Hand of God

by Philip Kerr

  ‘Not since breakfast.’

  ‘You can, you know. I don’t mind.’

  ‘I know.’

  I tutted loudly and changed the subject. ‘I spoke to your friend, Wakeman.’

  ‘How was that?’

  ‘He was a little insulting. For a start, I think he believes that all Africans are crooks. A lot of them are, of course. But nobody likes to be reminded of that. It’s not so very long ago I was from Africa myself.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Not your fault, baby.’

  ‘Well, I spoke to Sara Gill.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The woman from Little Tew in Oxfordshire? The one who was attacked by Thanos Leventis. The killer the Greek newspapers dubbed Hannibal. I’ll text you her mobile and her Skype number.’

  ‘She’s willing to speak to me? About what happened to her?’

  ‘Yes, she’ll speak to you. She’ll speak to anyone about what happened. It’s getting people to listen that’s been her problem until now.’

  ‘I’ll listen to her. I’m a good listener.’

  Louise laughed. ‘You think you are. But you’re not. You get paid to talk, Scott. To talk at the right time and to say the right things. Which means you tend to say only what you want others to think that you’re thinking, which isn’t always the case, of course. It’s quite a skill you have: the art of talking judiciously.’

  ‘Is that what you think about me?’

  ‘You don’t want to know what I really think about you, darling.’

  ‘Of course I do. That’s why I go to bed with you, my lovely. So I can listen to what you’re mumbling about me in your sleep.’

  ‘I think you’re actually quite a lonely man. Like a lot of football managers. It’s you versus the world. You versus the next team. You versus the crowd. You versus the guy in the other dugout. You versus your father. You versus the newspapers. You versus the Metropolitan Police. And now it’s you versus the Greek police. You’re someone who needs to prove something, Scott. Because you’re a survivor. Because you’re driven. That’s why you’ve turned detective again. Because you can’t leave things alone. Because you want to be right.’

  ‘And here was me thinking it’s because I want to help clear Bekim Develi’s name, and to get my lads back home to London.’

  ‘You think that’s why you’re doing it, I know. But it’s not true. You’re doing it because, like most men, deep inside that inflated ego you call your heart you believe that you’re just a born detective. This is just another kind of contest for you.’

  I grinned. Louise had me pegged all right. It was one of the reasons I was so fond of her. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘But I’ve got news for you, my love: nothing in this world gets solved the way you think it should. To your satisfaction, I mean. Nothing in this job ever finishes up the way it ought to. The sooner you learn that the better.’

  37

  Charlie drove me down to the Astir Palace hotel in Vouliagmeni. I didn’t mind that the cops followed us this time. I wasn’t about to do anything I preferred them not to know about.

  As arranged with Kojo Ironsi the evening before, Prometheus was standing outside the front door of the hotel. He was wearing a blue denim shirt, a pair of jeans that looked like he’d been hit with shrapnel, pink S Dot sneakers, Alexander McQueen sunglasses and more gold chains than the mayor of Hatton Garden. He snatched the red Dr Dre beats out of his diamond-encrusted ears and came down to the window of the car in a haze of cologne and ill-temper. If I had any doubt about what I was potentially dealing with, the word DOPE was helpfully printed in white on the front of the lad’s baseball cap.

  I told him to put the bag in the back of the Range Rover and get in.

  ‘How was training this morning?’

  He shrugged. ‘All right.’

  We drove down to the Astir Marina. I’d arranged to borrow Vik’s yacht tender for a couple of hours, so that I could drive the two of us out into the Saronic Gulf – a patch of blue sea on the edge of the world before it turned magically into a place where heroes did battle with gods and monsters; where Aristotle might have tried to teach Alexander an important life lesson; where there were no phone signals and we couldn’t possibly be interrupted.

  The boat was a thirty-three-foot Regulator with a centre console and a couple of outboards with a top speed of around fifty-two knots. It had been a while since I’d driven a boat so I hugged the coastline for a while, getting a feel for the conditions and the boat, before picking up speed and heading northwest out to sea. On the way we caught sight of The Lady Ruslana which stood off the coast like some ironclad Argo. I could just make out the crew members; against the dark blue hull, their orange shorts and polo shirts made them look like figures painted along the surface of a large Greek vase.

  ‘Are we going to Mr Sokolnikov’s yacht?’ asked Prometheus.

  ‘Not today,’ I said.

  ‘Pity. I heard it’s pretty cool. I’d like to see that sometime.’

  ‘I dare say you will. But on this occasion we’re going for a short history lesson.’

  ‘I never was much good at history,’ admitted Prometheus.

  ‘It’s not the history that’s important so much as the lesson,’ I said.

  After about fifteen kilometres the sea began to narrow between two points of land and I throttled back to a crawl before putting the engine into neutral. I didn’t drop anchor. It wasn’t going to be a long lesson. Besides, I needed to manoeuvre.

  ‘We’re here,’ I said.

  ‘Where’s here?’

  ‘This is where the lesson is going to take place.’

  Prometheus nodded and with his phone still in his hand he leaned over the side of the boat, staring down into the watery blue depths as if expecting Poseidon himself, or perhaps a sea monster. There was quite a swell and it wouldn’t have surprised either of us if something large had appeared in the water. A tuna perhaps or even a shark.

  ‘Listen, boss,’ he said, still looking down into the water, as if he didn’t dare to meet my eye. ‘I’m sorry about what happened, what I did to Bekim. That was wrong and I feel very bad about it. I put the evil eye on that man and I’m all messed up inside because of that, see? I only meant to spook him a little, and that’s God’s truth. If I’d known that it might really work I’d never have done it, you’ve got to believe me. I can’t sleep and I can’t eat for thinking about it. If I could turn the clock back, I would, yeah? I’d give anything. Anything at all. Honest.’

  ‘That’s all bullshit,’ I said. ‘There’s no such thing as the evil eye. You behaved like a twat, that’s all.’

  ‘Seriously, I don’t think I’m ever going to feel good about myself again, boss.’

  ‘Well then, you’re no good to me,’ I said, and placing a shoe on his backside I launched the Nigerian over the side.

  Prometheus hit the water with a loud splash and then disappeared.

  As soon as he was in the water, I sat down at the steering wheel and moved the boat away from him – just a few metres, so that it was just out of reach and the lesson might be learned, properly.

  ‘What the fuck?’ he said as he emerged, thrashing the water angrily with his arms. ‘What the fuck d’you do that for? I lost my sunglasses. And my fucking phone. And my hat.’

  ‘I didn’t like the hat,’ I admitted. ‘To be honest you’re better off without it. And you won’t need a phone out here. There’s no signal anyway.’

  He started to swim towards the boat; I edged it away from him.

  ‘Hey! What you doing, man? What’s the big idea? This isn’t funny. That phone was a Vertu Signature with Bang and Olufsen speakers, its own concierge and everything. It cost me nearly seven grand.’

  ‘For a phone? They saw you coming, son.’

  ‘Fuck you, man.’ He swam towards the boat a second time and I moved it again.

  ‘Stay the fuck where you are,’ I said. ‘Or I’ll leave you here. I’m serious.’

  ‘You crazy
nigger,’ he said but now he was just treading water; and he had one of the many crucifixes around his neck in his fingers as if he was going to pray.

  ‘You think so? Bad news for you if I am. You see I’m the nigger in the boat. And you’re the nigger in the water. To be quite precise, you are in the Straits of Salamis. To the west, behind you, we have the island of Salamis. And to the east, behind me, is the Greek mainland and the port of Piraeus. You could probably swim to either one, if you’re lucky. I don’t know what the currents are like here but you might make it, depending on what kind of a swimmer you are. However, I should tell you that contrary to what most people believe, there are sharks in the Mediterranean Sea, including the big predators like the great white, the bull shark and the tiger shark. Either way you’re in dire straits, motherfucker. And that isn’t a joke but a simple statement of fact.’

  ‘All right, I get that you’re mad at me. But I said I’m sorry about Bekim. What more can I do to prove that?’

  ‘You can listen to what I’ve got to say – not that you have any choice about that.’

  ‘All right, I’m fucking listening.’

  ‘Shit, I know I am.’ I lifted my ear into the breeze. ‘It could be that I can hear something out here at sea. You see, this is the site of a great sea battle. The Battle of Salamis. Some historians have argued that it’s one of the most significant battles in human history. Hard to believe, isn’t it? This bit of deep blue sea, covered in blood and pitch and oil. Men screaming in agony. But it happened all right, in 480 BC, around the same time as the Battle of Thermopylae, and that’s some local history you do know about. According to your Facebook page, 300 is your favourite movie.’

  A big wave hit the Nigerian, and for a second he disappeared. When he came up again there was fear in his eyes.

  ‘Hey, the next time you put your head under the water tell me what you can hear. Maybe it will be the voices of all those men who met their end in these waters – drowned, stabbed with a spear, shot with an arrow, burned to death with Greek fire. Thousands and thousands of men who never saw their families again, whose bones make up the seabed a hundred metres below your feet.’

  I hit the throttle and moved the boat in a circle round the Nigerian’s head; it looked very small in the water, like a floating coconut.

  ‘Now then. Xerxes, the Persian king – you know about him, I guess – he sailed up here with the largest fleet that ever put to sea, in a hurry as usual. Twelve hundred ships, it was said, against about three hundred and seventy Greek ones, called triremes. And pretty much the same thing happened here as at Thermopylae. There were just too many Persian ships trying to get through these narrow straits and, much like we did the other night against Olympiacos, they lost their formation. But Themistocles, the Greek commander, he made sure that the Greeks kept theirs. Not to mention their discipline.

  ‘On board each Greek ship were the hoplites, armoured infantry who fought in hand-to-hand combat. These men carried a sword and a spear and, most important of all perhaps, a shield on their left arm with which they protected not just themselves but also the soldier to their left. In other words, one man relied on another for his protection. So, just as the ships kept their formation, so the hoplites kept theirs. Not all of the Greeks were friends. In fact as far as I can see the Spartans and the Athenians were old rivals and probably hated each other. But against the Persians they were united and despite overwhelming odds, the Greeks prevailed.

  ‘There’s your lesson. You look after the guy to the left – because the guy on your right is doing the same for you. The Greeks were a superstitious lot but when a Persian was trying to stab them in the neck with a fucking spear, they didn’t put much faith in their gods. In a battle it was the guy to your right who was going to look after your arse, and all the lucky charms and fucking prayers in the world weren’t going to alter that fact. That’s teamwork, son. That’s something you can believe in. Be it war or football, it amounts to much the same thing. You look out for the next guy; that way, when the game is over you can look your mates in the eye and know that you did everything you fucking could. Otherwise your team isn’t worth shit.’

  I cut the engine and sat down near the stern.

  ‘Which brings us to the last part of the lesson: you, Prometheus. Now I think you could probably pray to God to pull your arse out of the sea and who the fuck knows – maybe a ship would come along and rescue you. Or you could put your trust in your fellow man, namely me. So which is it to be?’

  I leaned over the side and held out my hand. ‘Me, or God?’

  Prometheus grinned and took my hand.

  A few minutes later he was lying on the deck of the Regulator, staring up at the sun and laughing.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ I asked.

  ‘I was thinking. That’s the most interesting history lesson I think I ever had. Maybe if I’d had a teacher like you at my school, then I might have passed a few exams instead of jail-breaking stolen smartphones.’

  I shook my head. ‘Don’t worry about that, son. If you’d ever passed an exam at school, you wouldn’t be what you are now: one of the most naturally talented centre forwards I’ve ever seen. Seriously. You’re a star in the making.’

  He sat up, still grinning. I had to hand it to him; he was a good-natured kid.

  ‘You really think so, boss?’

  ‘I know so. All you have to do is learn how to play for the team. There’s no limit to what you can do on the football pitch provided you don’t mind who gets the credit.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Besides, you’ve passed the best exam there is, my friend. You’re playing Premier League football at one of the best teams in the country. You pay attention to what I tell you and you’ll go all the way, son. If that’s what you want.’

  Prometheus held out his hand. I took it again. And this time there were tears in his eyes. ‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted.’ He grinned again. ‘That and a new phone.’

  ‘I’ll buy you one.’

  ‘No, it’s all right. I’ve got a couple of cheap burners in my hotel room. Just in case.’

  38

  ‘Where have you been?’ asked Eva Pyromaglou. ‘I’ve been calling you for the last hour.’

  I was back at the Astir Palace, back in my bungalow, with an hour to kill before I went on the team bus to see the Panathinaikos game, answering emails and examining the contents of Bekim Develi’s Louis Vuitton Keepall. I don’t know why I should have found it shocking that Bekim had worn Frigo No. 1 underwear, but I did; actually, I know perfectly well why I found this shocking: Frigo No. 1s are a hundred quid a pair.

  ‘I was on a boat,’ I said.

  ‘Me, I’ve spent the whole morning in the lab on this when I should have been looking after my son.’

  I didn’t answer; I was getting used to Greeks complaining about one thing or another. If you let them they’ll even complain about the Romans and how they nicked everything from Greece – and that was two thousand years ago.

  ‘What have you got for me, doctor?’

  ‘You mentioned a bonus, Mr Manson?’

  I laughed. ‘You should play football.’

  ‘Like I told you, I have a son who needs expensive medication.’

  ‘Actually, you didn’t tell me that, but what the hell. I said another five hundred if you found something. Did you find something?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll send the money round by courier. This morning. All right?’

  I was beginning to see the problems you might have if you lived in Greece. Everything in the country had a barcode and the only unexpected item in the bagging area was something for nothing.

  ‘That would be quite satisfactory,’ she said, briskly. ‘So then; I have a name for you. Nataliya Matviyenko, aged twenty-six, bra size 32AA. Her implants were done at a clinic in Thessaloniki about two years ago. She paid cash.’ Eva sighed. ‘About five thousand euros.’

  ‘Did you find an address?’ I said.

 
‘Yes. It’s in Piraeus, at an apartment building on Dimitrakopoulou. That’s less than a kilometre from where her body was found in Marina Zea. There was seawater in her lungs consistent with drowning, also some diesel. Again that’s consistent with where she was found. I found traces of a lubricant in her anus – but no semen – and cocaine in her blood. If there had been any traces of semen in her mouth or her vagina the seawater would almost certainly have destroyed it; saltwater has a radical pH and is a highly effective antibiotic. I also found traces of epinephrine. My guess – and it’s just a guess – is that she was probably on antidepressants. Lots of these girls are. Although why I don’t know; they should try working in a Greek hospital.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘About her? No, that’s it, I’m afraid. I’m emailing you all this right now. My address is on this email, so please remember what I said. I don’t want the cops having sight of any of my findings.’

  ‘If only you knew how much I disliked the police, you wouldn’t worry about that, love.’

  I glanced at my Mac as an email with a Greek suffix appeared in my Inbox.

  A moment later I heard a knock at the door of my bungalow.

  ‘I’ve got to go. Thanks a lot, doc. I’ll send your money right away. But call me if you think of anything else that might help.’

  I tapped the call off and opened the door, half expecting the maid, but instead it was Simon Page with his training report and a list of possible injuries. His eyes were as bright as marble in his tanned face.

  ‘There’s a slim possibility that Ayrton Taylor will be fit again for Wednesday. I fucking hope so because the Nigerian lad, Prometheus – he just doesn’t seem interested in playing football right now. I’ve tried putting a rocket up his arse, but he just gives me such a look of dumb insolence that it makes me want to smack him in the mouth. At least I think it’s dumb insolence. I’ve got a terrible feeling that he’s just dumb. Seriously, I watched him trying to pull his fucking jeans on this morning and he managed to get his feet caught in all those bloody chains on his belt and fall flat on his arse like a right spaz. If he struggles with getting his kegs on, how’s he going to understand the difference between 4-4-2 and 4-3-3? He’ll think they’re both fucking ten and leave it that.’