Andreas smiled. “Okay, so where can I find her?”
“I’ll get it for you.” She turned and left the office.
“Sorry, Chief.” Kouros was looking at Andreas as he spoke.
Andreas stared at him. “You got the point?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Andreas paused. “Do you have someone watching Anna?”
“Yes, a team’s been watching her building since first thing this morning.”
Andreas nodded. “Now, find out what the hell has happened to those three families and where the Kostopoulos family is now. We’ve got to start talking to people. Maybe we should chase down that Demosthenes guy?”
Kouros shook his head. “The prints came back. Clean as a whistle. Not even an unpaid parking ticket.”
“Damn, I’d have sworn he was involved in this somehow. Run him by Interpol, just in case.”
“Already did, Chief. Nothing on him.”
Andreas jerked his head to the side as he swore again.
Kouros said, “Do you think we should start talking to members of the Linardos family? I mean, if all this banishment stuff is true, they’d sure seem likely to be part of it.”
Andreas buzzed Maggie. “Any word on Sarantis Linardos?”
“His secretary said he’s still out of town. She’s not sure when he’ll be back.”
Andreas looked at Kouros. “I wish we had something more to go on than a hunch. But until we speak to him,” Andreas pointed at the intercom, “I don’t see us getting anywhere banging away on garbage cans in the middle of every Linardos family member’s living room.”
Kouros said nothing.
“Yianni, I made my point before about the…” he rolled his hand in the air, “other thing. That’s done and finished, you can return to your normal self.”
“Yes, sir, I understand. No garbage in the living room.”
“Or the bedroom, please.” Andreas grinned.
Maggie knocked before opening the door. “Here’s her home address. She lives next to the Palace at 30 Irodou Attikou.” Perhaps the most exclusive street in Athens; only a few blocks long and filled with money.
“Guess it’s time to shine my shoes.”
***
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. For many it’s blond hair, sparkling (capped) teeth, an overworked gym membership, and of course, big tits. On the other side, it often seems to be his gold Rolex, endless ego, and full-term-pregnant size belly—with the relevance of all else measured inversely against the depth of his financial statement.
Lila Vardi fit no one’s mold. Practically every big-time Lothario, kamaki, social climber, and fortune-hunter in Athens, plus a few visiting players, took a shot at her. She had heard the same lines so many times she feared her eyes bore a permanent glaze. As if that weren’t bad enough, only respect for her mother’s incessant good intentions kept Lila from cutting her veins rather than enduring another tortured moment in the presence of one of her mother’s “finds” for her.
Lila kept her jet-black hair short, her almond-shaped brown eyes bright, her well-toned skin tanned, her figure trim, and her lovely-to-look-at breasts unhampered by a bra. When she felt like it, nothing stood between her body and what the rest of the world saw her wear. She liked it that way. A little sensual secret she kept to herself, for no man had been with her since her husband died. She liked that, too. His memory was the only man she wanted in her life. She was thirty-five and satisfied herself in other ways.
Her current passion was volunteer public relations on behalf the Museum of Hellenic Art. Virtually single-handedly, she kept its world-renowned collection in the public eye. Through her society friends and media connections, rarely a week passed without some story, or at least a few photographs, appearing in one of Greece’s most popular celebrity magazines or tabloids. It wasn’t an ego trip; it was what kept the museum alive. There might be smiles on their faces and dignity in their voices, but among most museum boards fundraising was a relentless battle against fickle giving habits and opportunistic competitors. In keeping with the fundraising truism that “donors like being part of something important, visible, and sexy,” Lila was as priceless to the museum as anything in its collection. And since the museum paid only her expenses, she truly was priceless.
She planned to meet friends for lunch at Egli in the park across from her apartment, but Marios asked her to meet some pushy policeman who insisted on seeing her immediately. She couldn’t refuse Marios; he was far too influential, but she scheduled the meeting for her home. She was certain her place would make the policeman uncomfortable enough to leave quickly. She was used to keeping the who-do-they-think-they-are at bay, especially men.
***
Andreas wasn’t looking forward to this meeting. He’d called the Vardi home, said Mrs. Vardi was expecting his call and that he would like to meet with her this afternoon. He was put on hold for five minutes before being told, “Mrs. Vardi is busy this afternoon. Perhaps you could call back tomorrow?”
When he asked if she would be available to meet tomorrow the response was, “She will let you know then.”
It took a typically Greek, high-decibel level call from Andreas to Marios to arrange a meeting for that afternoon. How Marios ever thought this woman would be helpful was beyond him. She wouldn’t even agree to meet until squeezed. Andreas decided to have a quick, courteous meeting and be done with her. What a waste of time.
Mrs. Vardi’s apartment building was at the old Olympic Stadium end of the street, facing the park. The lobby showed impeccable old-world taste, and the doormen behaved as expected in such a place: courteous to the point of obsequious while they determined where you fit into the pecking order of things. With cops, doormen could go either way, depending on how many favors they might need. Andreas gave just his name, not title, and waited while he was announced.
“Mrs. Vardi’s maid said you will have to wait until she’s finished with her trainer.”
Andreas smiled. The doorman shrugged and pointed him toward an equivalently elegant sitting room. Andreas walked in, sat down, crossed his legs and gazed nowhere in particular. If anyone were watching, he looked as much at ease with the world as a tourist in a deckchair on a Mediterranean cruise.
Was this woman as self-absorbed as she appeared or just playing games? This was an old interviewing ploy: keep someone waiting to put them under stress and establish who was in charge. Andreas wondered if the camera inconspicuously mounted in the far corner of the room was connected to monitors in the apartments.
Ten minutes passed before the doorman came in and said, “You may go up to Mrs. Vardi’s apartment now.”
Andreas smiled and walked toward the elevator as if all were perfect with the world. It’s going to be tough being nice to this bitch.
Lila’s apartment was on the sixth floor, about as high as any old residential building was built in earthquake-conscious Athens. In fact, it was the entire sixth floor with a view of both the Acropolis and Lykavittos.
The elevator opened directly into a large, welcoming entry foyer, decorated in the French neoclassical style of Louis XVI. But the openness, of course, was an illusion, because these days no one in their right mind left an apartment accessible to the outside world, with or without the most cautious of elevator operators and doormen.
Andreas stepped into the foyer, and the elevator operator pointed to a pair of French doors at the far end. “There’s a bell to the right.”
Andreas pressed the bell. He noticed that the curtains hanging on each door did not cover windows, but painted images of windows. And the doors weren’t made of wood, but of high security steel finished in the same style. More illusion.
The doors opened and a woman dressed in a black maid’s uniform—starched white lace apron and all—told him to follow her. She led him through room after room filled with antiques and paintings, none of which he recognized nor expected to. It wasn’t his thing, even if he could afford them. Strange, he thought, with all the dead bodie
s he’d seen in his life, he still wasn’t used to them; but his brief time in the Kostopoulos home made this seem just another rich person’s house.
She led him into a room with a breathtaking view of the Acropolis and told him to make himself comfortable. He expected another let’s-make-him-wait experience. He didn’t mind, the view kept him occupied. He stood by the windows, looked out at the city, and wondered whether those who had such glorious views took them for granted.
“Mr. Kaldis? Or is there a title I should be using?”
He turned away from the window to face the woman standing in the doorway, smiled, and said, “Whatever makes you comfortable, Mrs. Vardi.”
“Then, what exactly is your title?” She did not move. Her arms were crossed and her voice coldly professional.
“Chief inspector, Special Crimes Division, GADA.”
“Sounds impressive.”
“I think that’s why they gave it to me.” He smiled.
She didn’t. “So, what can I do for you?” She looked at her watch.
He smiled again. “May I sit down?” He wasn’t going to let her rush him out of here simply by looking at her watch. That was too old a ruse. She’ll have to be directly rude, something he doubted she’d dare with Marios behind the meeting.
She forced a smile. “Certainly,” and pointed him to a couch perpendicular to the windows. She sat in a chair across from him separated by a small table.
“I sincerely appreciate your taking the time out of your busy day to see me.” He tried sounding sincere.
She simply nodded. Now both her arms and legs were crossed. She wore a black sweat suit, white sneakers, and no makeup. He noticed the sneakers were a brand even he could afford. Maybe there really was a trainer.
“I don’t know what Marios told you—”
She cut him off. “Absolutely nothing.”
He nodded for a moment. She said nothing more, just sat arms- and legs- crossed in the chair. “Why do you think that would be?” he asked.
“Why what would be?”
He’d play; besides, it was her time she was wasting. He leaned forward and stared directly at her. “Why would Greece’s most famous television journalist insist that the chief inspector, Special Crimes Division, GADA, immediately drop everything he was doing to speak you about a murder getting 24/7 media attention all over Greece and not mention a single word to you about why or how he thought you could help the investigation?” That gave nothing away and might just be the kick in the ass she needed to start taking this meeting seriously.
She looked away from his stare, leaned forward a bit, then uncrossed and recrossed her legs in the opposite direction, all without uncrossing her arms. “I assume you mean Sotiris Kostopoulos?”
“Yes.”
“I really don’t know his family that well, but my family and his do have summer homes on Mykonos.”
Mykonos, I can’t seem to get away from that island, he thought. “I don’t think that’s the reason he suggested I speak to you. I think it’s more because of what you know of their ties into Athens society.”
She laughed. “Ties into Athens society? Chief, the closest ties that family had to Athens society were the black ones Zanni Kostopoulos wore to formal, opening night affairs. I remember when he practically had to underwrite any he wanted to attend and, even then, most of old-line society wouldn’t be there. They’d wait for the third night, after what they jokingly called the ‘nouveaux rush’ was over.”
Andreas smiled. “Like I said, because of what you know of their ties into Athens society.”
She dropped her arms to her lap. “Well, if that’s of help to you, please, ask away. I think it’s terrible what happened to that boy. Any idea who did it?”
“Not yet, but we’re working on it.”
“In other words, you can’t tell me.”
He smiled. “Did they have any enemies?”
“Who’d kill a child?”
He shrugged. “I’m not accusing anyone. I’m just asking.”
“But I thought it was a murder that happened because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“We have to check out every possibility, and that includes determining if the family or the boy had enemies capable of doing such an act.”
“That seems quite unlikely among the people I know.” She didn’t sound offended, just factual.
“Which I assume includes the Linardos family.”
“Of course.”
“I understand, but the problem I have is that the reaction of the Kostopoulos family to all this was…uh…unusual.” He paused but she said nothing. “They’ve left Athens and put their property up for sale.”
“Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised. “And before the funeral.” It seemed more an observation than a question, so he didn’t answer. She turned her head and looked out the window. “You know, this happened before.”
He felt a chill. “What do you mean?”
“Perhaps that is why Marios suggested we meet. A year or so ago, another family experienced the unexpected death of a child and just as suddenly left Athens, selling everything. I know, because I was in the midst of arranging a very large gift from the family for the museum when it happened. Their reaction seemed very strange to me at the time, but I attributed it to grief.” She paused, still gazing out the window.
“I suffered a similar loss shortly before.” She drew in a quick breath and brought her eyes back into the room, but not to Andreas. “They simply disappeared in the midst of completing the museum’s paperwork and no one knew what to do. Through mutual family friends, I learned they were in Zurich and, when they wouldn’t take my phone calls, I flew there and went to their home.” She looked at Andreas. “I know, it wasn’t very lady-like but, after all, it was a big donation.” She shrugged and smiled.
“Anyway, you’d think I was trying to storm Parliament from the way they treated me when I arrived at their flat. Their doormen, more like hoodlums if you ask me, refused to let me in. Only when the wife heard the ruckus and saw it was I did they let me pass. But she certainly wasn’t happy to see me. I’m not even sure why she did, except to vent. It was three minutes of ‘You Greeks this’ and ‘You Greeks that.’
“I know how provincial, at times, we Greeks who never left can seem to Greeks returning from other countries—I think that family had lived in Serbia—and how hard it is for anyone new to break into the ‘establishment,’” she emphasized the word with finger-quotes in the air, “but what I couldn’t understand was her unvarnished hate for all things Greek. I mean, this was a woman I knew for years, and although we weren’t that close, I never saw even a hint of that side to her.”
Andreas tried to stay expressionless. “Do you recall anything she said to you?”
Lila bit at her lower lip. “You mean aside from her curses that took up half the time, and the part about the only money the museum will ever see from her family is that which they use to obliterate it and everything else Greek off the face of the earth?”
“Ouch.”
“Yes, it was quite a pleasant afternoon. Everyone on our museum board was as shocked as I when I told them what happened. Come to think of it, that’s probably why Marios knew to tell you to speak to me. I’m certain one of them must have told him. They’re all such gossips.” She touched her right index finger to her temple. “There was one thing I distinctly remember. Perhaps because it ended with her throwing something at me.”
Andreas looked surprised.
“It hurt, too.” She pointed at her left arm. “It was at the end of a diatribe about child-murderers, and how the small-minded and jealous of modern Greece were destroying the country in much the same way as the same sort did in the past. That’s when she yelled, ‘Soon all of Greece will have banished itself,’ and threw the thing at me. She’d been clutching it in her hand the entire time she talked, as if it were a rosary or something.”
Andreas wondered if she’d noticed his flinch at “banished.”
“What did she throw?”
“It was a piece of broken pottery or something like that. If it hadn’t struck my arm I’m sure it would have shattered into a thousand pieces.”
“Did you get a look at it?”
“Not really, I picked it up but as soon as I did she started running toward me. I thought she was going to hit me. But all she did was grab it out of my hand. I assumed she was on the verge of a breakdown and just let her be. She was crying and shaking her head when I left. It was a terrible scene.”
He nodded. “Anything more you can tell me about that piece of pottery.”
“It was an ochre color, not that big, about the size of a pack of cigarettes. I’d guess it was something from her husband’s family, a potsherd probably.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because when I picked it up I noticed his family name written on it.”
Andreas jerked back on the couch as if touched by a live wire. He struggled to remember what he’d heard at the Tholos: “Ostracize is from the Greek word ostrakizein, meaning ‘to banish by voting with ostrakon.’ Each vote was cast by writing the name of the one who should be banished on an ostrakon—a piece of earthenware, a potsherd.”
CHAPTER 9
Lila’s demeanor had changed; she seemed almost perky. “Chief…Kaldos, would you like some coffee?”
He nodded. “Thank you, it’s Kaldis.”
She smiled. “Sorry.”
“No problem, it’s probably easier to call me Andreas, anyway.”
Why did I say that? he thought. He knew better than to make the relationship informal. You always keep an interview with uninvolved, responsible citizens on a formal, professional basis. That’s the best way of getting them to talk. They want to help the justice system, not the cop wasting their time asking questions.
She paused, then picked up a tiny silver bell and shook it. The same maid appeared. “Maria, would you please bring Chief Kaldis a coffee. Do you prefer American or Greek?” Her voice was back to professional.
Well, I guess that put me in my place. “American, please.”
The maid turned to leave but Lila gestured for her to pause. “And a frappé for me.” She turned back to Andreas. “I prefer coffee chilled in the afternoon.”
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