‘But I’ll give you one thing.’
‘What?’ he asked, genuinely curious.
‘You’re above board. You might use pressure to come up with a story or exaggerate your reports or make us out to be incompetent, but you never do it for your own ends. You don’t try to scare or blackmail to make money for your businesses.’
He eyed me with satisfaction. ‘I’m glad you give me that at least,’ he said, his face beaming.
‘So what’s your relation with Vakirtzis that makes you want to cover for him? Didn’t you see his place?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re still in any doubt?’ I didn’t want to say anything about the notes we’d found on Stefanakos’s laptop because it would only start his mouth watering. ‘I still haven’t found out how and from where he was filling his pockets, but he certainly had his finger in several pies, and I think you know about it. So why give me all that stuff about solidarity? What kind of solidarity is that? The “heat of the moment” kind?’
‘Or the “anything for a comfortable life” kind,’ he replied with a bitter smile. ‘Why bother yourself about it?’ He was silent for a moment and then added without looking at me: ‘Vakirtzis had a brother, Menelaos Vakirtzis.’
The ‘M’ in Stefanakos’s notes, I thought to myself. An entire cooperative was starting to appear. Favieros and his wife, Stefanakos and Lilian Stathatos, and the two brothers, Apostolos and Menelaos Vakirtzis. Of course, the last two were probably on the fringes of the group as they had to secure their participation through pressure and blackmail.
‘You may have heard of Menelaos Vakirtzis as a mayor,’ Sotiropoulos went on. ‘But he’s also a businessman. One of those who, unofficially, are surrounded by misappropriation, scandals, unfair trading and so on. Officially, however, nothing ever comes out into the open. On the contrary, he’s continually nominated for mayor and he’s been elected on the last three occasions. It’s rumoured that all the hushing up and the nominations are due to his brother.’ He turned and looked at me with that ironic expression of his. ‘If you want, wait another three years. If he doesn’t stand at the next local elections or if there’s suddenly a shower of allegations, it means that the rumours were right.’
‘Too long to wait.’
‘So start investigating Menelaos Vakirtzis right away.’
‘Don’t you know what businesses he was involved in?’ I asked, in the hope he might know something and save me some time.
‘No, and I’m not interested any more. Since Vakirtzis died, his brother has ceased to concern me. He’ll either make it as a businessman or he’ll come to a bad end as mayor.’
The idea flashed through my mind to assign this too to Ghikas. But I immediately rejected it. I didn’t know whether Menelaos Vakirtzis still had clout even after his brother’s death. And it would have been a mistake to ask Ghikas to investigate people with clout. If he didn’t refuse straight out, he’d no doubt feel so uncomfortable that he would go too easy on them.
I was about to settle on Koula and her cousin again when Zamanis suddenly came to mind. He’d be sure to know whether Favieros had any delings with Menelaos Vakirtzis. I also remembered something else that Stefanakos had noted: that his wife had paid ‘M’ in gold. It might have meant that she had contributed financially to his election campaign just as Favieros might have done. Again, Zamanis would be the one to know.
Of course, I knew from Yannelis that I wasn’t his favourite person, but I wasn’t going to lose any sleep over that. I wanted answers. Whether he gave them to me with a smile or with a frown made absolutely no difference to me.
On the other hand, it would be a good idea to get Koula to investigate Menelaos Vakirtzis so that I could go to see Zamanis prepared.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ I said to Sotiropoulos and I got up to phone Koula.
When I returned, Sotiropoulos had finished his iced coffee and was about to get up, but I stopped him.
‘There’s something else I want you to tell me. Do you know whether Favieros and Stefanakos’s wife contributed to Menelaos Vakirtzis’s election campaign?’
Sotiropoulos shrugged. ‘It’s very likely. But what do you have to gain by finding out? Parliamentary candidates, candidates for mayor, even candidates for the town council all find various ways of getting money out of businessmen. The businessmen give something to everyone, not because they expect to get it back, but because they believe in being safe rather than sorry. In my opinion, you’ll get far more mileage out of investigating Menelaos Vakirtzis’s businesses.’
‘I intend to do that anyway. But if I manage to unravel the thread linking Vakirtzis’s campaign contributors, I may come up with a lead to something else.’
Sotiropoulos gazed at me and smiled. ‘You’re a smart customer,’ he said. ‘It’s not that common in the Greek Police Force, but you’re a smart customer.’ He paused for a moment and added: ‘I’ll make a few discreet enquiries. If I find out anything, I’ll call you.’
We both got up to go: he to his TV channel and I to see Zamanis. I reached into my pocket to pay, but he stopped me.
‘My turn,’ he said. ‘You paid last time.’
I hadn’t paid, in fact, but I appreciated his kindness.
40
The fifty-year-old receptionist put down the receiver and looked at me with a sad expression on her face.
‘Unfortunately, Mr Zamanis is extremely busy and can’t see you.’
I was grateful to Yannelis for tipping me off and I had come prepared. I got up out of the armchair, beneath Favieros’s watchful eye on the wall, and approached her.
‘It’s a pity he’s not available now,’ I said calmly. ‘Please tell Mr Zamanis that tomorrow we’ll ask him down to Security Headquarters to make an official statement.’ The woman looked at me, trying to work out whether I meant it or whether I was bluffing. ‘Following Apostolos Vakirtzis’s suicide, things have taken a more serious turn,’ I went on. ‘We’re now putting all our efforts into investigating the causes behind each suicide, because we want to prevent any more happening. If Mr Zamanis thinks I’m bluffing, he has only to call the Head of Security, Superintendent Ghikas, and have him confirm what I say.’
I finished my little speech and headed towards the exit, but, as I expected, the woman’s voice stopped me.
‘Please wait a moment, Inspector.’
I remained standing to show her that I wasn’t going to wait for long. She again lifted up the receiver, used her other hand to screen her mouth, and began whispering something. Before very long, she put the receiver down and said to me with a smile: ‘Mr Zamanis has agreed to see you.’
I walked towards the lift, expressing neither gratitude nor satisfaction in order to show her that it was all the same to me.
‘Wait, someone will come to accompany you.’
‘There’s no need. I know the way,’ I replied coldly.
I went up to the third floor, passed by the tiny stage-sets with the actors and actresses, and walked into the office of Zamanis’s private secretary. She greeted me with the same slight nod of the head as before and, without saying a word, opened the door to Zamanis’s office for me.
Zamanis had all the topographical surveys and plans he could find in his office open on his desk and was poring over them to underline just how busy he was.
‘You seem to make it a habit of coming unannounced,’ he said to me without looking up.
‘Murders come unannounced too. Of course, the police take them on as contractors, are assigned to them, but neither the culprits nor their victims make any announcement.’
My reply made him lift his head and look at me. ‘Murders?’ he asked surprised. ‘Up until now, we’ve been talking about suicides.’
‘Following Vakirtzis’s suicide, we’re now talking openly about instigation to commit suicide, which is tantamount to murder. I’m no longer satisfying my personal curiosity. I’m trying to find out who drove your boss and two others to kill themselves and how
I might avert any further suicides.’
He stared at me pensively. What I had told him had caught him off guard and had lessened his composure. ‘Even if there’s some logic behind all this, what I don’t understand is why you believe that the cause is to be found somewhere in our companies. There are no deadly secrets hidden here, believe me.’
He said this with a degree of irony, perhaps in an attempt to regain his aplomb. I decided to be honest with him because, in that way, he would be more likely to open up to me.
‘There are two elements common to Favieros, Stefanakos and Vakirtzis. One is their past. All three had met during their student years, had been involved in anti-Junta activities and had spent time in the cells of the Military Police. In other words, they knew each other very well.’
‘And what’s the other common element?’
‘Their businesses. Apart from the businesses belonging to Jason Favieros and Stefanakos’s wife, Lilian Stathatos, there were also businesses owned jointly by Lilian Stathatos and Sotiria Favieros and by Lilian Stathatos and Jason Favieros.’
‘There’s no secret about all those. But where does Vakirtzis fit in to the businesses?’
‘He doesn’t, but his brother, Menelaos Vakirtzis, does.’ I remained silent to see his reaction. He looked at me, waiting for me to continue. ‘Apostolos Vakirtzis was a journalist and didn’t want to expose himself as a businessman for two reasons: first, because he would lose his credibility, and, second, because by remaining inconspicuous he could help his brother much more effectively. Menelaos Vakirtzis had a mechanical and electrical installations company and a security systems company.’ Again I waited to see whether he would say anything, but he remained quiet. ‘What was the nature of your cooperation with the companies owned by Menelaos Vakirtzis?’
He shrugged and answered indifferently: ‘We worked together on the same construction sites at the Olympic Village. We were responsible for the construction, and Menelaos Vakirtzis’s company, Electrosys, took care of the electrical installations.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Yes, that’s all.’
Without a word, I reached into my pocket and took out a photocopy of Stefanakos’s notes and put it down before him. He read it, then slowly lifted his head and looked at me.
‘What is it?’
‘They’re some notes that we found on Stefanakos’s laptop. It says that Jason Favieros couldn’t refuse Menelaos Vakirtzis because his brother knew too much and Favieros was scared of him. So there are two questions. What couldn’t Favieros refuse Menelaos Vakirtzis and why was he scared of Apostolos Vakirtzis?’
He sighed. ‘Menelaos Vakirtzis had become a pain in the neck,’ he said slowly. ‘To start with, he forced us, through his brother, to enter into a consortium with him. We would take care of the construction works and his company, Electrosys, the electrical work. Jason didn’t want to even hear about it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they’re incompetent and do slapdash work. They’re always behind schedule and we end up rushing around to pull the chestnuts out of the fire. Or the work they do is so shoddy that half the things don’t work and we have to put them right.’
‘Yes, but these notes are much more recent, they can’t be referring to the consortium.’
‘No. They’re referring to the security systems at the Olympic complex.’
His reply took me by surprise. ‘Do you also do security systems?’
He laughed involuntarily. ‘No, but in order to get a letter of guarantee from the bank to tender for such a big contract, you need to have a high credit limit. And Menelaos Vakirtzis owes a great deal. So he was putting pressure on us to intercede in some way so he could secure the letter of guarantee.’
‘Does that “in some way” mean that he wanted you to cover him?’
‘More or less.’
‘And you accepted, because his brother was putting pressure on you.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And why was Apostolos Vakirtzis putting pressure on you and not anyone else in order to help his brother? The banks, for instance?’
‘Because he couldn’t touch them. He could put pressure on various government circles, but they had grown tired of him and even more so of his brother.’
‘That brings me to my second question. What did Jason Favieros have to fear from Apostolos Vakirtzis?’
He didn’t answer immediately and I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to order his words or restrain his accumulated anger.
‘The real owner of the businesses was not Menelaos but his brother. Apostolos Vakirtzis collected information on everyone and everything. When the genuine information he had was not sufficient, he fabricated information himself and used this to exert pressure and to blackmail people till he got what he wanted. I’m sure that he had nothing on Jason. But how would we have been able to stop him if he began to defame us or sully our reputation on his programme or in his newspaper? We’re businessmen, Inspector. And any defamation of our good name is detrimental to us.’
‘At any rate, Jason Favieros, Loukas Stefanakos and Apostolos Vakirtzis knew each other from the time of the Junta.’
Zamanis shrugged. ‘Perhaps, but of what significance is that? If you’re looking to their common past and common struggles, forget it. After a certain point, each of them went their own way and, if it ever happened that they had a conflict of interest, you can be sure that solidarity and common struggles would have counted for nothing. Each of them would have looked to his own interests.’
Two irrational scenarios unfolded before me: three friends and comrades with a common past. The two of them – Favieros and Stefanakos – remained associates, while the third was blackmailing them in various ways in order to exploit them. The public life of the first two could explain their suicides. The third had gone a step further than just blackmail and had coerced them into committing suicide. That might have held up if the third hadn’t committed suicide too. If it was murder, it might be the case that the first two had come to the end of their tether and had killed or had had someone else kill the third. But it wasn’t murder, it was suicide. And the first two had committed suicide before the third. I couldn’t work it out, and there was no point in my thinking about all that in Zamanis’s office, so I got up to leave. This time he held out his hand.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said. ‘If it’s as you say, then I hope with all my heart that you find the person who forced Jason into suicide. However, without wanting to disappoint you, I doubt very much that you’ll succeed.’
I shook his hand, without saying anything. I didn’t need his doubt too. My own was more than enough. As I was crossing the bridge of sighs, my pager, that I had started carrying around again, beeped. It was Ghikas’s number. I called him from the phone in reception.
‘Koula phoned me. Go straightaway to Vakirtzis’s house in Vranas. She’s found something that she thinks may be important.’
Koula and Spyros had gone that morning to take a look at Vakirtzis’s computer, after Ghikas had arranged it. I glanced at my watch. It was almost noon. I reflected that with the heat and the traffic I’d be well and truly sizzled by the time I got to Vranas, but I didn’t have the luxury to wait till the sun went down.
41
To go from the First Cemetery to Vranas at midday is not the easiest thing in the world. I racked my brains trying to decide which was the shortest way, but there was only one: from Kifissias Avenue to the new Athens ring road. It’s easy to say, but not at all easy to do, because the journey from Vassileos Konstantinou Avenue to Kifissias Avenue is an ordeal in the sweltering heat. At the section in Psychiko where the new flyover was being built, I ran into an endless traffic jam. While crawling along I passed the time reading the billboards: Maroussi-Metamorphossi in three minutes via the Athens ring road; Yerakas-Koropi in four minutes via the Athens ring road. Athens was, due to circumstances, truly the most Christian city in the world: you had to pass through fire and brimstone befo
re entering paradise. You have to spit blood on the roads of Athens, which are either being dug up, are blocked off or are full of potholes, before attaining the paradise of the Athens ring road. I stepped on the accelerator and let rip, which as far as the Mirafiori was concerned meant fifty miles per hour maximum. The wind hit my face, but the freshness it brought was more psychological than anything, because the air was scorching.
The journey to the junction at Spata was, relatively speaking, a delight, but from the moment I turned into Marathonos Avenue, I left paradise behind and entered hell once more. In total, I had been driving for over two hours and by the time I reached Vakirtzis’s three-story villa at Vranas, all I wanted to do was jump fully-clothed into the swimming pool. I resisted the temptation and climbed the steps leading to the terrace. It was baking quietly and tidily, with its swing seats and tables beneath umbrellas. There were no signs of the turmoil from the night on which Vakirtzis had committed suicide. It was as if it had never happened.
I walked into the sitting room and came upon a chubby woman of about forty, wearing a T-shirt and white shorts. Her hair was dyed auburn and her shorts revealed legs that would have been the envy of any footballer or even wrestlers.
‘What do you want?’ she asked as though talking to a house-to-house salesman.
‘Inspector Haritos.’
My name must have rung a bell with her, because she came out with a ready smile. ‘Ah, yes, Inspector. I’m Charoula Vakirtzis, Apostolos’s er … widow.’
She took me by surprise, because I knew that Vakirtzis was separated. As her appearance had nothing of the look of the distraught widow, I dispensed with the condolences.
‘From what I understood, Apostolos Vakirtzis was separated,’ I said, more to needle her and see how she would react.
‘Yes, we were living separately, but we weren’t divorced.’ She stressed this last phrase in order to justify the legality of her presence there. ‘As I’m sure you can understand, as soon as I heard the tragic news, I rushed straight over. Besides, Apostolos has no family and someone had to tidy the place up.’
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