“Yeah, like she doesn’t already know. Keep on her.”
He hung up just as Kouros burst into his office. “Got her, Chief, and the two guys, too. Perfect shots of all of them.” He put a half-dozen photos on Andreas’ desk.
“Any more?”
“It’s all we’ve been able to find so far. Uhh, there is a problem, though.”
“What is it?”
“The camera covering the rear parking lot—its lens was painted over. From the recording time line, it happened just before Sotiris left the club with the girl. We’ve got nothing after that on that camera.”
“Not surprised. This was professional job. It also explains why one of Sotiris’ friends recalled one of the bouncers disappearing before Sotiris left the club with the girl. He must have had some painting to do.”
“And it gives Giorgio a convenient alibi for why there’s no tape of the assault.”
Andreas picked up one of the photos showing the girl in full frontal form. “Wow, she is hot.”
“Tell me about it, I threatened to break the technician’s head if he made an extra copy for himself.”
“I gotta admit, if she hit on me as hard as she did on that kid, I’d probably be the one in the dumpster.”
Kouros grinned. “Might still be worth the risk.”
Andreas looked at the rest of the pictures, paying particular attention to the two men. “You recognize them?”
Kouros gestured no with his head. “I didn’t see them at the club today.”
“Me either.” Andreas drummed his fingers on the desk. “It’s a bit sloppy wouldn’t you say?”
“What do you mean?”
“All this care at setting the kid up to look like he bought it in a rough sex gone bad deal, but not caring how simple it is for us to get a picture of the girl and the two guys who probably killed him?”
“Maybe they never thought we’d get the pictures from the club, or they didn’t know about the cameras?”
Andreas shook his head no. “And paint over the one in the parking lot? Maybe they just didn’t care if we got them? After all, what we have doesn’t show them doing anything to anyone. Besides, who knows where the hell they are by now.”
“Do you think the girl’s dead?”
“Don’t know. Guess we’ll have to find out.”
“How?”
“Ask Giorgio.” Andreas smiled. “I mean, you ask Giorgio.”
Kouros shrugged. “Okay.”
Just then Maggie buzzed him. “What is it?”
“Uh, sorry, Chief, just wanted to know if you’re taking calls.”
“Not unless it’s something urgent. I’ve got to catch up on everything else going on in this office.”
“Thanks. Bye, Chief.”
Andreas stood up and walked around the desk to where Kouros was standing. He patted him on the shoulder. “Be careful, Yianni. Take along a blue-and-white for backup.” He paused. “Make that two blue-and-whites.”
“Will do, Chief,” and he left.
Andreas held his breath for a moment, and slowly let it out. There was another potential explanation for why whoever was behind this didn’t care who found out about the girl and the two muscle guys: they had friends in high places prepared to protect them. That was not an unheard of scenario in Greece, or elsewhere for that matter. Just the thought of that possibility pissed Andreas off. Really pissed him off.
***
“Uh, Chief?” It was Maggie’s voice over the intercom. It was the first time she’d disturbed him since just before Yianni left his office.
“Yes?”
“It’s Yianni.”
“Thanks, put him through.”
“She clicked off and the call came through.
“Chief?”
“Yes, what’s up?”
“We have an ID on the girl.”
The first good news in a long time, thought Andreas. “Great, who is she?”
“Name’s Anna Panitz, lives over by the university near Filis Street.”
“That’s hookerville.”
“Yeah, Giorgio says she’s a semi-pro; works a couple of legit jobs and turns tricks when pressed for money.”
Andreas had never understood the concept of a semi-pro prostitute but, what the hell, they had an ID. “And the two guys with her, the ones wearing Angel Club tee shirts?”
“He didn’t know them. Said they didn’t work for him and anyone could get a tee shirt. They sold them at the bar for thirty euros.”
That didn’t surprise Andreas. He expected as much, or at least that Giorgio would say it. “Why do you think that prick is suddenly so cooperative?”
There was a very long silence on Kouros’ side of the phone.
“Yianni!”
The reply was sharp and quick. “I guess because of television.”
“What are you talking about?” Andreas asked, though his gut already gave him the answer.
“The story’s everywhere. It broke before we got to the club.”
It was pounding headache time.
“Giorgio said he had nothing to do with what happened to the kid and would tell us anything we wanted to know. His exact words were, ‘I’m not fucking stupid enough to get caught up in the middle of this shit storm. It could ruin the reputation of my place. You ask, you get.’”
Great, thought Andreas. “Did you show the photos to the club’s employees?”
“Yeah, to the ones working tonight. Just about everyone recognized the girl, she’d been in before. But no one knew the guys or ever saw them before. Thought they were private security wearing club tee shirts so not to look conspicuous. Happens all the time they said.”
“Anybody else work last night?”
“Yeah, I got their names and addresses. Thought I’d try to run them down now.”
“Okay, let me know.” Andreas hung up.
He waited a minute before buzzing Maggie to come in. She was by his desk in less than five seconds. “Yes, Chief.”
His voice was calm. “Maggie, why didn’t you tell me the Kostopoulos murder was all over TV?” There was no reason to ask whether she knew. There was no doubt that she did. The department’s secretarial gossip network must have gotten word to her within thirty seconds of it hitting the air.
She gave a motherly smile. “I did, even though you told me not to disturb you with anything but the urgent.”
“You didn’t think this was urgent?” His voice was still calm.
She shrugged. “Not really. There was nothing for you to do but get aggravated. Everything’s being handled by media affairs, and they didn’t ask to speak to you.”
He looked down at his desk. “And exactly how did you inform me?”
She leaned over his desk and hit the space bar on his computer keyboard bringing the screen back to life. Centered, within a message box, were the words, “If you’re interested, the Kostopoulos story is all over television.”
He hadn’t touched his computer in a while, ignoring every message ping. Andreas nodded and said, “Thank you.” He kept nodding for about ten seconds after she left. “Damn it!” he yelled, slamming his hand on the top of his desk and scattering the photos everywhere.
He needed to do something, anything, to get this case moving. He thought of paying a surprise visit on the Linardos household but then thought better of it. He picked up one of the photos and studied it for about a minute. Then put it down, stood up, and walked out of his office. Finding Anna Panitz might work. Assuming she still was alive.
CHAPTER 5
The area around Filis street was not a place you came to by accident. It was north of Omonia, and cops generally avoided it. Sure, there were worse neighborhoods, but this was Athens’ most notorious one for hookers and the parasites that fed off them. Here was where you came to find things the Bible forbade. That’s probably what gave the neighborhood its 24/7 popularity, and cops the attitude of hey, you knew what you were getting into when you came here, so don’t call us for help.
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br /> Andreas hoped he wouldn’t need to make that kind of call. He’d come with no backup, and only Kouros knew where he was. He convinced himself that was the best way of protecting her, assuming he found her. If the bad guys knew cops were looking for her, she probably wouldn’t live long. Assuming she wasn’t dead already.
He borrowed a cheap, beat-up motorbike from the department’s impound garage and wore the old jeans, work boots, and ubiquitous long-sleeve shirt of a laborer out for a good time. He wanted to look like any number of other horny guys trying to get laid.
Her last known address was in a dirty-yellow four-story concrete-slab architectural nightmare. It looked like one of those tenements you expect to see sitting on the outskirts of some third-world slum. Regrettably, they’d taken weed-like root in Athens and indelibly scarred parts of a city once compared in beauty to Paris.
He parked the motorbike across the street and a few doors down from her building. The street was packed with parked cars and motorcycles battered nearly as badly as his own. No one paid him much attention. Strangers frequented these streets. A couple of girls on a third-floor balcony of the building next to where he parked called out to him in broken Greek. He ignored them and walked as if he knew where he was going.
He stepped into the vestibule of the building, under the white light, and started climbing the concrete-slab steps. The address for the woman put the apartment on the top floor. He didn’t bother looking for a buzzer. He wanted to surprise her.
Andreas noticed only two apartments per floor. That meant several rooms for each apartment. He wondered if someone else lived with her. That could be a problem. Just one of many things that could go wrong.
Andreas was at her door. Time to decide. He felt his crotch. That’s where he hid his gun in an American designed holster that fit around his hips under his jeans and held the gun flat against his family jewels.
He listened for a sound but heard nothing. He knocked lightly. “Anna.” He whispered the word.
No answer. He knocked slightly harder and whispered again, “Anna.”
He heard something move inside. He listened. The sound came toward the door.
“Anna.” He whispered without knocking.
He heard a sleepy, “Who is it?”
“Andreas.”
“Andreas who?”
“From the other night.”
“I don’t know you.” The voice sounded more slurred than sleepy.
“Sure you do. We met at the Angel Club.” He braced for a reaction. None came. “Anna, open up. You know who I am.”
She practically yelled, “Leave, or I’ll call the police!”
She must be panicked, he thought. That was about the worst possible thing she could have said if the guy at the door was involved in the murder. “Bingo, my love, you guessed who it is.” He no longer whispered. “Look through your peephole at my ID.”
He heard her moving away from the door. “Get back here.” It was his official, cop voice. “If you don’t cooperate, in five minutes I’ll have cops all over this place, and you know what that means.” Andreas held his breath and stepped to the side of the door just in case something other than an eyeball aimed through the peephole. He heard her step forward and fidget with the cover on the inside of the door. There was no lens, just an opening the size of an egg.
“Where are you, I can’t see you?” she said.
He leaned in from the side and saw an almond-shape, light-green eye, then stepped in front of the door and held the badge around his neck up for her to see. “Andreas Kaldis, Special Crimes Division, Athens Police.” No reason to scare her with his title. “You know why I’m here, open up.”
He heard a chain fumble along a channel, and the click of a dead bolt. The door opened slightly. He thought of going for his pistol, just in case, but didn’t.
A dim light flickered inside, and only the eyes and hair of a woman’s head showed around the edge of the door. She looked different from her picture, almost vulnerable. Her hair was auburn. He could tell she’d been crying.
“Come in.” She said the words without looking at him.
Andreas immediately looked behind the door, did a quick scan of the room, and opened the only closet in it. There was no one else there, at least in that room. A well-worn gray couch sat against the wall across from the door, just beyond a glass-topped coffee table. Two taverna-style wood and rattan chairs stood on the other side of the table and everything sat on a faded, gray-and-red carpet. Each wall had a picture of a different saint. There were two standing lamps in the room but the only light came from a television flickering at the near end of the couch. The sound was off.
“How many rooms in here?”
“Huh?”
She was out of it. “How many rooms in this apartment?”
“Uh, this one…a bedroom…bathroom…the kitchen.” She couldn’t seem to concentrate.
“Anyone else in here with you?”
“Just Pedro.”
Andreas reached inside the front of his pants and gripped the butt of his gun. “Pedro, get out here. Now!”
“Shhh.” She put a finger to her lips. “You’ll wake him up.”
“Get him out here.” He was in no mood to negotiate.
“He’s a baby.” She gestured for him to follow her to the bedroom.
Cautiously, Andreas studied the bedroom from the doorway. Sure enough, there was a baby, probably a six-month old, asleep in the crib. He pointed to the crib. “Stand next to him and don’t move.” He checked the bedroom’s two closets and under the bed. Then the other rooms and anywhere else someone could hide.
He learned three things from his search. One, no one else was living in the apartment; two, the apartment was smaller than he expected because it had an outdoor deck off the living room; and three, the place was impeccably clean and tidy. Whatever else she was, Anna Panitz took care of her place.
And, now that he was relaxed, at least a bit, he could tell she took damn good care of herself, too. Even in dim light, she was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. Probably in her early twenties, about five-foot-eight, with a thin but full-breasted, absolutely stunning figure; one he kept seeing more of each time she moved, more like flowed, around the living room. She wore a man’s light-blue cotton shirt, buttoned only to her navel. He could see her breasts and that her nipples were pink, for she wore no bra. Then she turned and bent to pick up a rattle and he saw everything else, for she wore no panties. His holster suddenly was quite uncomfortable, almost painful. But he didn’t tell her to button up.
He gestured for her to sit on the couch. He sat directly across from her on one of the chairs. He had to regain his focus. She started rocking back and forth, as if trying to hold back tears, opening and closing her legs as she rocked. Andreas moved his chair so that he saw her only from the side. He’d seen a lot of naked women in his life, certainly during his time on Mykonos. Some were as stunning as this one, but there are certain women who, for reasons a man can never figure out, stop your heart with just a look. It wasn’t as if she were trying to seduce him. She was dressed this way when he pressured his way into her apartment, and she was crying before he got there.
He was about to ask what was bothering her when she saved him the trouble.
“That poor boy, that poor boy.” She was crying. A photograph of Sotiris Kostopoulos was on the television screen. “I knew I shouldn’t have, I knew it.”
He let her go on. Silence often made people talk more than they should. Besides, the confession was dampening his desire and making his pants a lot more comfortable. She spoke for about thirty minutes, sobbing and, at times, pacing. He stayed focused as best he could during the pacing moments.
Two guys had knocked on her door one day, just as he had. She had no idea who they were, but they were the same two who ended up with her in the club. They said she was recommended by a friend and asked if she wanted to make five hundred euros to get someone out of a club and into a parking lot. She needed the
money. It was tough working three jobs without papers, and the baby didn’t make it any easier. They never said what they wanted with the mark and she never asked. They weren’t the type to answer questions or take kindly to anyone who asked. She figured he probably owed them money and at most they’d rough him up.
She had no idea who the mark was until the two pointed him out in the club. When she saw the target was a boy she said, “No way.” They told her either she went through with it, or her baby would take his place.
She started to cry, “What could I do, I had no choice.”
Andreas said nothing.
Once she got the boy out in the parking lot, Sotiris was so busy feeling her up against a car that he never saw them coming. Whatever was on the rag they held against his face knocked him right out. Real professionals. She wanted nothing more to do with them, ever. They didn’t have to tell her what would happen if she ever remembered a thing—both to her and her baby. That was the last she saw or heard from them and had no idea how to find them. They always called her and always spoke in Greek, although they weren’t Greek. Probably from the Balkans. She guessed someone from one of her day jobs gave them her address. None of her johns knew where she lived.
“I’m strictly an I’ll-come-visit-you sort of girl.” She smiled and shrugged.
Andreas nodded. He hadn’t said much. Too many emotions were distracting his thoughts. She’s a hooker. Involved in a murder. Okay, probably not any more than she said. Men got seriously involved with hookers all the time, but not ones from Filis. They fell for the high-priced call girls, ones who turned tricks for the rich and married. Some even hooked their johns into marriage.
He knew he was trying to justify to his mind what was going on in his pants.
Anna stood up and walked to where he was sitting. She smelled of flowers. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
She strode into the kitchen and came back with two glasses and a half-empty bottle of white wine. She waved the glasses. “Just in case. Let’s sit outside.”
He didn’t object.
The deck ran the length of the apartment and was about half as wide as the living room. Green plastic sheeting stood at the edge of the roof. It wasn’t pretty, but practical. It gave privacy and a sense of being surrounded by nothing but sky, away from the lives being lived below. It was a place of sanctuary in the midst of chaos.
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