepted his objection and played smartly. She studied the science that he thought suited her and at the same time she took violin lessons. He made it clear to her that he would not support any of her steps in the artistic field and she accepted his refusal, promising to herself that she would do whatever she could to refute him.

  Aris enters the two-door Mercedes and tries to remember if there was a time when he or his sister argued with the powerful politician. He is sure he would have never done it. This finding gives him even greater courage and he heads with high speed to his sister’s house.

  ‘‘14 Aristodimou Street. Check if any flat belongs to Nomikos.’’ Peter turns off his mobile phone and turns towards me. ‘‘He may have come to his sister’s. Maybe this is her new flat.’’

  ‘‘I haven’t understood if he has a good relationship with her. Yesterday it seemed that she doesn’t count on him so much. He was talking to her and she was pretending not to be listening to him.’’

  ‘‘Maybe he wants to speak to her about Maniatis, but he hesitates.’’

  ‘‘He may have already done it,’’ I correct him. Again.

  I do not receive any answer and we both focus our attention on the four-storey apartment building. It is no more than six-seven years old, painted in the color of green apple with grey details on the columns. On the front of each floor, there is a round window covering almost the entire front wall. It is the first thing that catches your attention in this building, which stands out in the area, among the old apartment buildings.

  ‘‘As soon as he leaves, I will go and talk to him. We can’t spy on him anymore, Magda… I will go alone to have his full attention, so that I can assess his condition even to a small extent’’

  A positive nod is my answer. We are sitting silently waiting for the end of this meeting. In the next minutes, Ioannis informs us that the whole building belongs to Orpheus Nomikos. As expected. What we could not predict is the image we see in front of us.

  Aris comes out of the entrance o
f the apartment building and runs towards his car, hiding his right hand in the pocket of his jacket. He takes out the keys. He slows down and tries to locate the car key on the key chain. His hands tremble. He finds it. A stimulating sound and a glow give him the green light to approach. He accelerates his steps. The keys fall on the paved gateway. He whispers something behind his teeth. He picks them up and holds them in his right hand. He opens the door and starts the engine in a hurry. Before we can react, the lights of his car blind the mirror on the street corner.

  We follow him on a well-known route. If my memory is right, he is returning home. He is driving slowly. Carefully. He is moving to the right of Poseidon Avenue. We are constantly a breath behind him, without much effort.

  ‘‘Why…’’

  ‘‘He thinks.’’

  Peter forestalls my question, but his answer does not satisfy me. ‘‘He may have understood that we are on his tail.’’

  ‘‘No Magda… Don’t you see that he has put the automatic pilot on? He is thinking about his next move.’’

  ‘‘He is returning home, Peter.’’

  ‘‘We will see.’’

  The night has covered Athens with a dense darkness which creates our watching colorful. There is no end. There is no beginning. It would be nice to put at least an upper full stop in this impasse and close the case.

  Aris comes out on the side of the road and we reduce speed. He leaves the car unlocked and runs to the beach. He examines the area around him and falls to his knees on the sandy shore. He bends his head. He suddenly lifts it and gazes at the sea. His posture looks like an entreaty.

  I do not know how many minutes have passed. He is sitting on the beach throwing pebbles into the sea. The air from the car’s air conditioner alongside his repetitive hand movement hypnotizes me.

  ‘‘I’m going to talk to him,’’ Peter says and releases himself from the seat belt with one move.

  ‘‘Are you sure you don’t wa….?’’

  ‘‘No,’’ he replies before I complete my phrase. Again. ‘‘I will go alone,’’ he stresses to me the moment his mobile phone starts vibrating in his hands. He responds to the incoming call and his cheeks take a heated, red colour.

  ‘‘What happened?’’ I ask him as I watch him return to his seat. The belt binds him back to the driver’s seat. ‘‘Peter, I’m talking to you!’’

  ‘‘Let’s go back to the apartment building. His sister was found dead’’.

  Disguised freedom

  I do not want to believe that Aris murdered his sister. No. I can imagine myself sitting on a chair in the meeting room, keeping my head down. I can hear Peter’s voice attributing responsibilities to me, emphasizing that he had to talk to him from the beginning. I do not care about his disapproval. I care about being wrong.

  The Crime Scene Investigation officers give me permission to enter the apartment, releasing my mind from my thoughts. A square space decorated with feminine taste spreads in front of my eyes. I look at the kitchen in the background, behind the divider and I follow Peter into the bedroom. The officers move around the crime scene, pacing as if they are astronauts on the moon. Peter stands above Natalie’s inanimate body and I approach him.

  Her body is lying face down on the floor, placed in a straight line. The brunette girl has extensive back injuries. The blood has colored her black shirt. Her face is turned to the side. Clean face. Juvenile. Her eyes are closed.

  ‘‘Well?’’

  ‘‘We received an anonymous phone call from this apartment. Someone said that he heard voices and a girl was asking for help. We were here in almost ten minutes. We rang the bell and a man opened for us. We asked for the girl and he told us that she was probably taking a bath. We entered the bedroom and found her in this position.’’

  ‘‘Where is this man?’’

  ‘‘At the department, Mr. Deligiannis.’’

  ‘‘Anything else?’’

  ‘‘The shower faucet was open and on her body were found a knife and a red USB stick.’’

  An expression of wonder accompanied by high adrenaline is reflected on Peter’s face. ‘‘A USB stick? Are you sure?’’

  ‘‘Yes. Both findings were sent for analysis.’’

  ‘‘When will the medical examiner come?’’

  ‘‘He should have already been here, Mr. Deligiannis.’’

  Peter waves his hand to me and I follow him to the balcony door. The apartment faces the rear, and its design does not include the impressive round window of the front apartments. The lights of Athens by night are silent. There is a strange silence around us that fits creepily with death.

  ‘‘What do you believe?’’

  His questioning gaze hides a shadow of underestimation. I prefer not to answer. We come out in the corridor of the floor. He rings the bell of the opposite apartment - the last one on this floor. He checks the time on his right hand. A young man around twenty opens the door. Peter passes him at least one head. He is wearing a blue T-shirt with a black tracksuit. His slippers have planets on them, which catch my attention.

  ‘‘We are from the police. A girl was found dead in the next-door apartment. Did you notify the police that you heard voices?’’

  He holds his glasses that have lowered on his nose. ‘‘A girl?’’ He wrinkles his lips. He blinks slowly and I wonder if he is lost in his thoughts due to a lot of reading or computer games.

  ‘‘Yes. She moved these days. Anyway…’’ The boy’s sprawling look increases Peter’s impatience. ‘‘You didn’t make the call,’’ he answers for him.

  ‘‘Neither did I hear any voices.’’ His black hair stands out symmetrically and disobediently at the same time.

  ‘‘Even if a bomb fell, you wouldn’t have heard anything…’’ my husband murmurs through his lips. ‘‘Is there anything that happened the last hours in this apartment building that caught your att…’’ he stops and looks with false composure at the calmness of the young man. ‘‘…or should we say interest?’’

  ‘‘Nah…’’ His eyes are slightly swollen as if they have high blood pressure, which makes him look stupid.

  ‘‘Nah…,’’ Peter repeats and looks at me for a comforting look. ‘‘Thank you. Good evening,’’ he says, and we return to Natalie’s apartment.

  I pull his wrist and see the time. ‘‘Aris left from here almost an hour ago. We have to wait for the medical examiner’s consultation.’’

  ‘‘I don’t have the patience to wait for him. Let’s go to the department and he will send us the report there. I want to talk to this man.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t expect you to return so early, Mr. Aris. Your father is in the dining room.’’

  He looks at Aimilios and thousands of thoughts pass from his mind. His breath is heavy and comes out from his lips in the form of small sighs. He is waiting for him to speak, but the housekeeper keeps his silence. In these full of perplexity few seconds, he detects a flicker in his eyes which he attributes to the feeling of fear. He cannot remember if he had looked at him again in the past in a similar way.

  ‘‘I want to talk to you,’’ he hurriedly utters his last decision. ‘‘It is very serious.’’

  ‘‘Of course, Mr. Aris, tell me.’’ The old man tries to give a light tone to his voice not to express the contradictory feelings that are uncontrollably expressed from every corner of his face. He must hide the anxiety from his eyes, but such a thing seems impossible to him after his conversation with Orpheus. A new game is starting, and he knows very well that he is one of the pawns that Nomikos could easily sacrifice.

  Aris checks his options for the last time. After what has happened, he cannot remain silent for a long time. The truth will be revealed soon. ‘‘Let’s go to my room.’’ He gives his order with total self-control and moves forward. The ring of the phone interrupts the ritual he has designed.

  ‘‘I will take this call and come to your room,’’ Aimilios says tilting his body again to the front.

  Aris
nervously climbs the stairs and hides in his room. In his office. He supports his elbows on the glass surface and looks with stable eyes at the frame on the bookcase. He regrets having spoken to Natalie since after that night he had lost his confidence in her. It was expected she would react in such a way. She was always looking to protect herself.

  An alternative scenario has invaded the cloudy spot of his brain, causing him to reorganize his plan. He is playing with his fingers, pulling the edges. He is eager for the door to open and for Aimilios to appear in front of him. He believes that it is time to use everything that belongs to him. The power. The authority. He will become Orpheus Nomikos’s worthy son.

  The rustling of the door makes him fall back on his chair.

  ‘‘Sir…’’ Aimilios enters the room with his shoulders folded.

  ‘‘Sit down, I want to talk to you,’’ he orders him in a reprimanding tone, embodying his role.

  ‘‘Mr. Aris, your sister…’’

  The strength of his voice is cut in half. He realizes that he did not have time to protect himself. ‘‘Did she come here?’’

  ‘‘Your sister… Your sister was murdered.’’

  We enter the office, and we see Antonella with Ioannis over a man. I can see his back. He has short light brown hair. The way the jacket falls on his shoulders and the stretching of his body makes me assume that he has a husky and muscular body. Ioannis leaves the room after a gesture from Peter’s eyes.

  ‘‘Peter Deligiannis. Criminologist and police officer. I am responsible for Natalie Nomikou’s murder.’’ The leader in his place. The accusation in the air.

  The man, who is now revealing to me every feature of his face, does not seem to be over forty. Thick hair and light skin. He has crossed the arms in front of his chest.

  ‘‘Do you have an identity card with you?’’

  ‘‘No.’’