The Last Symphony

by Tonia Lalousi

  ‘‘Let’s move on to the second one…’’ I intervene to give him a little time to calm down. ‘‘Aris Nomikos had a motive to kill Natalie and we suspect him of the lawyer’s murder as well. We have no evidence against him, but his mental instability raises our suspicion,’’ I point out and Peter frowns.

  He lets some seconds pass before opening his lips. Exercise to regain self-control. ‘‘I’m thinking of covering my skin with tattoos of the evidence we have gathered, showing them to whoever dares to say anything about this story!’’ he is ironic to me with no reason. ‘‘Antonella don’t you have anything to say?’’

  And this is how she passes as well into the position of the accused for deficit attention.

  ‘‘Let’s study Aris’s life until today. We know enough about the composer and nearly nothing about the politician. Maybe Aris’s environment gives us some evidence.’’

  ‘‘OK. You search everything about him and I will pay a visit to his house. I will be able to learn more at his place.’’ He wears his black coat and kisses me on the cheek. ‘‘But first I’ll go for the tattoo,’’ he winks at Antonella pointing his shoulder and leaves in a hurry.

  ‘‘Since he hasn’t lost his sense of humor yet, we shouldn’t worry…’’ she laughs, and I smile consensually. ‘‘Magda, are you OK? In the last few days, I feel you are more… troubled?’’ she wonders and asks me simultaneously.

  ‘‘Nothing special…’’ Lies. ‘‘The same problems…’’ True. ‘‘The little one cries quite often, and Peter goes crazy, leading the whole house to paranoia.’’ Neither a five year old child is persuaded by such an excuse. ‘‘Normal staff…’’

  The understanding in her look is falser than my arguments. ‘‘My husband denies doing chores at home and I warned him that everything will remain unwashed. There is no chance I will deal with these as well. You know that my older son is taking panhellenic exams this year and I always help him with his homework when I get home. My husband takes no action at all, he just claims he’s supportive…’’

  She also argues that actions are more important than words. I have to find a way to convince myself she is right too. I am irrational, paranoid, and hysterical.

  Back to work. Antonella is looking for Aris’s activity in the political arena and I am looking for his recent past. His life, appearance, and movements are in a complete juxtaposition. I never believed that a person can have many faces, but in his case I have to make an exception. When we were spying on him he seemed extravagantly unbalanced, however during the interrogation he appeared too cool and his twenty-seven years old appears to be too balanced.

  I put on my jacket and go out into the corridor. I can’t carry out the search without my favourite iced tea. I cast a glance at Andrew’s office. He has immersed himself in two voluminous books. I smile. My facial muscles contract momentarily when I see Fotiadis at the edge of the stairs. Retreat is excluded from my options since her sly blue eyes have spotted me and centered on me.

  ‘‘Magda…’’

  She gives me a warm, fake, professional smile which hints the preparing of an upcoming argument in case don’t respond positively to her request.

  ‘‘I am glad you are here,’’ she says and stands in front of me. Of course she is happy since she has definitely come to exert a psychological war on me. ‘‘Why isn’t your partner answering my calls? Don’t tell me, let me guess. He is occupied, right?’’ She pushes my left wrist, and a sharp, playful laughter erupts.

  ‘‘What do you want, Georgia?’’ The volume of my voice indicates the interest in this encounter. I am barely heard.

  ‘‘If you see what I brought to you, your gaze will come to life immediately. Of course, as you know, nothing in this life is offered for free. I want you to tell me what you have found about Nomikos’s murderer.’’ At least she always gets to the topic immediately.

  ‘‘Talk with Peter.’’

  She gets ahead of me, cutting off my access to the stairs. ‘‘Magda, don’t be silly,’’ she says and throws a second, shorter laughter. ‘‘I have something for you that is of great interest.’’ She throws the bait and waits for me to bite.

  ‘‘Georgia I’m in a hurry.’’ I make a second attempt to escape, but I know that I will not be able to achieve it, because Fotiadis always keeps a trump card. And this card is never her last.

  ‘‘Orpheus Nomikos paid a lot to hide this.’’

  I turn my look into her hands. She is holding a photograph. The bait is too tempting to ignore.

  Imprinted secrets

  ‘‘He studied Economics at Berkeley University and then he gained a master’s degree in International relations; both with honors. He has participated in large research teams for various financial projects. He has no accounts in the social media, apart from a website, which he officially uses as a politician.’’

  Antonella is presenting her findings, but I am not really paying attention. I look at her hurriedly, looking forward to her stopping talking. She lowers her gaze on my hands. She notices that I am not holding my favourite tea.

  ‘‘Guess who I came across in the corridor.’’

  Enthusiasm, pleasant turmoil and excessive anxiety are the feelings my eyes are carrying out at the moment. I think I am shining all over.

  She looks at my hands again. ‘‘What is this photograph about?’’

  ‘‘Fotiadou came and talked to me.’’

  ‘‘What does this woman who never closes her mouth want again? Why didn’t you tell her to go away, Magda?’’

  As expected, but sometimes even our ‘‘enemies’’ have something of value to offer us. Diplomacy is the golden policy. In this case, however, strict conditions were set by the opponent, which may characterize our agreement anything but diplomatic.

  ‘‘Do you remember the incident at the swimming pool? Her friend didn’t tell us everything that happened that night.’’ I pass the photograph to her.

  A crowd of young people is having fun by the pool, holding bottles of wine and beer cans in their hands. A nude boy is preparing to dive into the water. On the edge of the photograph is Aris. He is holding a gun in his left hand and his sister is standing a few inches next to him. She is looking at him and laughing along with two other boys.

  ‘‘Fotiadou didn’t tell me much, but the photo had been uploaded on the internet and Orpheus Nomikos took actions to delete any relevant posts. She said that it was a party of a fellow student of his sister and all of them were drunk, while it was never found to whom the gun belonged,’’ I share with her what Fotiadou told me and I am looking forward to Peter returning to prove him I was right about Aris.

  ‘‘That means he tried to kill her again?’’ she asks me and I, in turn, ask my detective’s sense, which is still on voluntary vacations.

  ‘‘I don’t know, but remember what her friend said… Aris is the only one who would want to kill her. I believe he is the murderer. We must speak with Victoria again, but I’m sure she won’t add anything more. No one wants to open cases buried with struggle…’’

  ‘‘Would you like me to bring you anything?’’

  Aimilios is standing one step behind Peter, who is scrutinizing the living room of Nomikos’s villa. The strict criminologist has not articulated even a word after identifying himself. He wants to take off his coat, due to the large temperature difference with the outside, but he considers even this small movement out of the plan.

  He looks at the piano. He imagines Aris playing the first score and Orpheus in the right corner of the living room observing him with a perfect line on the lips and his hands crossed under his chest. Aimilios has seen this exact image a few years ago, only the smooth politician was standing in the left corner, next to the balcony door.

  ‘‘I want to talk to…’’ Peter pauses, observing the housekeeper’s face. His opened lips along with the blink of his eyes, which got more intense after their first encounter at the entrance, make him modify his speech. ‘‘With you,’’ he surpr
ises him and sits on the two-seater sofa which is covered with a burgundy coverlet with gold fringes on the edges.

  ‘‘With me? What do you want me to tell you? I am just the housekeeper,’’ his interlocutor complains, remaining motionless with his hands behind his back.

  ‘‘Do you take care of the garden?’’

  ‘‘I beg your pardon?’’

  Peter smiles and gets more convenient on the couch, while his eyes order the standing man to proceed to the answer.

  ‘‘Yes, it is one of my favourite hobbies.’’

  ‘‘So, you are also the gardener of the house, one who knows how to dig holes and bury… plants?’’

  Aimilios’s look lowers for some seconds and then he lifts his face high, approaching Peter. ‘‘Do you want anything specific from me, officer?’’

  ‘‘Do you want to tell me anything?’’

  ‘‘What would I want to tell you?’’

  ‘‘Ah, this game irritates me… If I knew I wouldn’t ask you!’’

  Nomikos’s faithful servant is seeking an invisible protection, which Peter speculates is in Orpheus’s face.

  ‘‘Next question… Could you describe Aris to me in three adjectives?’’

  Aimilios remains thoughtful and wonders which is the correct answer to the eccentric criminologist’s question. ‘‘Hardworking, obedient, patient.’’

  ‘‘Interesting. With such characteristics, he could take your position!’’

  ‘‘Mr. Deligiannis…’’ Orpheus Nomikos enters the living room. The typical handshake brings the two leaders face to face. ‘‘Aimilios, you may go now.’’

  Peter returns to his seat and raises his left leg on the right. ‘‘Your son?’’

  ‘‘Do we have anything new?’’

  ‘‘How old were your children when your wife died?’’

  ‘‘Ten and seven respectively,’’ he says and it is the first question with a clear answer.

  ‘‘Did they get along with each other?’’

  ‘‘Yes. Have you learned anything new?’’

  ‘‘I have just learned,’’ Peter replies and changes the crossing of his legs. ‘‘Is your son here?’’

  Orpheus’s face remains unchangeable. Peter wonders if special training is needed for this. He would like to try it.

  ‘‘Officer you are moving in the wrong direction. Aris has nothing to do with the murder. I absolutely trust your judgment and I hope you realize where you are.’’

  The overt threat makes Peter smile. ‘‘You know Mr. Nomikos… There is some evidence at crime scenes which cannot be processed conventionally. How can love, hate or fear be collected?’’

  ‘‘Here is not the crime scene, Mr. Deligiannis.’’

  ‘‘Is your son in his room?’’ The criminologist’s question remains unanswered and leads him to the internal staircase. He is irritated by the silence that prevails in this huge and overheated home. Of course, he admits there is almost nothing that does not irritate him.

  He reaches the top of the staircase. He knocks on the first door to receive a resounding, positive response. He enters an empty bright room with a great balcony door facing the street. He makes two steps further in and meets his target behind the door.

  Aris is sitting at his desk with his head a few inches above a pile of documents. He is writing two or three words on the edge of a page and greets Peter, urging him to sit in the chair in front of him. The criminologist had enough time downstairs to organize his demonstration of mental strength.

  ‘‘Officer, as you can see, I am occupied with my speech tomorrow’s speech, so please tell me the reason of your visit a bit quickly.’’ Clear articulation. Clear look. Palms hidden in the documents.

  ‘‘Is this the life of a politician? Being in stress and in tension?’’

  ‘‘I am not stressed.’’

  ‘‘Don’t make statements I can undo with great ease, Mr. Nomikos.’’ Peter lowers his gaze on Aris’s palms. He is sure they are sweaty and have left their prints on the white pages. ‘‘I want you to tell me about your sister. About your relationship with her.’’

  ‘‘We didn’t hang out much. I had been living abroad for many years.’’

  ‘‘In the summers when you were in Greece, didn’t you go out together? Didn’t you go to parties?’’

  Aris exhales a sharp breath and dry coughs. He is taking his time. He understands that the police officer is referring to that night. He never believed his father would manage to hide that photo forever. He will never cease being angry with himself for the shame he made him feel.

  He is not sure if he has to speak first or await the report from the fishery criminologist. Time runs against him. ‘‘The incident at the pool was one of the jokes we made with my sister’s company. We were drunk.’’ He raises his hands to emphasize his speech and reveals to Peter that his original claim was correct. He covers the water stains on the pages with his elbows and crosses his fingers under his chin. His hair curls remain perfectly disciplined behind his ears.

  Deligiannis’s eyes take quick turns in front of the politician’s unexpected confession. Maybe he misjudged his interlocutor, as he notes much greater ingenuity than he expected. ‘‘Why are you justifying her?’’ he throws an unnecessary question to win time. He feels angry as the interrogated is one step ahead.

  ‘‘I don’t need to justify her. It was never identified to whom that gun belonged. It was a moment of loss of misjudge due to the effect of alcohol.’’

  Deligiannis charges his gaze with absolute awareness of the incident the politician is referring to, while he is seeking with his imagination the context of the next scene. His sister threw him in the pool and when he recovered, he took a gun and threatened her. This scenario is the most appropriate to the young politician’s statement. ‘‘Can you imagine who would want to kill her?’’

  Peter’s tone makes Aris feel greater embarrassment. He realizes that the criminologist passed the imaginary line that existed between them and invaded his personal space; his mind. ‘‘No. I explained to you that I did not have much contact with my sister. And now, please, I would like you to let me continue my work.’’

  ‘‘Are you leaving?’’ Aimilios catches Peter at the entrance.

  ‘‘Yes. I learned what I needed,’’ he mentions and buttons his coat up to his neck.

  ‘‘Aris…’’ he sighs, and his brown eyes seem frightened under the golden light of the chandelier. ‘‘Has Aris anything to do with his sister’s murder?’’

  The proud criminologist recovers his psychographical ability and realizes that even his farfetched hypothesis was correct: the housekeeper suspects Aris and is afraid of him, intensifying the politician’s possible guilt on the accusation map.

  ‘‘Why don’t you ask him?’’ He raises his eyebrow and opens the door. The air freezes his face giving him a sense of rejuvenation from the suffocating temperature inside.

  Aris is rubbing his left thumb, until it shows redness. He thinks he should not have revealed anything about that night.

  The water of the pool had covered his nose, cutting off the normal flow of air in it. The memory makes his eyes water out of rage. If the pen he is holding in his hands was sharp, he would have bled. He was shouting. He was asking for help. The water was thrown in a clumsy way on his face, from his unsuccessful attempts to balance within it. He was hearing laughter. More than twenty fellow students were laughing at him. The instinct of survival made him move hands and legs, constantly remaining in the same position.

  Come on Ares, you can make it…

  He remembers his sister repeating the same phrase over and over again, while she smirked with her boyfriend. At that moment he hated himself for trusting her and going to that party. The need to adjust and return to a normal life, made him accept her proposal.

  He was ready to lose his senses when a hand pulled him to the edge. He was not in a position to see if it was a boy or a girl, neither could he talk to thank that person. He le
aned on the wall of the pool with an incessant cough.

  He tried to identify the person who saved him, however clarity had left him from the moment he tasted the drink Natalie had suggested to him; a green liquid in a shotgun glass. To prove that he could be a part of their company he drank more than five such glasses. Nausea, dizziness and blur made it impossible for him to walk.

  His sister’s voice was approaching him. He saw her two-headed figure coming towards him. When she reached him they merged into one. In the next moment, Natalie put a gun in his left hand and urged him to shoot her, laughing and shouting at him that he is a coward and that he did not dare to do so.

  Her voices pierce through his ears even now. He remembers stumbling on the right and a group of people pushing him in the opposite direction. He had become a toy in the hands of his sister’s wealthy friends. The gun was found on the grass and he chose to leave for his car.

  The very next morning Natalie asked him to forgive her, justifying herself with the alibi of intoxication. He believed her, but from that moment he did not try to join any group again. His panic crises worsened, so the isolation in the office he is sitting in right now was his only option.

  ‘‘Why is the light at the entrance trembling? Did nobody think of replacing it? Are you waiting for me to fix it?’’

  Peter is holding the door standing aside, making accusations against the lieutenants and the police officers of our Department. Probably the visit to Nomikos did not go pay off. Andrew is absent today, so he will break out on the whole Department. He sits on his chair and unbuttons his coat.

  ‘‘Before you tell us what happened let us show to you what we found…’’ Antonella catches him up and her words soothe his anger a little. ‘‘Look at this photo…’’