by Leo Kanaris
‘A friend of mine went to see them,’ said George. ‘And then he died on the way from their office. In suspicious circumstances.’
‘Why suspicious?’
‘He was hit by a truck. A truck from a woodyard. If you’ve ever been to EAP on Leoforos Kymis you’ll know there is a woodyard next to their car showroom.’
‘What was your friend’s business with EAP?’
‘I have no idea. Pavlos Marangós says my friend was looking for finance. I have my doubts.’
‘What do you doubt about it?’
‘Marangós is not the kind of person my friend would go to for a loan.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he’s a shark. An obvious shark.’
‘Perhaps your friend was desperate.’
‘Perhaps he was. But would you kill a man who comes to you to borrow money?’
‘It would not be my first choice.’
‘Precisely. So my friend must have had some hold over Marangós. He must have posed a threat.’
Merkulov said nothing.
‘Well?’ said George. ‘Do you see why I don’t trust them?’
‘What was the name of your friend?’
‘Mario Filiotis.’
Merkulov nodded. ‘Mayor of Astypalea. The great eco-campaigner.’
‘You’re well informed.’
‘Investors have to be.’
‘Did you know him?’
‘I met him a few times,’ said Merkulov.
‘On business?’
‘On business.’
‘How did that go?’
‘I liked him. At first.’
‘And then?’
‘I decided that he was not on the side of the angels.’
‘What do you mean?’
Merkulov frowned. ‘He was too extreme. He opposed all development.’
‘That’s not true. He built the airport, roads, schools, a hospital…’
‘Mr Zafiris, I don’t know your politics. I believe in the free market. Filiotis was a typical socialist. All he knew was how to spend! Where is the return on investment? Of that he had no concept.’
‘I’m sure the medical school would have earned money.’
‘Very indirectly, very slowly. Always less than it spent.’
‘If you want to be a philanthropist, Mr Merkulov, you’ll have to adopt a less commercial philosophy.’
‘Have you come to teach me about finance, Mr Zafiris?’
‘No.’
‘Good. Then I suggest we change the subject.’
‘Did Filiotis come to you for money?’
Merkulov tensed visibly. ‘I’m not prepared to discuss that.’
‘I’m assuming he did.’
‘We’re getting off the point!’ said Merkulov impatiently.
‘I have a feeling,’ said George, ‘that we’re coming right to it. I think you were about to finance the medical school, but EAP poisoned your mind against him.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘Two very good reasons. One, they and their friends have been trying to stop him for years. Two, they wanted you to invest with them, not with him. Which I fear you may have done.’
‘That’s none of your business!’
‘My friend was murdered, Mr Merkulov!’
‘I’m sorry to hear it. It had nothing to do with me.’
‘I feel there’s a connection.’
‘There is no connection at all! And why the hell are we talking about this? You wanted to talk about Keti.’
‘I don’t think much of your philanthropy, Mr Merkulov. The fact is, you’re in bed with the Greek mafia.’
Merkulov did not reply. He was staring with surprise over George’s shoulder at something on the far side of the room. George turned, saw only drinkers sitting at tables.
‘What’s up?’
‘Talk of the devil,’ said Merkulov. ‘Look who’s there.’
‘Someone you know?’
‘Someone we both know. Anna Kenteri.’
George looked again. There was Anna, with her back to him, sitting opposite a middle-aged man with a sharply clipped beard and long hair, in a tan leather suit.
‘Who’s the pimp?’ asked George.
‘Andonis Marangós.’
George observed him more closely. A man who had seen everything, or thought he had. Cynically putting up with a woman’s tirade. Flashing an occasional look of injured innocence.
‘You never know who you’ll bump into at the Athens Hilton,’ said George.
Merkulov nodded and raised his glass.
‘What are they doing together?’ asked George.
Merkulov frowned.
‘You ask a lot of questions, but you learn too slowly.’
‘Everyone has his own speed.’
‘OK. Now let me ask you a question.’
‘Go ahead,’ said George.
‘You describe your business as research. What kind of research?’
‘General.’
Merkulov echoed him. ‘General?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What exactly do you mean by that?’
‘Anything I’m paid to do.’
‘I see. And who pays you?’
‘Private customers.’
Merkulov drew his phone from his pocket and tapped it a few times. ‘I find you evasive, Mr Zafiris. Let’s see if I can do a little better than you. You live at 43 Aristotle Street, Exarchia. You were born 28th October 1969. You were educated at Athens College and the London School of Economics. You have a wife, Zoe, and a son, Nick, currently studying at Newcastle University. You worked for the National Bank of Greece for twelve years before moving to your current profession…’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘Private Detective! Well, well, well! You didn’t tell me that!’
‘I didn’t lie to you.’
‘There’s lying and there’s evasion. They are very close. I don’t care for either.’
‘I’m not sure it matters any more,’ said George.
‘It always matters. Now let’s go back to something you said earlier. You say I’m in bed with the mafia.’
‘I do.’
‘You’re going to leave it at that?’
‘Do you have anything to add?’
‘It’s a hell of an accusation!’ said Merkulov.
‘It’s not an accusation. It’s a warning.’
‘I call it bullshit. I never dealt with this punk or his mad brother Pavlos. The one I know is Efthimios. He’s worth the other two put together and multiplied by a thousand. I was going to invest in your friend Filiotis’s scheme but Efthimios pointed out its weaknesses.’
‘For his own purposes!’
‘Maybe. But weaknesses nonetheless.’
‘It was no reason to kill him.’
‘Efthimios wouldn’t have done that.’
‘Pavlos?’
‘Possibly,’ said Merkulov. ‘But I see no motive.’
‘Maybe Filiotis threatened to expose them?’
‘They wouldn’t worry about that.’
‘They would if it ruined things with you.’
Merkulov considered this.
‘How much is at stake?’ asked George.
‘I’m not telling you that.’
‘It’s got to be a few million.’
‘No comment.’
‘I just hope you’re in a position to get out.’
Merkulov tried not to react, but a slight flicker in his eyes told George the message had been received.
A moment later the atmosphere changed. Conversation died around the room.
‘You’re lying!’ shouted Anna Kenteri.
‘You’ve lost the plot!’ said Marangós with scorn.
Anna picked up her cocktail glass and flung its contents in his face.
At first he did not react. Then he picked up a napkin from the table and calmly wiped his face, staring at her all the while with menacing intensity. He dropped the napkin into the empty glass. With
lightning suddenness he gave her two violent slaps, left and right, jerking her head each time with the impact. She pulled back to avoid a third but he sat back casually, tapped a number into his phone and said, ‘Come to the lobby, Ivan. I’m ready to leave. Miss Kenteri will not be coming with us.’
Anna reached for her handbag.
‘Wait,’ she said, and dipping her hand into the bag came up with a small pistol. Andonis reacted with a nervous laugh. She raised the gun, aimed at his chest and fired twice. Andonis’s eyes widened in surprise, his body jolting. She fired again. He tried to stand up, but George could see the strength draining from him. He stiffened, tottered, clutched at the air for support, and collapsed on the floor. Anna stood over him. ‘That was for Keti,’ she said coldly. A rasping, gurgling sound came from Andonis. She raised the pistol and fired again. ‘And that’s for me!’
She dropped the gun back into her handbag, stepped over Andonis’s body and walked haughtily towards the door.
At once the barman was on the phone.
Before she could reach the door, two security men ran in, guns raised, eyes darting. Quickly assessing the situation, one of them held his weapon on Anna while the other stepped forward and knelt over Andonis. He felt for a pulse.
‘Call an ambulance,’ he said to the barman. ‘How did this happen?’
‘I shot him,’ said Anna.
‘Where’s the weapon?’
She offered her handbag. He took it carefully from her, glanced inside, and set it down it on the table next to him.
‘OK listen everybody, we’re all staying here until the police arrive.’
At once people began objecting. They had dinner appointments, meetings, places to be. The security man shouted over them, ‘Forget it! This is going to take time, so you’d better be patient.’
George thought of his arrest order. If the police took his name, he’d be in difficulties. ‘Can I make a call?’ he asked.
The security man glanced at his colleague, who nodded.
George called Colonel Sotiriou.
‘You’d better come to the Hilton bar,’ he said. ‘There’s been a shooting.’
‘I can’t attend every shooting in Athens!’
‘This is a big one.’
‘Aren’t they all.’
‘Andonis Marangós.’
‘I’m on my way,’ said the Colonel.
George sat down again opposite Merkulov.
‘What a mess,’ said the Russian. ‘What a bloody mess! I didn’t like the man, but still! That’s no way to go.’
‘He shouldn’t have hit her.’
‘Bah! Made no difference. She was planning it. The gun was ready in her bag.’ Merkulov formed a pistol with his fingers and mimed the shooting, with George as the victim. He dropped his hand to the table. ‘I’ve seen some lovers’ quarrels in my time, but this was something else.’
Taken aback, George said, ‘What do you mean lovers’ quarrels?’
Merkulov’s eyes popped in disbelief. ‘You don’t know?’
‘Why the hell would I ask if I knew?’
Merkulov shook his head. ‘You don’t know much, do you?’
‘Who were the lovers?’ George insisted. ‘Keti and Andonis? Anna and Andonis? All three?’
‘Not all three.’
‘Who then?’
Merkulov made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘Those two.’
‘Anna and Andonis?’
Merkulov nodded.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, lost in their own thoughts, until the wailing of police sirens and the pulsing of blue lights startled them back to the present. Car doors opened and slammed shut. A group of black-uniformed officers strode in, followed by Colonel Sotiriou in his grey suit. Behind him came two paramedics with resuscitation equipment.
As the paramedics got to work, Sotiriou spoke to the hotel security guards, his eyes calmly taking in the details of the scene. Customers in the bar began to press forward. Sotiriou held up his hands.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, sit down! We have a procedure to go through. Disruption from you will merely delay things. My colleagues will take statements from you, starting with those nearest to the shooting. There will be no queue-jumping. I don’t care who you are. Be patient and cooperative and you will be out of here in less than an hour. Make a fuss and you will be detained all night.’
A police photographer came in with other technical staff. Anna Kenteri was led away – her handbag, the cocktail glass, the wet napkin all sealed in separate plastic bags.
‘Less than an hour!’ said Merkulov. ‘I don’t believe that.’
Sotiriou directed the officers to the first four tables, where they began taking statements. He knelt by Andonis, lifted the flap of his jacket and saw the dark wet stain that had flooded his shirt. He glanced questioningly at the paramedics as they pumped oxygen into him and checked for signs of life. Their faces were stony, their actions automatic.
Sotiriou straightened up. He approached the table where George and Merkulov were sitting. Without a flicker of recognition, he sat down next to George, took out a pen and notebook and said, ‘All right, gentlemen, please tell me from the beginning what you saw.’
36 News Bulletin
By eight-thirty, as Sotiriou had promised, the interviews were over. Merkulov gave his version of the events and was allowed to leave. George stayed on. There was no ferry back to Andros tonight, and he needed to talk to the Colonel.
Sotiriou was brusque. ‘You’ll have to wait until I’ve finished.’
‘How long will that be?’
‘A couple more hours. Tomorrow would be easier.’
‘Where do I sleep tonight?’ asked George. ‘I presume I can’t go home yet?’
‘Stay here.’
‘Do you know what that costs?’
‘No. But your flat is still under surveillance. I can get that lifted in twenty-four hours.’
‘I’d be grateful if you could speed that up.’
‘Don’t push your luck,’ said Sotiriou. George took the cheapest room he could get and ordered a club sandwich and a bottle of beer. As he waited for the order to arrive he phoned Zoe to say he was all right.
‘Why shouldn’t you be all right?’ she asked, suspicion in her voice.
‘No reason,’ he said. ‘Only I’ve just witnessed a shooting in the Hilton bar, and what with the police questions I’ve missed the last boat home.’
‘Anyone injured?’
‘A film director was shot. You’ll see it on the news.’
‘Why would anyone shoot a film director?’
‘It seems to have been a lovers’ quarrel.’
‘Be careful, George!’
‘It had nothing to do with me.’
‘Why are you there?’
‘It’s a coincidence.’
‘Are you coming back in the morning?’
‘I’ll need to stay a couple of days.’
‘OK.’ She sounded sleepy. ‘Have a good night. Take care.’
‘You too,’ said George. ‘I miss you.’
‘That’s nice,’ she said.
There was a knock on the door. George got up to open it. A waiter stood there with a tray.
George signed the bill, took the tray and closed the door. He had plenty to think about, but he wanted to rest first. He poured the beer, pulled the cocktail sticks out of the club sandwich, laid them in a neat pile at the side of the plate, and took a big bite. It tasted delicious. ‘I must be hungry,’ he thought. He switched on the TV.
A news channel was showing images of police cars outside the hotel. This was the last thing he wanted to see, but a shot of the waterfall at Edessa seized his attention. ‘This is the second suspicious death in this town in ten days,’ said the reporter. ‘The police have so far confirmed only the names of the victims, but people are unofficially connecting the two. The latest death is Dimitrios Hatzifilippou known as Kokoras, a well-known local businessman. He owned construction companies, re
staurants, bars and hotels, but he also had a darker side: protection, extortion, smuggling of people and goods. “He brought girls from the east to Greece, supposedly to work as maids,” said one source, “but they ended up as prostitutes.”His name is also linked with the illegal export of antiquities. Some say he was responsible for the recent raid on the home of an archaeologist in Thessaloniki. Rumours about him are legion, but one thing is clear: even a man as rich and ruthless as Kokoras was struggling in today’s economic crisis. With businesses failing everywhere and construction at a standstill, his mafia-style model was becoming ever harder to sustain. Whether the finger that pulled the trigger on his revolver was his or someone else’s is a question which the police, as much as anyone in this town, would very much like to answer.’
George listened in astonishment. Kokoras would surely not have killed himself? He was the classic bad dog, which according to the Greek proverb ‘never dies’. So what had happened to his bodyguards? Why had they not protected him?
He was tempted to call Gavrilis, who would undoubtedly know more, but he thought better of it. The hunt would be on for the killer. It would not be too smart to remind Gavrilis of his existence. Since Kokoras had threatened George, and Gavrilis knew it, suspicion could easily fall on him.
He reached again for the sandwich. His phone rang. It was Haris.
‘Forgive me if I eat while you talk,’ said George. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘Fine,’ said Haris. ‘I just rang to say that I’ve been trying to work out how to get into that damned building without being killed.’
‘Any luck?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
‘Not on the phone. Where are you?’
‘I’m in the city centre.’
‘OK, I’ll come in tomorrow.’
‘You heard about Kokoras and Andonis?’
‘No…’
George filled him in, adding the information he had picked up from Merkulov. ‘Anna Kenteri and Andonis Marangós were lovers. I’m still trying to work out what that means, but it could explain a lot. Apart from that, Mario Filiotis was in line to get investment from the Russian. EAP poisoned the deal, presumably because they wanted Merkulov’s money. Mario spotted what was going on and started fighting back. That’s when they decided to act.’
‘By killing him?’
‘So it seems.’