‘‘You don’t need to tell us how you drink it as well!’’
‘‘No, officer…’’ she frowns, and I raise my eyebrows motivating her to continue. ‘‘I found her in there and my breath was cut, I’m telling you…’’ she lifts her left hand on the forehead and strikes with the other one her thigh again. ‘‘I started shouting and Ildar ran close to me. Then I called the police and…’’
‘‘Who brought the dancer from Russia?’’ Peter cuts her off.
‘‘Vasilikos. The well-known Vasilikos. The singer. He brought him to have his choreography made for Eurovision. We have been collaborating with Ioannis for the last few months. He chooses our dancers for his video clips.’’
‘‘So, you have spoken only with Vasilikos? Does the name Dima Vladimirov ring any bells to you?’’
‘‘Hmm… Is he a Russian?’’
My husband puffs and blows and I feel that his patience is almost over. ‘‘Did Aphrodite work only in the afternoons? Which class was scheduled last yesterday?’’ he passes quickly to the next question.
‘‘Yes, Aphrodite…’’ she sighs and closes her eyes. She opens them again. ‘‘Poor girl… She was working here and studying at the same time. She was so quiet… Who wanted to hurt her?’’
‘‘This is what we are also looking for…’’ Peter emphasizes in an angry voice. ‘‘So? Who was the last dance teacher who left from here? The girl was murdered around midnight.’’
‘‘Normally all lessons end at nine, but Vasilikos had a rehearsal with his dancer until ten o’ clock in the green room. Let me show you…’’
The blonde lady - who is definitely over thirty- presses her lips and leaves the bench. She closes the glass door at the entrance and leads us to a passage that ends at the ballrooms. Along the corridor, there are many colored doors, in a small distance one from the other, while the tiles remain the same - white glossy.
We enter the room with the green door. The secretary, or dance teacher or simple dancer - I do not know exactly - proceeds with jumpy steps. The parquet is colored in grey tones and the wall is painted in a light green. A sound system on one end, a white bench along with the glass, and a wall mirror between them, from the floor up to the ceiling, complete the image of the green ballroom.
‘‘Was Vasilikos coming alone to the rehearsal?’’
‘‘The last time I saw him he was accompanied by two other men as well.’’
Peter takes out his mobile phone. ‘‘Is this one of the two men?’’ he asks her showing the composer’s photograph.
‘‘Yes. The handsome blonde.’’ Her eyes are shining and Peter’s eyes are spinning. ‘‘They had their rehearsal here every time, so I guess if yesterday’s rehearsal was not canceled, Vasilikos and Victoria are the last to have seen Aphrodite.’’
I frown. ‘‘Victoria? What is her last name?’’ I beat Peter to it.
‘‘I don’t remember it by heart. You know, the school is not mine. Obviously, I am not a dancer either…’’ she is self-sarcastic pointing to the flesh on her legs. ‘‘My sister-in-law is the owner and has put me in the position of the secretary. She doesn’t count on me really, but I don’t complain… Thank God I got this job to make ends meet. Aphrodite came to the school about two months ago, because I couldn’t work all day. As I told you I have two children and…’’
‘‘Yes, yes we have understood it,’’ he interrupts her again with an obvious - and justified by me - irritation. ‘‘What do we have to do to find out her last name?’’
‘‘It is on the list in the office,’’ she says and flows towards the entrance of the school.
She walks around the bench. She opens a drawer and brings a pink folder on the desk. She browses the pages slowly, one by one, and Peter is looking at her ready to grab her file.
‘‘I found it. Victoria is a great girl and a very good dancer as well,’’ she says and puts her hair behind her ears. ‘‘Her surname is Stahiou. Victoria Stahiou.’’
He lowers his gaze onto his fingers and examines them. Maybe he would like them to be thinner and longer. The load on his back is causing an acute pain. His life turned upside down and he remained in the same position. A simple observer.
‘‘Dima if…’’
‘‘Cut it out.’’ His voice disrupts the speech of the talented singer. He knows what comes next and cannot stand hearing it from his mouth. ‘‘I didn’t kill her.’’
‘‘What’s up with you, Ioannis? Are you questioning your idol? The person who, as you say, is the reason you have achieved everything so far?’’ Nektarios is looking at him with anger.
Ioannis lowers his gaze to the floor. Ildar is sitting at the piano running his fingers over the keys without pressing them. The hints, the implicit and ironic comments charge the composer’s new apartment, leading the group to rupture again.
‘‘Someone wants to put pressure on me and I’m afraid that sooner or later they will succeed. They learned that I’m here and probably want to blackmail me. Ildar, are you sure you didn’t tell anyone I’m here in Greece still composing?’’
‘‘I didn’t even mention your name to the police. Maybe there is an opponent here; another composer?’’
‘‘Yes, they may have discovered that you are writing my songs and want to break up my career,’’ Ioannis claims looking at his mentor.
‘‘Is this what you care about? Your career? If they find evidence against me, I will spend the last years of my life in prison! Are you really so naive or are you kidding all of us Ioannis?’’
Dima’s explosion amplifies the negative charge and leads to the tearful outburst of the singer. The lyricist and the dancer keep their calmness, choosing the silence, while the latter presses a note on the piano.
‘‘Ioannis, you must believe me…’’ he continues looking meaningfully at Nektarios. ‘‘Now, I have to tell you that the memory stick they found on Nomikos’s corpse was mine. I maybe lost it in my previous apartment because when I came here I couldn’t find it in my suitcase. They took it to incriminate me. Someone wants to trap me…’’ he explains and falls behind on the couch. He feels his limbs weaker than ever.
‘‘What? Why didn’t you tell us anything earlier?’’
‘‘I told it to Nektarios. I know you’re more excessive and I was afraid of your reaction… I simply didn’t want to see this…’’ he explains to him and points to Ioannis’s face. ‘‘I can’t bear losing your trust. I haven’t done anything!’’
‘‘Come on, OK, calm down.’’ Nektarios pats him reassuringly on his shoulder, while Ioannis remains impassive.
Ildar is observing their reactions. He has three men with different personalities opposite him. Each one of them is fighting with his own daemons. He wonders if anyone of these is wearing a mask; maybe the one who cries in fear or the one who comforts with doubts or the one who gets angry with a possible injustice.
Maybe the one who is the murderer.
Dima tries to get up from the couch, but his feet send a weak command to his brain. He sits up and looks at Ildar. ‘‘Whatever happens we will participate normally in the competition. Nektarios, don’t forget what we have said. I trust you with my song.’’
‘‘I thought it was in your rules we never use someone else’s work…’’ Ildar destroys the composer’s attempt to reconstruct the team. A silence of a few seconds and three pairs of eyes fall upon him. One full of rage, one flooded with empathy, and one armed with anger, shattering the pre-existent feelings of sympathy. Relationships are built from scratch.
‘‘This case is special, Ildar.’’ Dima presses the eyelids. ‘‘If there is something you need to reveal to me, something you are hiding from me, say it now because they will definitely call us back to the police station and we must be on the same page,’’ he addresses his collaborators turning his back to the dancer.
‘‘Dima, I’m not hiding anything from you. The truth is that I questioned you in the beginning. What you said about Natalie… After what you
told me about the memory stick... For a moment, all of these made me believe you could have killed her,’’ Nektarios says and meets the distaste in the composer’s gaze. ‘‘But now, I understand that someone is playing with you. You had no reason to kill this girl!’’
Ioannis springs from the couch. ‘‘Why, did he have a reason for Natalie? Are you two going to drive me crazy? We are talking about human lives! How can you search for reasons and causes? We’re not murderers!’’
‘‘Are you sure, Ioannis?’’ Nektarios goes beyond limits and attacks the young singer. ‘‘You were in love with the secretary, right? And she didn’t want you…’’
‘‘How can you say such a thing?’’ Ioannis looks at him with a frightened expression combined with disappointment.
‘‘Maybe you just satisfied your ego. I believe you hate Dima because he steals all your glory. You can’t enjoy the apotheosis of the public, because everyone is talking about the unknown composer. You can’t live everything you dreamt of… Look at yourself in the mirror,’’ he pushes him to the mirror on the wall next to the entrance. ‘‘Look! Look at your image! Your outfit! You’re so stuck up, Ioannis!’’
Dima stays away from their dispute, while Ioannis is wearing his gabardine with hurried movements.
‘‘Never approach me again. I’m afraid. I’m very afraid. And I don’t like being afraid.’’ He proceeds quickly to the front door closing it with force behind him, the moment Ildar presses another note on the piano.
The height of the summit
We arrive at the office, and we find nobody. I throw my bag on the chair and take off my coat. Antonella enters the room followed by a blonde woman and a brunette girl. Introductions are not necessary. The dyed blonde with the light highlights and the round circumference remains behind the girl whose face makes my skin shiver. Before I open my lips, a tall thin man in his forties overtakes Antonella and approaches them.
‘‘I am Aphrodite’s sister.’’ The girl raises her chin proudly and her long ponytail shrugs from her shoulder to her back. There is no need to ask if she is her twin sister. Their resemblance is impressive.
Peter approaches the family with propitious calmness and introduces himself. ‘‘You may sit.’’
‘‘Be sure we won’t drink coffee!’’ The girl jumps up and pushes the chair. ‘‘Officer, I may be only twenty years old, but I am not stupid and you can’t fool me.’’ She raises the tone of her voice. Proud, reactionary, and stubborn. I wonder if Aphrodite had a similar character.
‘‘Tatiana, calm down please…’’ Her mother is admonishing her with a soft voice. Her father has chosen a fixed position from the moment he entered the room. He is standing by the door with his eyes down on his black shoes.
‘‘Let me speak!’’ The little one pulls abruptly her mother’s hand and turns towards Peter again. ‘‘We talked with the medical examiner. A memory stick was found on my sister’s dead body, exactly like Nomikos’s daughter. It is not so easy to hide the truth, is it officer?’’
Her impudence finds Peter in agreement. He continues observing her carefully, enduring her outburst silently. After all, this is the reaction he seeks and expects from every youngster. I am wondering if I have to wait for him to applaud, the moment her mother is lowering her head to the floor.
‘‘I have no intention of hiding you anything, Tatiana…’’ he replies reassuringly.
‘‘But you intend to put her case in the unsolved case file, right? How important is my sister to you compared to Nomikos’s daughter, right? You are just talking to me to show me that you will supposedly be interested in us too.’’ Her eyes are throwing fires which are about to be extinguished with tears she is struggling to hold back, distorting her voice. ‘‘I want her murderer to be punished!’’ she cries out in her mother’s arms.
I recognize her pain. We all recognize it, but I sympathize with her more since I lost my sister in a similar way. Peter is waiting for the first wave in the stormy sea of her emotions to retreat. Anger, rage, hatred, desire for revenge. Abundant negative emotions are flooding a young soul.
‘‘When was the last time you saw her?’’
Antonella is addressing with her question the gentleman standing at the door, who I suppose is the father of the unfortunate girls. The brunette man seems to be lost in the vortex of his lost.
‘‘Yesterday morning. She went to University and we expected her to return from the dance school at night.’’
The answer finally comes from her mother. She passes a tuft of her daughter’s hair behind her ears. Her tight braid is starting to lose its perfect binding.
‘‘Tatiana?’’
Peter is addressing his questioning look to the girl, hoping for her cooperation. Her original distrust and aggression begin to subside. She is scanning him with eyes that try to discern hope and leaves her mother’s arms.
‘‘We study in the Chemistry department. Yesterday we had three mandatory laboratories. Then my sister left for the dance school and I went to the karate lesson.’’
I do not have much difficulty imagining the little one knocking out her tall peers. She doesn’t have impressive physical attributes, but karate needs exactly what this girl is hiding in her eyes: power and discipline.
‘‘Do you know if your sister had a friend named Victoria Stahiou? She is one of the dancers there.’’
‘‘No, we have common friends but I don’t know her. If she had such a friend, I would have known it. But why are you asking me? What did she tell you for my sister?’’ she asks and tightens her ponytail, bringing her hair to the side.
‘‘Do you know if she personally knew the singer Ioannis Vasilikos or a Russian composer?’’ Peter skips her question, while I am sure he has already prepared a harsh interrogation for Victoria.
She looks at him with a smile that looks like she is staring at the sun. ‘‘How would she know the nerd?’’ she turns her gaze away and looks at me. ‘‘What are these irrelevant questions? A Russian composer? Are you kidding me?’’
‘‘The police notified us a few hours ago for recognition.’’ The man’s voice interrupts his daughter’s new attack. I still believe he is the girls’ father. Their colours and their characteristics are similar; a triangular small face.
‘‘As you understand we can’t give you many details, but the only thing I can tell you is that we are not going to single out any case. I don’t know if this comforts you, but we will soon have answers for everything. I assure you. Whoever did it won’t remain unpunished.’’
Surely nothing can soothe the pain of a mother who lost her child or of a sister who lost her other half; however, the arrest of a killer can offer a limited relief. It is not revenge. It is justice.
This justice is also sought by the commander of our Department. More specifically, he is seeking it from Peter. Threateningly. Extortionately. I open the door of his office and see him standing turned back looking below out of the window; it’s an awkward position while waiting for the reports of two murders. Peter comes out in front of me and for a start I choose the position of the spectator in the battle that will take place in the next minutes.
The commander meets Peter with a small turn to the left. He is not very likeable by any of us in the Department, since he is more interested in his looks and image, rather than finding the truth. This is the reason I do not appreciate him. The rest attribute him abuse of power and derogatory behavior and they also question his recruiting decisions. Peter usually accuses him of being an obstacle to the undergoing investigations.
He approaches us keeping his hands crossed. I am sure my husband would love to see him tied and gagged to the chair. I am reading his thought. The commander raises and lowers his head, as a sign of starting the war. Peter is ready to open his lips, but loses his chance.
‘‘I trusted you again,’’ the commander says and half closes his eyes.
‘‘You gave your consent to his release. There was no evidence,’’ he apologizes, but I am s
ure this is not a strong argument for his capabilities.
‘‘Since when do we expect new murders to catch a killer, Peter? Are you kidding me?’’ Release of ammunition.
‘‘The situation is complicated. We have a new suspect. One of Natalie’s friends knew Aphrodite as well. She and the composer are the only people who knew both victims.’’
He looks at him questioningly. The gaze Peter hates. ‘‘I need incriminating evidence to go on trial. I am not interested in the rest at all. The reporters are pressing us. We have to say something. The days are passing by,’’ he releases his hands and stretches them in a straight line, perpendicular to the axis of his body.
‘‘The melodies are very weak, Sir… Nobody will believe a top musician wrote them…’’ he says, and I want to hide my face in my palms.
‘‘Ghost hunting once more, Peter…’’ he laughs at him. He is enjoying it. ‘‘Do you want to share with me your theory about Aris again?’’ he laughs again, this time louder. ‘‘The only thing I want is for the case to be closed before we enter the crossfire. My name is at stake here…’’ Before completing his speech, he decides to turn to me. ‘‘What do you think, Magda?’’
I feel the way he expresses himself degrades me from Lieutenant A to a simple constable. ‘‘I agree with Peter. There is no motive on the composer’s part, while her friend could be jealous of Natalie’s life and social circle.’’
‘‘Make sure I don’t find any motive to remove both of you from the homicide department.’’
We submissively accept his indefinite threat, and we leave the office. I choose to close the door, because if my husband does, I suppose he will be charged with destruction of public property. Time is running out. It is trying to chase us, on a day that seems endless.
The Last Symphony Page 18