The Last Symphony

by Tonia Lalousi

  ‘‘The gun!’’ he exclaims, and I copy the surprise on my colleague’s face. ‘‘Aris told me about this and caught me unprepared!’’ He exhales an abnormal breath and the muscles of his face return to their normal condition.

  We explain to him in every detail what we discovered and what we were not able to find out. The call to Victoria gave us the worst possible perspective.

  ‘‘Victoria told us that she pulled him to the edge of the pool and then left the party, annoyed by Natalie’s behavior. She didn’t speak to her for many days.’’

  Peter is listening to me, but probably my words are passing directly to his subconscious. He is spinning the photograph in his fingers and I think he is trying to teleport at the night of the party. ‘‘Where did you find the photograph?’’

  I look at Antonella and get prepared for his next explosion. ‘‘Fotiadiou…’’

  He hits the desk with his fist and puffs and blows. ‘‘Don’t tell me anything more… She asked to have the exclusiveness for the news about the killer, right? I have learned her now…’’

  I nod positively, but I am sure that he would have taken the same decision.

  ‘‘His sister throws him into the pool, despite knowing he didn’t know how to swim, and her friend saves him, while Natalie and her company were laughing at him. Then what? He gets out of the pool and threatens her with the gun? So was he carrying a weapon? It’s difficult for me to believe such a thing… Also did you notice that he is holding the gun in his left hand? I saw him noting something in his office. He is right-handed. Maybe someone gave him the gun. His sister?’’ he asks us and I’m proud of my non-existent observatory skills. ‘‘The American photographer Diane Arbous had said that a photograph is a secret for a secret. The more it tells the less you know. In our case, this photograph tells much more than it should,’’ he says and starts walking in the room under our exclamatory look.

  ‘‘So where do we end up?’’ I hope my question hits his consciousness this time. He raises his look; he half closes his eyes and returns to the night of the party.

  No hope.

  His new position is in front of the board. He is holding the black marker and looking at it, wrinkling the lips. ‘‘I’m tired of noting down,’’ he complains and returns to his chair. ‘‘I think we should focus on Aris,’’ he says and my eyes smile. ‘‘I also suggest that we do not associate Natalie’s murder with the possible murder of Maniatis, because they require two completely different ways of handling, which leads me to the conclusion that the lawyer probably committed suicide and his blackmailing to Aris was just one more precipitant factor that led him to emotional overload and in the murder of his sister. Maniatis’s case closes here.’’

  ‘‘What about the melody?’’

  ‘‘Maybe it’s connected to something that had happened between Aris and his sister. What happened at the pool was not an isolated incident. She had mocked him again; maybe because he wasn’t very good at playing the piano… His house is a place full of buried secrets. I can’t know if his father knows the truth and is protecting him or is ignorant of his son’s actions. He doesn’t seem like a person who is close to his children. Even the housekeeper of the house suspects Aris. Everything leads to him. I’ll ask for the composer’s surveillance to be terminated. The only one who had a motive is the young politician who is having his first public speech tomorrow.’’

  Potential victim

  The basketball court of SEF[3] is ready to host the crowd that has arrived at Neo Faliro to watch Aris Nomikos’s speech. They could easily be divided into groups according to income criteria. Orpheus’s honorary guests figure at the top of the list. Retired and active congressmen, current and past ministers and the mayor of Piraeus enter the hall and approach the seats of the first two rows.

  The potential voters fill the space most of them remain upright, due to the limited seats. Prosperous active citizens with political views on any matter that preoccupies the country are whispering commenting on the appearances of the prominent politicians of the first row. The shining of the room gives a little light to a more colourless group of people, which is the majority. Desperate citizens are looking for a beacon of hope on Aris’s face. Promises, hopes, and fake words are spinning in their minds, providing them with a complacent logic.

  Orpheus is greeting his guests with a sewn smile, which is suitable for a father who lost his daughter a few days ago, but who today will take pride in his son’s new step in the political scene. Before entering the hall, he had estimated the exact opening of his lips. The reporters have already begun their work to cover their print and television reporting.

  The disorder in the hall has already passed in Aris’s mind. He is wearing a black suit with a dark grey shirt and a black tie with grey details on the edge. He pulls the belt, lifting his trousers nervously. He is behind the main stage and is rechecking his plan. Everything should take place as he has planned. Even the slightest wrong movement will expose him. He swallows many times to clear his throat and feels his mouth dry. He loosens the tie.

  ‘‘Are you well, Mr. Aris?’’ Aimilios approaches him holding a black bag in his right hand.

  ‘‘Got any water?’’

  ‘‘Behind you,’’ he answers and shows him the bottled water on the little table. ‘‘I will be waiting for you outside.’’

  Aimilios withdraws and proceeds to the main hall. At this moment he would prefer not to be here. He would like to be in the villa, taking care of the flowers in the garden. He hugs the bag tightly with trembling hands. Now it is too late to change his mind. He has to obey. Voices with different opinions and thoughts give their own battle within his mind and an unbearable headache is trying to break his skull.

  Orpheus is sitting in his place in the first row, exactly in front of the step where his son will speak. Next to him is the former Minister of Finance. Aimilios cannot take his eyes off Orpheus and when his visual call receives a response, he approaches him.

  ‘‘Mr. Nomikos, may I talk to you in private?’’

  The strict politician looks at the housekeeper with a failing composure betraying some of his stress to the former Minister of Finance. He leads Aimilios to the edge of the room, offering one of his mechanical smiles to the reporters.

  ‘‘Excuse…’’

  ‘‘What’s going on with Aris?’’ Orpheus puts the meaningless introduction aside, as he is absolutely certain that his son is the reason Aimilios got him away from the crowd.

  ‘‘He threatened me, Mr. Nomikos…’’ He raises and lowers his eyebrows to control his facial expression. He may look anxious, but not terrified. ‘‘Two days ago, he threatened to kill me if I don’t help him leave from here, without giving the speech. I had no intention of telling you because I was scared and I still am, but…’’

  ‘‘Did you forget to give him any of his medicine?’’

  ‘‘No, no… I give him the treatment normally in his coffee every day. The medicines may have side effects. Maybe you should adjust the dosage. I am afraid, Mr. Orpheus… It is the first time I see him like that…’’ Aimilios confesses his fears to the man he has been serving nearly his entire life and he even considers ending this service soon.

  ‘‘You will do exactly what he asked you to do. In the present phase, I can say that it is in our interest…’’ He throws a gaze at the reporters. ‘‘The citizens will understand that he collapsed because of his sister. This is how we will justify it. The sensitization of the crowd is an important lead,’’ he explains to him and pats him on the back while scanning the hall for suspicious looks. ‘‘Don’t tell him a word about the medicines. I will talk again with the psychiatrist and we will change his treatment. Now you do what he told you.’’ He gives the order and returns to his seat.

  In the next minutes, Aris goes up to the main stage, receiving a warm applause from the attendees. He checks the curls close to his ears. He wishes that in these few seconds they won’t come in front of his face and interrupt
his ritual. He feels that the knot of his tie is very tight. If he could choose, he would appear without a tie, but he had to wear it.

  Hundreds of eyes are fixed on him and he feels they can read his thoughts. Common logic provides him with a balanced breath. As he was preparing himself, he decided not to look at the crowd, but to stare at the void - at the background of the hall.

  This is probably the greatest challenge in his life. He has to satisfy his father. He must receive only positive reviews so that the reward comes afterwards. He feels his vocal cords throbbing momentarily, against the pressure that keeps them stranded. It is just a few words… He seals his eyelids for a few seconds and tries to take some deep breaths. The sedatives he took at noon have no longer effect. He regrets not taking one more before going on stage. The brain gives the unavoidable command, and he raises the eyes to the blinding light, illuminating on him from the balcony.

  ‘‘This moment is emotionally charged…’’ he begins and lowers his gaze to the pages he has in front of him. ‘‘…due to the loss in my family…’’ The flashes of the reporters strike incessantly and fire instantaneous explosions in his eyes with every glow. ‘‘It is exceedingly difficult for me to be here…’’ he continues bringing his left hand on his forehead. He tilts slightly on the placed microphone and closes his eyes. ‘‘Forgive me…’’ he descends the podium and leaves slowly for the backstage while supporting one hand on the wall. His pre-election poster is glued on it.

  The reporters do not stop photographing his unexpected departure, the moment Aimilios goes on the podium and takes the floor.

  ‘‘The speech will be postponed for a few minutes. We ask you to excuse us for the inconvenience and we hope in your understanding.’’

  Orpheus hurries to express his anxiety for his son’s condition, leaving for the small room behind the stage. Aris is strictly following the plan he had been preparing all these days. In the next minutes, Aimilios obeys to the young politician’s threat and leaves with him for the hospital. Father and son do not exchange even a word, while the former is called to apologize to the crowd with the excuse he prepared a few minutes ago.

  ‘‘…and stopped his speech as he felt a sudden discomfort. His sister’s death shook him so much that he collapsed. Everyone who was there noticed his grief, his lack of strength, the black circles under his eyes and his livid face. According to the first information, Aris Nomikos is being treated at the Metropolitan Hospital, while nothing has been announced about his state of health yet. The incident appears to have sensitized the citizens who write words of support on the social media and express their anger towards the person who took his sister’s life. Let’s watch the footage…’’

  Peter turns the TV volume down and the brunette presenter who stretched his nervous system leaves the screen giving her place to a close-up frame of Aris.

  ‘‘He became a victim now… How irritated am I by this emotional manipulation! The power which the strong exercise on the weak can drive me crazy! Did you see what he thought?’’ he asks me and paces in the living room.

  I have been trying for half an hour to put Harry to sleep, but his eyes are still wide open as if he heard some scary news. At least he has stopped crying the last two nights and Peter has given up on his Von Willebrand disease idea.

  ‘‘Every move he makes incriminates him even more. We have to find a shred of evidence. Something! It is impossible not to have any connecting links… Tomorrow we will search for his environment, we should learn more about his life abroad. Maybe Natalie learned a secret of his and this is why he killed her; the secret Maniatis took with him. There may even be another person who is in danger…’’ he says, and I goggle my eyes copying my son.

  He comes near me and hugs him. I am glad that in the vortex of his monologue he noticed my ambitious efforts to put him to sleep. ‘‘Can you…’’

  ‘‘Magda, he is looking at me somehow strange… Look at him…’’ he shouts and turns the baby towards me. ‘‘I think he dislikes me…’’ he claims with half-closed eyes.

  ‘‘That’s how he’s looking at me as well, Peter. He has tenseness and can’t sleep.’’

  ‘‘He occasionally smiles at you, but he always looks at me with contempt.’’

  ‘‘Maybe because a mother’s love is a given for a child, while a father has to prove it constantly and you, my love, aren’t so good at this…’’ I regret what I said in the first second. ‘‘I don’t mean that…’’

  ‘‘Magda, I know what you mean. Basically, I know what you imply, but in a relationship, you have to take what the other can give you, otherwise the pressure leads to the opposite results. I have spoken to you about my past, my mother, Catherine… I’m not saying I didn’t grow up with love, but the two people I loved most in my life, betrayed me and the wounds they left will remain forever open,’’ he says and brings Harry to my arms.

  ‘‘And me? What am I?’’

  ‘‘You create new moments in my life, beautiful ones. You can’t cure what has hurt me, but before I met you, I was a man who had only wounds, while now I’m building a new life with you… I step on bad memories and create new, happy ones… I know you would like someone like Andrew, but I can’t become like him, Magda… It was very difficult for me to survive from what broke me up and now I can’t change… Don’t show me that you are upset about this, please… I want you to be happy with me…’’

  ‘‘I’m happy! But sometimes feel that I’m a way out of your impasse… That you prefer the partial light from the absolute darkness… The grey from the black… I don’t feel you love me as you loved Catherine…’’

  He hesitates to respond. His lips hold everything he wants to express. His eyes are shouting at me I love you, but probably it’s my great desire to hear it and he does not mean it.

  ‘‘You’re much more important than her…’’ he says and stands up from the couch. ‘‘I wish I could make you understand it…’’ He proceeds into the room and I remain hugging Harry, who immerses in a peaceful sleep.

  Headache. Headache. Headache. The light of the day generously gives me an unbearable migraine. I take a painkiller while Peter is drinking the last sip from his coffee. It would a good idea to remain at home today, but his eyes transfer to me such tension that I do not dare utter it.

  Grandma Barbara, happy as always, takes her role as a babysitter and we head to the Department. At the last moment, I changed my white shirt with a woolen blazer in the colour of the rotten apple. I hope it covers me from my husband’s targeting for the rest of the day.

  Kifisias avenue is closed, probably because of a car crash. We are waiting patiently for it to unblock, driving steadily with the first gear. The headache persists and I am looking forward to the painkiller’s effect.

  ‘‘Magda, I feel unbearable pressure… I feel that we are not going to find the edge in this story, do you know why? Because it’s Nomikos. He has power. He knows how to keep mouths shut. As awful a character as his daughter was, no one had the right to take her life…’’

  The mobile’s ringing interrupts his syllogism and I silently thank the person who called. The migraine deteriorates more and more, making our communication unbearable.

  ‘‘What - does the stick - have - inside it?’’ he spells the words with a voice that follows an ascending course.

  I furrow my eyebrows. I am trying to understand what they are transferring to him on the phone making his ears turn red.

  ‘‘It doesn’t take much… A new melody… And last night Aris suddenly left his speech… Did he perhaps leave the hospital? Is this girl probably one more victim of his?’’ One. More. Victim. ‘‘We have been stuck in Kifisias Avenue. Send me the photographs and the information to my phone.’’

  I regret not having taken with me the whole box of painkillers. The call is ended and in the next couple of minutes, all the information of the Forensics reaches our mobiles.

  ‘‘Last night they murdered this girl in a dancing hall in St. Nichola
s Street. Aphrodite Despotaki,’’ he says, and I look at the photographs.

  A blonde girl is lying face down on the floor with an extensive bleeding on her back. A blue memory stick and a knife are found on her. From her face photos, she doesn’t seem more than twenty years old.

  ‘‘Now they are taking the findings for analysis. In a little while, we will know, although it’s obvious what the stick contains…’’ he claims, and I try to calm down the tension that has overwhelmed me. ‘‘Time of death is between midnight and one o’ clock in the morning. The girl was one of the dance school’s secretaries and a while ago, a dancer along with the secretary in charge of the morning post found her.’’

  The rapid heartbeat is taking over my entire body. The road starts gradually opening. We change route and head to the Metropolitan, the hospital that Aris has been treated since yesterday.

  ‘‘Good evening. We want to talk to Aris Nomikos. We are from the police.’’

  Peter is speaking with calm anxiety to a gentleman around sixty, standing outside the door of the room, next to two bodyguards. The man with minimal hair on the sides of his head opens hesitantly the door and proceeds towards Aris who has his hands tied in front of his belly.

  ‘‘Outside is the police officer with a lady and they want to talk to you,’’ I hear him saying with a disciplined voice. His definite reference to Peter makes me realize that they have already met. ‘‘Come in…’’ he leads us with his right hand and closes the door behind us.

  Aris gets up on the bed and fastens more comfortably the pillows on his back.

  ‘‘I don’t think you will tell me again that you don’t have much time…’’ Peter opens the game aggressively, wishing to knock him out from the first minutes.

  ‘‘With a diagnosis of burnout, I probably need time for rest,’’ the young politician responds very smartly. He moves the pillows behind him again.