Sons of Sparta: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery

by Jeffrey Siger

  Six men marching in cadence, trailed by a long line of black, carried the coffin across a shadowless, putty color landscape. They trudged in silence toward the largest of the structures, the tafos of Uncle’s family and final resting place for his earthly remains. Graves could not be dug in this area of the Mani’s rocky soil and his coffin would stay within this tomb for at least seven years, perhaps as long as ten, until only his bones remained. They would then be washed with water, followed by vinegar, allowed to dry in the sun, placed in a small wooden box, and put to rest for eternity in a drawer within the walls of this same tomb.

  The pallbearers placed the coffin in front of the tafos. Wailing came in waves as they removed the lid, subsiding only long enough to hear the priestly blessing and prayer for Uncle’s soul. His blessed journey continued as the priest took Uncle’s arms crossed snuggly across his chest, drew them apart, and placed them to rest peacefully alongside his body, palms open and facing heaven. Only one tradition from this part of the Mani remained before Uncle’s coffin would be sealed and placed within the tomb. The priest picked up a full bottle of red wine and poured its contents over Uncle’s body.

  Kouros’ mother stood among the crowd of women huddled close by the coffin, shrieking and crying as pallbearers sealed and lifted Uncle’s remains into the tomb. Such soulful, once-widespread traditions were rarely practiced in Greece these days, even in the Mani, but today all of them were observed, for Calliope had insisted it be so.

  Kouros watched Calliope staring at the tomb. She seemed lost in thought. They hadn’t spoken today. Nor had she been active among the screaming mourners. But what surprised him most was when he’d heard she’d not participated in last night’s mirologia. Whatever her thoughts she seemed determined to keep them tightly locked inside. He hoped she was okay.

  As if reading his thoughts Calliope looked up, let her eyes run wild across the crowd of mourners, raised her hands above her head, and screamed, “It is time.” All eyes turned to her and she began to chant.

  It made no sense. This was not the proper time or place for mirologia. But no one dared stop her. She tearfully welcomed and thanked all who’d come to honor her father, taking special care to mention each dignitary by name. Her weeping grew into wailing, a sign to other women mourners to join her. They looked at each other, unsure of what to do. Kouros’ mother stepped forward and began chanting alongside Calliope. Others joined her, and soon one emotional outburst fed another as wailing women pulled at their hair, scratched their faces, and shouted blessings for the departed.

  The brothers looked down at their feet, as if embarrassed by the scene at their father’s grave. But there was nothing they could do. This was their sister’s time.

  Calliope drew one hand down from pulling at her hair and began pounding on her chest in keeping with the slow rhythmic beat of her mirologia to her father:

  “He roamed across Mani like the bear,

  He was a star guiding a thousand allies,

  He was the savior of all his family.

  With his firm hand came great new power to our land.

  He bound us together through strength found in peace with all clans,

  To work as one, not as scatterings of old rivals

  Who faced deadly ends at a neighbor’s hands.

  All those who joined along did for freedom from murder by Mani known,

  And vowed no more profiting in trade off the blood of Maniots,

  But off foreign folk far from our Nyklian birthplace.

  My loving father is now leader to minions on high

  And all Mani and its kinfolk are grieving his sorry death.

  It did happen close-by here, driving homeward

  On the road back from Hades and colleagues.

  Our patriarch dead alone on the rocks.

  Who is convinced he lost direction and died?

  This man still vibrant and clear of mind, who knew the road like his hand.

  His eyes may be closed, but mine are not.

  What brought his dear family to such grieving,

  Mourning a too soon passing life

  And his lost warmth and broad smile upon that day?

  Family ran through his heart, his mission to make us all better,

  His goal came from God in heaven, his fierceness from Archangel Michael.

  Some treachery leaves us all deep in loss,

  For it was a betrayer who sent him to death.

  Now his children and our cousins face danger here,

  At vengeance brought forward against us by cowards.

  Not by men armed for war, but dogs armed with pens.

  Who fear no revenge from my dead father

  As long as all his sons agree that his death came peaceful,

  Along a roadway, not from cursed treachery.

  Let us pray our Blessed Lord on High and the Holy Virgin

  That you show us the cowards that we may do justice

  And turn their children to weeping orphans.

  For they’ll soon find in our God’s wrath

  A thirst for vengeance still burns in Mani.”

  Kouros couldn’t believe he’d just heard Calliope stand at her father’s gravesite and in front of the entire community call out her brothers to seek vengeance for his death.

  Looks like I’ve been worried about the wrong cousin starting a war.

  Chapter Seven

  Orestes had promised to give Andreas a list of persons to investigate. What he actually sent him seemed more like a compilation of the world’s largest Fortune 100 companies having anything to do with the exploration, extraction, processing, or delivery of natural gas. It looked like something Orestes’ secretary had pulled off the Internet by punching in “world’s largest natural gas” in front of each step in the natural gas chain. Not a single individual mentioned by name, just companies and only a few with even an address in Greece.

  Andreas threw the list on his desk. Orestes was an idiot. He picked up a pencil and began tapping it on his desk. No, that’s one thing he’s not. Maybe he’s not sure yet which side might be paying him and he doesn’t want to risk naming some guy he could later end up with in bed. Andreas smiled at the thought.

  He probably wanted police heat put on those companies so that he could present himself to them as their savior. He’d boast it was his influence with the police that started the investigation and claim only he could stop it. If a company he landed with that line happened to be on the list, it wouldn’t be a big deal because the world already thought every multinational corrupt at some level. The trick was not being linked to a corrupt individual at a named company. That’s what got you hung out to dry.

  Andreas twirled the pencil between his fingers.

  All you had to do was look at Germany’s Siemens. Despite a huge, ongoing bribery scandal over its involvement in Athens’ 2004 Summer Olympic Games and dealing with Greece’s Defense Ministry, Greece still did business with Siemens. It would be the same this time around. As long as your man on the inside wasn’t branded corrupt, you’re set. Orestes likely didn’t give a damn who won a bid as long as he got his cut. He might even try to make the same deal with competitors for the same contract. Andreas could hear Orestes now: Give me and my people a piece and I’ll get Kaldis off your back. He’s in my pocket.

  “Miserable bastard.” Andreas squeezed his fist and snapped the pencil in half between his fingers.

  He stared at the door to his office. “Maggie, come in. Please.”

  The door swung open and Maggie’s head peeked in. “Yes, Chief, what’s up?”

  “Where’s Tassos?”

  “You mean my Tassos?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s on Syros. The police chief there won’t let him retire.”

  Andreas doubted anyone on the force would ever dare mention retirement to T
assos Stamatos, chief homicide investigator for the Cyclades islands. For Greeks obsessed with sightings of the powerful and influential, Tassos Stamatos drew about as much attention as the air they breathed. He had the sort of looks you’d expect to see on a stocky pensioner retired from hard labor that a taverna owner might hire at the last minute to tend bar when the regular guy called in sick. But in a room filled with Greece’s movers and shakers, everyone noticed Tassos, for he knew where their secrets were buried and held bushels full of favors for keeping them that way. He’d been a cop since the days of Greece’s Junta dictatorship in the late sixties and early seventies, and been making friends on both sides of the bars since his first day on the job at a Junta prison for political dissidents. To Andreas, Tassos was not just a best friend, he was a national treasure.

  “I’ve got to talk with him.”

  “He’s coming back to my place tonight.”

  “Have you two finally moved in together?” It was Andreas who’d unwittingly introduced his friend and longtime widower to Maggie, not knowing he’d rekindled an old romance.

  “Only when he’s in Athens. He still considers Syros his home.”

  “Islanders are like that. Please, get him on the phone.”

  “Will do.” Maggie disappeared behind the closing door.

  A couple of minutes passed before Maggie yelled, “He’s on.”

  Andreas picked up the phone. “How are you feeling, my friend?”

  “Why is it that everyone asks me the same question?”

  “Maybe because they care for you?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Good point. It’s probably because you look as old as the Acropolis.”

  “That’s more like it.” Tassos laughed. “So what’s up? My love said you had to talk to me right away. She pulled me out of a very important meeting.”

  “Is it already lunchtime on Syros?”

  “No, coffee in the harbor.”

  “I’ve got a problem developing here that’s touchy. How secure is your phone?”

  “My cell phone I wouldn’t trust as far as I can drop it. Too many people want to know what I know and have connections at the carriers to listen in. But I’m using a landline at the taverna. Maggie thought it might be a ‘touchy’ subject.”

  “How does she know these things?”

  “I hope that’s not what this call is all about because that’s a subject only the gods at Delphi might be able to answer.”

  “No, my problem is with someone who just thinks he’s a god.” Andreas told him of his meeting with Spiros, run-in with Orestes, and thoughts on what Orestes had in mind.

  “Orestes is a chip off the old block. The only time you knew for sure that you could trust what his old man or grandfather had to say was when their lips weren’t moving. Orestes is running the same routines as those two did in hustling foreign companies to do business through them in Greece. They didn’t really need the influence they claimed as long as they got the mark thinking that they did. Once they had the deal with the company, any Greeks they actually needed to make it work fell into line because by then they had money available to spread around.”

  “Wonderful system.”

  “It’s not just Greece that’s like that.”

  “No, but it’s a Greek bastard who’s trying to make me look corrupt.”

  “I suggest you tell him to go fuck himself,” said Tassos.

  “Frankly, I’d rather do it to him.”

  “Sounds personal.”

  Andreas didn’t want to mention Orestes’ old interest in Lila. It would sound stupid. “No, I just don’t like the guy.”

  “Hell, if we spent our time trying to get back at everyone we didn’t like, we wouldn’t have time to breathe.”

  “Since when have you become so Zen?” said Andreas.

  “It comes with age. Besides, it’s really a waste of time looking into that Crete thing. The fix has been in for years on the gas. Now it’s just a matter of reshuffling a few chairs at the dinner table to accommodate the late arrivals.”

  “Late arrivals?”

  “New ones in power who could create problems.”

  “You’re one hell of a cynic.”

  “You mean a realist born of experience. The louder a politician screams for the rights of the people, the more he wants for himself.”

  “Spare me the civics lesson. What can you tell me about what Orestes might have in mind?”

  “My guess is he’s selling himself to the Russians. The Europeans already have their connections here and the Americans seem more interested in their own gas reserves. It’s the new boys on the block who need influence.”

  “What about the Chinese? They’re buying up our port operations.”

  “And making them profitable. But they already have their contacts. No, my bet is on the Russians, a big energy player with strong national interests in keeping the European energy markets wedded to them. They’re just hoping Greece doesn’t turn into another Cyprus. The financial catastrophe there threw a lot of light on its gas field discoveries, and drove a lot of serious players involved in exploiting Cyprus’ gas scrambling to lower national expectations. After all, if the gas fields are billed as the country’s economic salvation, that leaves a lot less cash to bury in Switzerland.”

  “Are you running for office?” said Andreas.

  “No, not crooked enough.”

  “Jesus, Tassos, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying stay away from Crete. You’ll never be able to change what’s going on over there.”

  “How can I do that?”

  “Easy. Just don’t go. Get a prosecutor to subpoena records on the project from every company on Orestes’ list. Their lawyers will inundate you with enough paper to keep every lawyer in Greece busy for years. That’s how it would end up anyway, no matter what your investigation turned up. So, give it to a prosecutor and keep yourself out of the line of fire. If Orestes bitches, tell him you did precisely what he’d asked, gone after everyone on his list.”

  Andreas drew in and let out a breath. “There is another angle to take on this.”

  “Being?”

  “If you want to find the rotten apple in a barrel, follow the worm.”

  “I never heard that one before.”

  “Because I just made it up. But that worm Orestes inspired me. I’ll just keep an eye on him and see where it leads me.”

  “Yeah, it sure sounds like it isn’t personal.”

  “I don’t like being set up.”

  “Just be careful. Is Kouros working on this with you?”

  “He’s down in the Mani. His uncle died.”

  “That uncle?”

  “Yes, ‘that uncle.’”

  “I knew him.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Cute, wiseass. It just so happens that back in the late 1800s, when Syros was in its heyday as the shipping capital of Greece, a businessman from Syros with roots in the Mani and a merchant from the Mani teamed up to create a commercial center in the Deep Mani port of Gerolimenas. It thrived for generations. Those days are long gone but many families from both places still remain close.”

  “Yianni thinks his uncle’s death might not be the accident it seemed.”

  “That should lead to some fun times in the Mani.”

  “He’s worried about that, too.”

  “If he needs any help, just tell him to give me a holler.”

  “I’ll pass it along.”

  “Notice I didn’t offer to help you,” said Tassos.

  “The thought did cross my mind.”

  “It’s because Yianni’s problem is capable of having a solution. Yours is not.”

  “I guess that means I won’t be seeing you.”

  “Of course you will. Maggie spoke to Lila w
hile waiting for me to get to this landline and call back. We’re all having dinner tonight.”

  “Why am I always the last to know?”

  “I see we’re back to questions for the oracle. See you tonight. Bye.”

  Andreas put down the phone. Tassos was right. He should forget about going after Orestes.

  “Maggie, get me the prosecutor on the phone.”

  Andreas drummed his fingers on the desktop. “And the personnel file on that cop Petro. I might just have a special assignment for him.”

  ***

  Kouros stood at the entrance of a one-story gray and brown stone taverna built along the road just above the beach at Marmari. Its heavy, dark brown wooden door bore the word “Entrance” in English. Uncle had come to this taverna every morning to meet his friends for coffee and he died on his way home from here. His children thought it only fitting that they host the traditional post-funeral meal of fish soup and fish in the place that had played such a large part in their father’s life.

  Kouros saw the taverna as something quite different. A crime scene. Here Uncle received a death threat delivered in his morning newspaper and, if his death were not an accident, the most likely spot that led to his end. Kouros turned his head and stared back up the road toward the cemetery and the place of his uncle’s crash. But I’m not a cop today, he thought. I’m family.

  What better time to start an investigation?

  “Yianni, get your ass in here,” yelled one of his cousins from the taverna’s doorway. “The priest wants to say a blessing and Mangas won’t let him start until you’re inside.”

  “Okay, I’m coming.”

  Kouros jogged the few paces to the front door and down four stone steps into a room the size of a deep, three-car garage filled with empty, well-worn, square-top tables and tattered, lattice-seat taverna chairs. Stone walls and floors made the practically windowless room look much the same as it must have a hundred years before. But no one was in the room.

  Directly across from Kouros a wide stone archway opened into a much larger modern room overlooking the sea through broad, wood-framed spaces shielded from the winds by transparent, retractable shades anchored to the floor. Lines of long tables ran parallel to the sea, packed with guests who’d come to pay their respects.