The Golden Silence

by Paul Johnston

Mavros wasn’t sure if she was being straight with him. ‘Can you remember where you picked her up?’

  She blew out smoke. ‘Yes, I can. It was in Kanningos Square, one evening on my way home from a reception. I never stay long.’

  Mavros remembered the time Katia’s evening class finished. ‘About nine-thirty?’

  ‘I should think so. I saw this girl with perfect poise and I knew she had something. What I didn’t know was whether she had the dedication. That’s why I invited her for the weekend.’

  ‘And did you discover whether she had the appropriate dedication?’

  ‘I think so. She was going to finish her final year at school—I encouraged her to do that—and then she was going to speak to me again.’

  What Jenny Ikonomou said fitted with the boy in the wheelchair’s story. ‘Do you often pick up young women on the street?’ he asked, his tone deliberately suggestive.

  ‘No,’ she said, returning his gaze coolly. ‘Only when I see an outstanding individual like Katia.’ She leaned forward again. ‘Now, will you please tell me what’s happened to her?’

  ‘She’s vanished,’ he said bluntly. ‘No one has seen her since she left this house.’

  ‘What?’ The actress’s eyes were wide, her hands going to her cheeks. It was a histrionic display, but also convincing. ‘That can’t be.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is.’

  ‘Have the police been informed?’

  ‘Yes. She’s on their long list of missing persons. They don’t do much to reduce it.’

  Jenny Ikonomou jerked her hand back as her cigarette burned her finger. She raised it to her lips, blinking.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Mavros said, getting up.

  She waved him away. ‘My God, this is awful. Is there anything I can do?’

  Mavros watched her. It was a convincing performance, but what else would you expect from the country’s leading actress? ‘Not unless you can tell me anything more about Katia. Did she give any hint that she might be thinking of leaving home?’

  ‘None at all.’ Jenny Ikonomou stood up, her form beneath the robe surprisingly lissom. ‘In fact, I encouraged her to call her parents and tell them that she was staying with me, but she said they wouldn’t worry. She pointed out to me that she was over eighteen. And she’d been going to stay with a friend.’

  He wondered if Katia was capable of lying like that. Would she really have left her parents in agony over the weekend?

  ‘I want to help,’ the actress said. ‘Can I pay your fee?’

  The sound of a bell came from the summit of the hill behind the house, the whitewashed chapel silhouetted against the backdrop of the sky.

  ‘No, I can’t compromise my existing client.’

  She stepped round the table and approached him. ‘What have you discovered about Katia so far?’

  He met her gaze. ‘Only that she came here, Mrs Ikonomou. And that no one has seen her since.’

  The actress looked away. ‘Keep me advised of any developments, please.’

  He realised he was being dismissed. He walked across the roof-garden and pressed the lift button. The door opened to reveal the bald Ricardo.

  ‘So you’re Mrs Ikonomou’s brother,’ Mavros said as they started downwards. ‘There was me thinking you were a servant.’

  There was no eye contact. ‘It happens.’

  ‘Since that’s the case, maybe you know about the security system here. There’s CCTV, isn’t there? I don’t suppose you’ve got the tapes from around March the twenty-fourth?’

  ‘No. They’re reused every second day.’

  ‘Pity,’ Mavros said, unsurprised. Most systems worked that way. ‘And you didn’t meet Katia Tratsou?’

  ‘No.’ The actress’s brother gave him a sharp look. ‘I was away then. Any more questions?’

  Mavros smiled at him. ‘For the time being, no.’

  As he walked down the long hallway to the door, he felt Ricardo’s eyes burning into his back.

  Damis walked into the Silver Lady, his shoulders back and his expression grim. To his surprise, Peasant Panos was on his own in the main area, hands in his pockets.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Damis asked. ‘Where’s Yannis?’

  ‘Fucker,’ Panos said, his eyes down.

  Looking around the club, Damis saw they were alone. ‘Me or Yannis?’

  ‘Both of you.’ Panos stepped forward, his hands out now, fists balled. ‘You’ve gone off to play with the boss woman and now he gets all the good jobs here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Damis asked, lowering his voice.

  The door of the office at the rear opened and Lakis the Boss walked out, Yannis behind him. They both looked coked up, their eyes bright.

  ‘Well, well, look who’s here,’ Lakis said with a slack smile. ‘Got tired of sucking up to Mrs Chioti already?’

  Yannis gave a manic cackle. ‘Yes, Dami, what’ you doin’ at the Lady? We’re workin’, you know?’

  ‘Good to see you, too, Yanni,’ Damis said, ignoring Lakis. ‘Glad you’re being kept busy.’

  Lakis came forward, his eyes narrowing. ‘What the fuck do you want? This is my territory.’

  Damis shot one hand round his former boss’s throat. ‘Listen to this, you piece of shit.’ He stared at the others to keep them back. ‘I’ve got orders from Mrs Chioti to find out who knew she was coming here.’ He pulled the choking Lakis closer. ‘So, have you been a good boy?’

  Lakis was gasping, his eyes bulging. ‘Yes…ah…let… let go…ah…’

  Panos swallowed a laugh. Yannis wasn’t sure who to back, his suddenly influential former colleague or his boss.

  ‘Did you know Mrs Chioti was coming?’ Damis asked, squeezing harder.

  Lakis’s tongue was swollen. ‘No…no…’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘I’m…yes…sure.’

  Damis raised his other hand round and drew it back. ‘Prove it.’

  ‘No!’ Lakis said, wincing. ‘Check…phone…’

  ‘Good idea,’ Damis said, lowering his fist. ‘I’ll check the numbers you called. Then we’ll be sure.’ He let the other man go.

  ‘Bastard,’ Lakis said, clutching his throat.

  Damis smiled at him. ‘I’ll be watching you, you can be sure of that. Now I’m going to have a conversation with the manager of this dump.’

  Yannis tapped his shoulder. ‘Hey, wait till I tell you what I’ve been doin’.’ He froze when Lakis glared at him. ‘Some other time,’ he mumbled.

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ Damis said, heading to the office. Lakis’s name wasn’t on the list he’d been given. He’d enjoyed putting the squeeze on him, even if his former boss probably didn’t have the balls to betray the head of the family. But the slimeball who ran the Silver Lady was another matter.

  He was beginning to enjoy his new job.

  Mavros went back to his flat after he left the Pink Palace. He wanted to do some research on the actress. Although she seemed sincere, he wanted to see if there was anything suspicious in her background. She wouldn’t be the first society woman with secrets. Perhaps she picked up young women on the street for less noble reasons than the pursuit of art. He was clutching at straws, but he didn’t have much choice. The more he searched, the further Katia seemed to get away from him.

  When he got home, he turned on the radio. What he heard made his stomach clench.

  ‘…in an apartment in Schina Street to the east of the park. The police have confirmed that the dead man is Iosif, known as Sifis, Skourtis, aged twenty-five, occupation unknown. According to the forensic surgeon, the victim was killed earlier today by a single shot to the head from a pistol that was probably fitted with a silencer, as no shot was heard in the building. Sources suggest that the victim was involved in the narcotics trade and that his death may be the latest in the recent outbreak of gangland murders.’

  Mavros turned on the television, his throat dry. One of the channels had interrupted its usual afternoon
chat show. The reporter Lambis Bitsos was speaking to camera at a police line in the dead man’s street.

  ‘…and Commander Nikos Kriaras, head of the organised crime division, has just arrived to take command of the investigation.’ The camera moved to the left to show a uniformed man with thick black hair getting out of a police car. ‘Commander, is this death connected with the mutilated bodies found recently? Commander?’

  The policeman came over to the reporter. ‘You should know better than to jump to conclusions.’

  Bitsos stood his ground. ‘But the fact that an officer as senior as you is on the scene suggests that you see a link.’

  Kriaras frowned. ‘I see only what the evidence shows and you haven’t given me the chance to examine anything yet. Excuse me.’

  The report ended and Mavros turned down the volume. Sifis hadn’t survived more than a day after his run-in with the enforcers from the Silver Lady. He felt the case slip even further away from him with the death of Katia’s boyfriend. Sifis was a waster, but he didn’t deserve to die like that. Then Mavros realised that things were even blacker. His fingerprints and his phone number were in Sifis’s flat. There was a chance that the scene-of-crime team wouldn’t spot them, but if they did he’d be in serious shit—his prints were on file in the computer in police headquarters. There was only one thing for it. He was going to have to come clean. Before he did that, he wanted to be fully informed. He rang the reporter Bitsos on his mobile.

  The call was answered with a monosyllabic sound that was more like a grunt than a word.

  ‘Is that you?’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Stop playing games, you old pervert. It’s Mavros.’

  There was a pause. ‘Not the famous Alex Mavros, private investigator to the rich, famous and extremely secretive? Not the rat who promises his so-called friends exclusive stories, picks their brains and then shuts his mouth tighter than a cat’s arse? What joy. I’m the chosen one. At last he’s going to cough up the story he’s owed me for months.’

  ‘Cut the crap, Lambi, I’m in trouble. I need your help.’

  ‘You need my help? You’ll need a surgeon’s help if you don’t get off the line. I’m working. Good—’

  ‘Don’t hang up!’ Mavros shouted, realising he was going to have to trade. ‘I knew the dead man.’

  ‘You knew…’ Bitsos changed his tone. ‘Why didn’t you say so, Alex? How nice to hear from you. Have you got any idea why he was killed?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Not good enough. I’m hanging up.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mavros said quickly.

  ‘We’d better meet then. I’ve got deadlines. How about Café Sonia in half an hour?’

  Mavros agreed and cut the connection. He called a radio taxi, knowing that he’d never find one on the street at this time of day. As the cab wove its way through the traffic, he had another thought, one that made his heart pound. Katia’s father had received a handgun up at the construction site. Could he have discovered Sifis’s address and tracked him down?

  Sonia was a well-known establishment on the avenue, not far from the crime scene. Mavros walked in to find Bitsos bent over a laptop, phone pressed to his ear. The reporter looked up when Mavros approached and gave him a suspicious look.

  ‘So, Alex,’ he said, when he finished his call, ‘you’ve finally realised it’s time you paid your debts.’

  Mavros raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Forget the past, Lambi. Maybe this time I’ll get you the story you want.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Bitsos said, making space for the plate heaped with spaghetti that the waiter had brought. ‘I don’t like that word. You eating?’

  Mavros shook his head. Sifis’s death hadn’t done anything for his appetite. He watched as Bitsos, skinny and permanently hungry, laid into his meal.

  ‘There’s no maybe about it, my friend,’ the reporter said, his mouth half-full. ‘Either you give me a good story or you start walking. You think I haven’t got enough to think about right now?’

  ‘You certainly seem to be on the TV all the time.’

  ‘Mm. My paper’s happy because it makes them look good.’ Bitsos ran his hand over his thinning hair. ‘I’m not sure. Do you think I should wear a hat?’

  ‘How about a burka?’ Mavros asked, unable to resist puncturing the journalist’s vanity. ‘Sorry,’ he said, remembering he needed a favour. ‘No, you look fine on screen.’

  The reporter eyed him dubiously as he chewed. ‘All right, you knew the dead guy. How?’

  Mavros filled him in, omitting any mention of his client and concentrating on the meeting with the heavies.

  ‘From the Silver Lady, eh? You know that’s a Chiotis place?’

  ‘Yes, I saw the reports about the wife getting shot at there.’

  ‘So Skourtis sold drugs for the Chiotis family.’ Bitsos shrugged. ‘Seems a bit unlikely they’d have had him killed for a missed payment. The usual practice is to get the dealers in for as much as possible so they’re even more committed to shifting the product.’

  ‘Maybe he wasn’t just a low-level dealer.’

  The journalist made a note on his pad. ‘Or maybe your missing girl did for him.’

  ‘I don’t think Katia’s capable of killing anyone.’

  Bitsos waved a finger at him. ‘No, I don’t mean that she pulled the trigger. Maybe she’s the link to the Silver Lady.’

  ‘Working there, you mean?’ Mavros kicked himself for failing to think of that possibility. Bitsos was sharp and his years at the shit-face had made him cynical. But Mavros couldn’t really see Katia slumming it as a dancer at the club when she’d just spent a weekend with Jenny Ikonomou.

  ‘Could be a hooker by now. Doesn’t take those bastards long to turn nice girls into dope fiends who’ll do anything for their next hit.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘What? She had a dope dealer for a boyfriend. Maybe he started her on that road.’

  Mavros chewed his lip. ‘He said not.’

  Bitsos laughed. ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘The Chiotis family’s in trouble these days, isn’t it?’ Mavros said, fishing for information. He had to follow the lead to the Silver Lady and he wanted to know what he was up against.

  ‘You could say that. On the other hand, you could say that their rivals are further down the sewer.’

  ‘The opposition being?’

  Bitsos’s eyes glinted. Despite his complaint about Mavros’s failure to pay him back, the reporter liked nothing better than to show off his encyclopaedic knowledge of the Athenian underworld. ‘The main opposition being Russians. There’s a guy who calls himself Fyodor. He made the trip from the former Soviet Union not long after the break-up. He keeps his head down, but he’s built up a major network. That transport company where the last body was found is his. He’s got all sorts of operations, some of them legitimate and others very definitely not.’

  ‘Drugs, hookers, protection, smuggling, that kind of thing?’

  ‘That kind of thing.’ Bitsos wiped his plate with a piece of bread. ‘He has some really nasty fuckers working for him. Mind you, so does the Chiotis family. That guy who was found hanging from the company’s logo, I reckon he was a numbers man—he was thin and weedy, his hands had never squeezed anything harder than a lemon. You should have seen the state of him. We weren’t able to print the photos. The poor bastard had fish hooks all over his body, would you believe?’

  Mavros shivered. If Katia had got herself involved with people like that, he was taking a big risk going after her. Her boyfriend had already paid the price. ‘Anything you can tell me about the scene at Sifis Skourtis’s place?’

  Bitsos glanced at his notes. ‘Nothing special. Plenty of drug traces, mainly heroin and grass. They’ve found some fingerprints in the main room too. Probably customers.’

  Mavros kept his eyes down.

  ‘There were no witnesses, no one heard the shot. They reckon the time of death was between nine and ten this mor
ning. Everyone else from the building was either out or still in bed. There are a couple of night-shift workers.’

  ‘Who found the body?’

  Bitsos grinned. ‘Local resident, piss artist by the look of him. He came back from work at one o’clock, saw the open door and made the mistake of walking in. Blood all over the hall, then vomit all over the landing, the latter his.’

  Mavros rubbed his chin. That was another reason to speak to the commander. The drinker had seen him twice, once lurking outside. Maybe he wouldn’t remember, maybe he’d be too scared to talk, but Mavros couldn’t be sure.

  ‘What’s the matter with you, Alex?’ the reporter said with unusual concern. ‘You look strung out. Drink some water.’

  ‘Listen, I was in that flat not long ago. I have to talk to the commander.’

  ‘Be careful what you tell Kriaras, Alex. He’s about as reliable as a cardboard house in a hurricane.’

  ‘I’ve noticed.’

  Bitsos raised a hand for the bill. ‘Make sure you only tell him the bare minimum.’ He tapped his nose. ‘And if he lets anything drop, I want to hear about it.’

  Mavros got to his feet and put some money down. ‘I’m paying. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Make sure you are. And be careful at the Silver Lady. The assassination attempt will have made them jumpy.’

  They’re already jumpy, Mavros thought as he walked on to the avenue. A sensible man would leave the low life to fight it out among themselves. Then he thought of Katia’s parents. He had to find her for them, no matter where she was.

  The Father was at the summit of the hill, looking down at the city all around. He hadn’t told the Son where he was going and he’d be out of contact if there was a message from the woman, but he was entitled to time on his own. In the morning he’d stood on the street where the interrogation centre used to be. He was a young man when he worked there. Recalling that work made his spirit soar.

  Now the Father took in the city that he’d loved so much and felt despair rise up. Over to his left was the suburb where he grew up. He’d never returned to it. When he joined the army, the place was full of Communists. Many had been hunted down during the dictatorship, but since then the jackals of the Left had prevailed there as everywhere else. It wasn’t safe for him to go back, even with his moustache and the passing of the years. Straight ahead was the Acropolis, the Parthenon’s ruined perfection a symbol of the country’s decline. The ancients had the right idea—no votes for workers and women. It was only in modern times that society had been corrupted by progressive ideas. The bastards even hated the nation now, the nation that thousands of men had given their lives to save. The ingrates.