"I won't be long." He got out and disappeared into the trees.
I tried to guess who he might be bringing to me, but my store of ideas had dried up. Presently he came back with a man, but I couldn't make him out in the darkness. As he got closer he began to look familiar. Then I recognized him: It was Kolakoglou.
They opened the doors and got into the car. Zissis in front, Kolakoglou in the back. He wasn't wearing any overcoat and was rubbing his sides to warm himself. He was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing when he was perched on the roof of the hotel with the gun to his head. He looked at me, suspicious and frightened.
"It's okay, Petros. There is no need to be frightened," Zissis said. "Mr. Haritos gave me his word. You'll say what you have to say and then you are free to go."
"Why are you hiding?" I asked him.
"Because I'm afraid," he said. "I'm afraid that if I fall into your hands, you'll send me back to prison, and this time for murder."
"Why should you go to prison? Did you kill Karayoryi?"
He laughed despite his fear. "Do I look like a murderer to you?"
"That's beside the point. Most murderers don't look like murderers. The point is that after the trial you threatened her. You told her she'd pay for what she did to you."
"That's not what I meant."
"What did you mean?"
He fell silent. He wasn't sure he was doing the right thing by opening up to me, and he hesitated.
"Come on, say it and let's get it over with," Zissis encouraged him. "That's why you came"
"Karayoryi had a bastard child," he said.
I don't know what I'd been trying to imagine while Zissis was gone, but that was one thing I'd never have thought of. I quickly tried to work out what new paths this bit of information opened up. "Are you sure?" I asked him.
"I am."
"And how did you find out about it?"
"Before I opened my own tax consultancy firm, I worked as an accountant for the Seamen's Pension Fund. One day, it must have been April 'seventy-four, a woman came wanting to take care of some contributions. She was accompanied by Karayoryi, who had a huge belly. She must have been ready to give birth."
Without doubt, the woman must have been Antonakaki, her sister. She'd gone to take care of her contributions paid by her husband, who was a seaman, and Karayoryi had gone with her.
"Go on."
"When, years later, she approached me as a reporter, she didn't remember me of course, but I recognized her immediately. Apart from the pregnancy, she hadn't changed at all. `How's the child?' I asked her at some moment. She was shocked and looked at me in astonishment. `There's some mistake. I don't have any children,' she said. Then I told her I'd seen her at the office of the Seamen's Pension Fund and that she'd been pregnant at the time, but she insisted that she didn't have any children."
"Are you sure that it was her?"
"No doubt whatsoever."
"Maybe the child had died."
"If it had died, she would have told me so. She wouldn't have said that she didn't have any children. That's what I meant when I threatened her. That I knew her secret and I'd make it public knowledge. I got my lawyer to investigate. When I got out of prison, the first thing I did was to investigate it again myself. I wanted to expose her, to get my revenge on her, but I found no trace of the child. It was as if the earth had opened and swallowed it up. When she was murdered, I gave up on it." He remained silent for a moment and looked at me. Then he added angrily: "Do you understand how I felt? She had abandoned her child to some foster parents and she had me sent to prison because I loved children and caressed them."
Suddenly, the letters I'd found in Karayoryi's desk came to my mind. The unknown N was not Nena Delopoulou. It was the father of the child. He wanted to see his child and she was keeping it hidden from him.
"All I want is to get my life into some kind of order and to live peacefully from now on," I heard Kolakoglou telling me.
"There's no need for you not to go home, Mr. Kolakoglou. You're not wanted by the police and no one's going to bother you. If reporters start annoying you, shut the door in their faces. By now they will have found someone else to harass." He was no longer news. Robespierre had said so.
He looked at me uncertainly. He was afraid to believe it.
"I told you that if you told Mr. Haritos everything you knew, everything would work out. Go on home now," Zissis told him.
"Thanks," he said to Zissis, clutching his arm. He said nothing to me. He thought that if he said anything to me, I might change my mind and take him in. He opened the door and got out, but he didn't go back into the trees. He went in the direction of Dekelias Street, toward a bus stop.
"How did you ferret him out?" I said.
We were sitting at the table in his house, eating roast goat in a lemon sauce, and drinking retsina.
"I was surprised that you let him go, that time at the hotel."
"It was a big risk and it wasn't worth it."
"I don't imagine you did it only because of the risk involved. Deep down, you believed he was innocent."
It wasn't that I believed it. I knew it.
"Anyway, I know a lot of people in the area where you found him. They all know that for years the security police were after me too. That made it easy for me, because when I said that I wanted to help Kolakoglou, they believed me. Whoever knew anything told me. Eventually, I found out that he'd been taken in by a distant cousin of his, who lived between Petroupoli and Nea Liossia."
"I can understand those people. But how did you convince Kolakoglou?"
"I showed him these."
He put both hands inside his belt and lifted up his shirt and pullover. His back and chest were crisscrossed with scars from old wounds. I didn't need to ask him who had inflicted those wounds.
"I wanted to help him because I know what it means to be on the run," he said, tucking in his shirt. "After all, he'd paid for what he did. Why should he have to hide like a frightened hare?"
I watched him picking at the goat and eating it slowly the better to savor the taste. I remembered what he'd said to me a few days ago in the car: You're the bottom. I touched bottom and we met each other. Where? That first time in the security police headquarters on Bouboulinas Street, when we were chasing communists. Now with Kolakoglou, we were chasing pederasts. We were both sewer rats. That's why we'd met.
CHAPTER 43
It was after midnight when I reached home. Usually, I can't manage more than three glasses of wine, and Zissis had poured half a gallon down me. The moment I lay on the bed, I felt the room going around. I closed my eyes and tried to find a position in which I would feel less dizzy.
I woke up with a heavy head. I made a coffee and swallowed two aspirins. Then I phoned Thanassis. I asked him for Antonakaki's number. As I was dialing it, I prayed that she wouldn't have gone away for the holidays. Mercifully, she answered, and I told her that I needed to talk to her.
"Come around. I'll be here."
"I'd prefer that we be alone."
"We will be alone. Anna has gone away with some friends and will only be back tonight."
Athens was empty still. Those who had gone away had not yet returned. Most people went away right through to the New Year. Within ten minutes I was on Chryssippou Street in Zografou. She opened the door for me and showed me through to the living room.
"Would you like me to make you coffee?"
"No, thanks, I've already had one. Some new evidence has come up and I need some additional information concerning your sister."
"Ask me what you want." She sat down opposite me.
"In 1974 you went to the offices of the Seamen's Pension Fund to take care of some contributions for your husband. Your sister was with you. Do you remember that visit?"
"I've been there countless times. How am I supposed to remember after twenty years?"
"You might remember because your sister was pregnant at the time."
Her expression froze.
She opened her mouth. To say something? To shout? I don't know, because she shut it again without a sound, without a word. And then at long last: "There's some mistake. My sister was never pregnant."
"Do you know who it was who dealt with your case at that time? Petros Kolakoglou. He was an employee at the SPF before he opened his own business. He told me that your sister looked ready to give birth in 'seventy-four" I remained silent and so did she. "What happened to the child, Mrs. Antonakaki?"
She came up with the easiest explanation. "The baby died."
"If that is so, there must be a death certificate. Do you know where it is? Is it at the Athens Registry Office?"
"It died during childbirth."
"All right. I shall need the name of the doctor and the maternity clinic so that I can verify the details."
She had exhausted her imagination and stared at me in grim silence.
"The fact of the child may have a connection with your sister's murder."
"No!" she screamed, terrified. "There's no connection! I swear it! None!"
I adopted my friendly tone. "Listen, Mrs. Antonakaki. The truth is always the least painful solution. If you don't tell me what happened to the child, we'll have to start investigating ourselves. We'll go through all the maternity clinics in Greece if necessary. And we will find what we're looking for, you can be sure of that. It will take time. Meanwhile, the gossip will start spreading. The reporters will hear of the investigation and say that Yanna Karayoryi had a child and abandoned it. Wouldn't it be easier for you to tell me the truth, instead of hearing your sister's name dragged through the mud?"
She still didn't reply, but this time she burst into tears.
"What happened to the child?" I repeated, still in a friendly tone. "Where is it now?"
"Here."
"Here? Where?"
"Here, in this house. It's my Anna."
Once I was over my initial shock and I thought about it, I saw that the dates matched. When Kolakoglou saw them at the SPF, it should have been Mina who was pregnant, but it was Yanna.
"Vassos and I couldn't have any children," she said through her tears. The doctors said that Vassos was to blame, but he wouldn't accept it. He said that I was the one who was incapable. In the end, he made up his mind to divorce me. He was about to leave on a long voyage, one lasting a year and a half. He'd signed up initially to get the money together to buy this flat. Afterward, he told me that he'd put the divorce in the hands of his lawyer and would leave, so that he wouldn't be around and we could separate without any fuss. I almost went crazy. Vassos was my whole life. I'd loved him from being a young girl. If we had separated, I would have committed suicide. Then one day, Yanna came around and told me she was pregnant. You've no idea what I felt when I heard that. I was getting divorced because we couldn't have children, and she was pregnant and going to get rid of it. I screamed like a shrew, I slapped her. She waited for me to calm down and then told me to tell Vassos that I was expecting a child. I didn't realize where she was leading. She had to explain it to me. Vassos wouldn't be here for the birth. She would have the child and give it to me"
She laughed and cried together. "It was all so simple," she said. "She went into the maternity clinic under my name. And when little Anna was born, we registered her as my child. Vassos was overjoyed. He worships his daughter. There's nothing he wouldn't do for her. He's coming home on New Year's Eve so we can be together."
"Who else knows that the child is Yanna's?"
"No one! Her plan was so perfect that no one ever found out anything. But you can't count on everything and to think we were seen by that pederast!"
"Who is the real father?"
"I don't know. Yanna would never tell me."
She suddenly jumped up from her seat. She came and sat next to me on the sofa and took hold of my hands and clutched them. "I beg you, don't say a word of this to anyone," she said, weeping again. "Anna and Vassos will find out. You have a home and a family. You understand what it will mean. It will be the ruin of us all."
I didn't know where this would lead and I felt a tightening in my heart. "Listen. If the baby has nothing to do with your sister's murder, you have my word that no one will ever learn anything about it from me. If there is some connection, then I promise to discuss it with you before proceeding any further."
Which is more important? To find a murderer or keep a family together? Both, and neither, and this was the problem. You're jinxed, Haritos, I said to myself. You're always getting into the deepest water.
"Tell me. Do you have any mementos of your sister?"
"What kind of mementos?"
"Photographs ... letters ..:'
"I don't have any letters. Just a few photographs."
"I'd like to see them."
She got up and went out of the living room. Presently, she returned with a box of photographs. I looked through them one by one, but came across nothing of interest. Most of them were photographs of Yanna and Mina from their childhood; others were of Anna as a baby, with Yanna holding her in her arms. Some were from the trip that the three of them had taken together. And there was one photograph of Yanna wearing earphones and speaking-obviously taken during one of her radio programs.
"Are these all of them?"
"There's one more. One that Yanna had given to Anna, and she has it in her room"
"I'd like to see that one too."
She took me to Anna's room. It was a simple, pleasant room, with flowery curtains, a desk, a bookcase, and a single bed with a bedside table. On the bedside table was a photograph in a wooden frame, turned toward the bed.
"That's the one," Antonakaki said to me. "She told Anna to keep it close to her always, because it was one she was very fond of."
I looked at the photograph. It was of a group of young boys and girls in the country, in a clearing somewhere. I recognized Yanna in the center of the group. She was lying on the ground and had her head resting in the lap of one of the boys. Yanna was smiling at the camera. The boy's face was familiar to me. I leaned closer to get a better look and my gaze froze.
"Do you know when this photograph was taken?" I asked Antonakaki.
"No, but Yanna must have been about twenty."
That wily Karayoryi. She was still springing surprises on me even after her death. She'd given the picture to Anna so that every night before going to sleep, she would be able to look at her father.
CHAPTER 44
Before leaving Antonakaki's house, I phoned Hellas Channel and asked to speak to the backstreet marine, the one who had been on duty the night that Karayoryi was murdered. They told me he started work at four.
It was still only twelve-thirty, but I was in no mood to go to the office. The two aspirins had had no effect and my head was still heavy. I was angry with myself for having chosen the previous day of all days to get smashed, and now, when I needed a clear head, I didn't have one. I decided to go home and lie down. I had to put my thoughts into some order.
Sovatzis was off the hook for good. Now that it had been verified that he hadn't killed the two girls, nor had he hired anyone to do them in, we had nothing on him. Dourou would simply be charged with buying and selling children. There was no longer any question of her being an accessory to the murders. And given that we were dealing with Albanian and not Greek children, a good lawyer would get her off with a light sentence. The two drivers and Hourdakis would end up bearing the brunt.
If I hadn't come across the file with all the material on Pylarinos, I might have found the murderer more easily. It was the file that had led me astray. The file and the fact that I had let Kolakoglou walk away. Though I had won laurels for my competence by Ghikas and for my compassion by Zissis. What I really deserved was a slap across the face. Okay, getting led astray did have its advantages. I'd broken up the gang. At least, in part. The big boys had got away, but even so, I'd get a few points out of it. Yet I wasn't happy. I thought of what was in store for me, and my heart sank.
By the time
I arrived at Hellas Channel, it was four-thirty. The backstreet marine was at his post. He recognized me at once and stood up. I told him we should go somewhere quiet to talk. He took me to the security guards' room, which was empty.
"I want to go over a few details," I said when we were sitting down. "You told me that on the night Karayoryi was murdered, she arrived at the studios at eleven-fifteen. Correct?"
"Yes."
"And was she alone?"
"All alone.
"Are you sure about that?"
"Sure I'm sure. I have a computer memory, I told you."
"Fine. And since you have a computer memory, you will have no difficulty in remembering how many times you left your post after Karayoryi had arrived."
"I told you. Only once for two minutes, when one of the other guards came and told me that she had been found murdered."
"I'm talking about before she was found murdered. How many times did you leave your post?"
"Not at all," he said quickly.
"Cut the crap, sonny. Don't try pulling the wool over my eyes, because I know you left your post. Are you going to tell me yourself or am I going to have to take you in and give you the business? If you make it difficult for me, that's also fine, because I'll go as far as having you fired."
His muscles relaxed and he sagged. "There was a basketball game on that night. Just before the end, I nipped along to find out the score.
"What time was that?"
"I don't remember exactly." His computer had gone down.
"And how long were you gone?"
"Five minutes at the most."
"Shall we say ten?"
He heaved a sigh. "Let's say ten," he agreed.
And during those ten minutes, the murderer entered the studios as easily as he pleased.
I let him go back to his post and took the elevator down to the parking lot. It was filled pretty tight at that time of day. Only one man was getting ready to leave. I stood there and waited for him. He opened the door with a magnetic card. I timed it. It took ten seconds to go up, remained open for another ten, and took another ten to close. Thirty seconds. It was not unlikely that the murderer had gone out by the main gate. He hadn't known whether the guard would be missing from his post and would have been afraid to risk it. He'd hidden in the parking lot, waited for the first car to leave and had walked out behind it, before the door had closed.
Deadline in Athens Page 28