Chapter 106
Four days after finding the Captain Stratos, Ashby was back in Athens and staying at The Lord Byron. He’d spoken to Stefanides and Nikos a few days earlier and it was time to settle with them.
Stefanides had asked for the money in cash but Nikos wanted it in his bank account. The barman had fully recovered from his injuries by this time and was ready to travel to Toronto with his wife. After waiting for so long, their visas had finally been approved.
In a bank near Syntagma Square, Ashby asked his agent to draw two hundred thousand dollars on his London account a few days earlier. Half of the money had been transferred to Nikos. The other half was counted out in front of Ashby and placed in Stefanides’ brief case. It was to be taken with him on holiday to Switzerland and deposited in a bank in Winterthur where anonymity was assured.
“A pleasure to do business with you,” said the proprietor of the Perikles Hotel. “And I hope you will remember me for future, uh.....projects. This one was unusual and not in my ordinary line of business.”
“Yes, it certainly was unusual,” said Ashby. “For a moment, I thought we’d have to persuade Christoforou to be more forthcoming.”
“You’ve reminded me – the Inspector from Special Branch told me that Christoforou is being charged with piracy, gun-running and some other things. His trial is coming up shortly. The inspector asked me if we would see Christoforou with him because we found the Captain Stratos. We might be witnesses for the prosecution. The police think we might get him to talk. Are you able to go ?”
“Of course. He must be angry at having to take all the blame.”
“One day, he will have his revenge.”
Stefanides was right. Since Christoforou’s arrest at the Parthenon, weeks had passed. In the meantime, he’d been held at the State Prison at Glyfada. The police had visited him several times to get a confession from him but had gotten nowhere. It was only when additional charges were added of piracy, dereliction of duty on the high seas (which carried more than ten years in gaol) and most seriously, gun-running, that he realised he’d been snared well and truly. He was rotting in prison while his accomplices were free with his share of the loot – or at least, that was what he thought.
Two weeks before he was to go on trial, his advocate saw him in an interview room in the prison. From the prosecution papers, it didn’t look good. If he was found guilty after a long and expensive trial, his sentence would attract no discount. The newest charges of piracy and gun-running could add another ten years to an already lengthy gaol term.
He felt as if they were backing him into a corner.
“If I give them the statement they want and plead guilty, how much time am I looking at ?” he asked his barrister.
“The police have said they can make no promises but if you co-operate, they will drop the piracy, dereliction and gun-running charges – because they would need more evidence – and it would be difficult to get – but the original charges would stay.”
“So, at best, I could be looking at around seven years – or maybe upwards of ten years. And with parole – maybe five to seven ?”
“Roughly speaking, yes.”
“And if I don’t co-operate, I could get thirty or forty years.”
“Again, that’s a fair estimate – and limited parole. As you would expect, our penal code is tough on piracy and gun-running. These are very serious offences, potentially involving thousands of people and war and bloodshed.”
While this was being said, Christoforou paced around the interview room like a caged animal, under the watchful eye of a prison officer. As he looked up at the barred skylight, he gave a sigh and said angrily, “Alright then. I’ll make a statement – but I want it to be known in court that I’m sticking my neck out to do it. If I make a full confession, I’ll need protection inside here or in any other prison I’m sent to. They don’t like grasses.”
When this was put to the police, they said he would be isolated from the other prisoners as Christoforou wanted. Then they rang Stefanides and asked him and Ashby to join them when they were to interview the prisoner. Their presence would be a reminder that if he didn’t co-operate, there would be damning evidence against him.
The following afternoon, Christoforou was taken out of the maximum security wing of the prison and delivered in a black maria to the Police Building near Syntagma Square where two Special Branch detectives were waiting.
When Ashby and Stefanides arrived, they were shown into the interrogation room where the former ship’s master was chatting with his lawyer. When he saw Ashby, the mariner scowled.
“You have your justice, Mr Ashby. You have finished me.”
“The truth is, Captain that you almost wrecked our company – you and Elefthriou. My father spent thirty years of his life building up our business and the worry and distress of Hellas Global’s claim sent him to an early grave. My father would probably be alive today if you hadn’t been part of their fraud. And as for your arrest, you brought it on yourself.”
To this, Christoforou said nothing but seemed impatient to get on with his story with the least delay. He signalled to his prison guard by holding up his hands, manacled by handcuffs.
“Can they take these off ?” he asked.
“Yes – can’t we do this in a civilised fashion ?” said Ashby, as he threw a few packs of American cigarettes onto the table. “And how about some tea or coffee or even something a bit stronger ?” And saying this, he produced a small flask of Greek brandy. When the prison guard objected, the police waved him away and gave silent agreement.
They told the prison officer to uncuff the Captain’s hands and another guard went off to fetch two pots of coffee. A cassette recorder was produced, the microphone plugged in and record mode set.
After everyone had lit cigarettes with the exception of Ashby (who found the atmosphere stifling as there were no open windows), the master mariner began his story.
Plantation A Legal Thriller Page 106