Devil of Delphi: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery

by Jeffrey Siger

  “Theo? Hi, it’s Andreas.”

  “Andreas?”

  “Kaldis. Lila Vardi’s husband.”

  “Of course, Andreas. Sorry about that, I wasn’t thinking.”

  The voice had warmed up immediately. A true salesman thought Andreas. “No problem, I’m used to it. That’s what comes with having such a well-known wife.”

  Theo laughed. “You’re pretty well known yourself. How can I help you?”

  “Last night Lila mentioned to me that your wife said you’re having trouble with counterfeiters.”

  There was a decided sigh on the other end of the phone. “Trouble is an understatement. They’re threatening to destroy my business. It costs the bastards about a euro per bottle to copy my packaging perfectly—that’s for the cork, bottle, label, capsule, and cardboard—and then they sell the wine as if they’re my distributors for fifty percent cheaper than the real thing. They even sell it door to door as ‘overstock.’”

  Andreas tapped the eraser end of a pencil on his desk. “Have you tried stopping them through the courts?”

  Theo laughed. “In Greece? Fat chance. I’ve asked my real distributors to warn their customers of the problem, and they all say they will, but I doubt they do. Or at least not in any effective way.”

  “Why wouldn’t they?”

  “They’re afraid their customers might go looking for the cheaper stuff.”

  “Even if they knew it’s counterfeit?”

  “I hate to say this, but there are a lot of booze sellers out there who think, ‘I’m selling to tourists, I’ll never see them again, so who’s to know or care?’ A hell of a lot of them are already selling cheap Bulgarian and Italian wines packaged under Greek names in five- and ten-liter boxes as their ‘Greek’ house wines.”

  “Ouch.”

  “For sure. But my real concern is in markets beyond Greece, places where my labels are just getting known.”

  Andreas heard a clinking over the line. “What’s that?”

  “Some bottles I want to show you.”

  Damn, thought Andreas. Now he’ll be coming over here for show and tell.

  “How about if you come over to my place and I show you the operation? We have a terrific wine-tasting room.”

  So much for thinking he’d be pushy enough to insist on coming over here. “Thanks, Theo, but I can’t possibly get away.”

  “It’s really important.” The tone straddled pleading and commanding.

  “Sorry, I just can’t.”

  Pause.

  “How about if we do a Skype call? I’d really like to show you what I’m up against.”

  Now the sigh was on Andreas’ end of the phone. “Sure, give me a minute to have my secretary set it up.”

  Andreas put Theo on hold and buzzed Maggie.

  “Yes.”

  “I need to set up a Skype call with the person I’m talking to. Do you know how to do that?”

  “I take that to mean you don’t.”

  “Maggie…”

  “Don’t worry, it will all be up and running soon. Just sit there and wait. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Andreas put down the phone and waited. Someday I’ll have to learn how to do these techno things for myself.

  Maggie swept into his office came behind his desk and began to fiddle with his computer. A minute later he was staring into the screen at a pudgy faced, middle-aged man in an open neck blue dress shirt, sporting a thick gold chain and a broad smile.

  “Andreas, you’re much better looking on this screen than on television.”

  Andreas smiled. “Flattery will get you everywhere. So what did you want to show me?”

  Theo held up two bottles of wine. “One is mine, one is counterfeit.” He turned them slowly in synch with each other. “I defy you to tell me which is real and which is phony.”

  “Hold them up closer to the camera.” Andreas leaned forward and studied the screen. “They look identical to me.”

  “That’s the problem. The phony is a perfect knockoff of my labels, bottles, everything but the wine. This is what’s poisoning my reputation before I can build it. The same bogus packaging was introduced in three different EU countries. Counterfeiters are claiming they represent me there, and are selling their crap as my wine in legitimate distribution networks.”

  “How do they get it through customs?”

  Theo put down the bottles. “They don’t. They produce it in the countries where they’re selling it. Or smuggle it in through loose borders.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I started getting complaints from buyers in countries where I don’t do business. One leading restaurateur called me screaming about how ashamed I should be for the garbage I sell as Greek wine.”

  Andreas shook his head. “Ouch again.”

  “I hired lawyers and investigators and they traced it back to organized crime.”

  Andreas focused on Theo’s eyes. “Organized crime?”

  “Yes. That’s who’s distributing it in every country. And not just my wines. Other Greek and non-Greek winemakers’ labels and counterfeit liquor, too.”

  “Who’s making it for them?”

  “Apparently every illegal producer they can find. They supply the producers with packaging, transportation, distribution, and pay better prices for the counterfeit than the bootleggers could make selling the stuff themselves.”

  Andreas shook his head. “Sounds like they’ve cornered the market.”

  “Or close to it. They’re buying up every last drop they can find.”

  “Let me guess. Of low quality wine to substitute for the real thing?”

  “If you can use the word ‘quality’ in connection with any of that shit, I’d say mostly yes.”

  Theo rubbed at his forehead with the fingers of both hands and spoke with his eyes looking down from the camera. “At the high end, they do what’s called ‘stretching’ the wine by blending inferior wines in with the good stuff. They’ve gotten so good at it that some of the big name French and American producers are embedding computer chips beneath their labels so buyers can verify before purchasing whether the bottle’s legitimate. Others try holograms, or fancier gimmicks, but the counterfeiters keep improvising right along with them.”

  He dropped his hands and stared into the camera. “At the bottom end, they add in poisons that can kill but taste sweet.”

  “What kind of poisons?”

  “All sorts of stuff.” He held a can and a bottle up to the camera. “Here’s lead acetate and wood alcohol. That goes in the mix. But they also use diethylene glycol, which goes into things like brake fluid and wallpaper strippers.”

  “Sound like real nice guys.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Theo, putting the can and bottle down. “And it’s a big operation. Best I can tell, it’s one group looking to monopolize the counterfeit alcohol beverage trade. And not just in Greece, but across the EU.”

  “That sounds like a pretty tough thing to do.”

  “Not if you’re organized. Like Coca-Cola.”

  “You’re not suggesting…”

  Theo laughed and waved his hand across the front of his face. “No, of course not, but if you have the capital and proper management it could be done.”

  Andreas shook his head. “Hard to imagine ‘managing’ organized crime types. The ones I know don’t go in for board meetings.”

  Theo pointed at the screen. “All I can tell you, Andreas, is that in three different countries my wines are being counterfeited and distributed by seemingly independent organized crime operations using identical packaging and marketing practices.”

  “What about the police?”

  Theo smirked. “They claim it’s a civil matter, one for my lawyers to pursue. Or the EU collectively. In other words, the bad guys have
more juice with the police than I do. It’s enough to make you want to take the law into your own hands.”

  Andreas raised his hand. “I understand how you feel, but I don’t recommend it. Those types play a lot harder than you ever will.”

  Theo nodded. “So I’ve been warned.”

  “By whom?”

  “By everyone.”

  “Did your lawyers and investigators find out who’s behind it?”

  “At the very top?” Theo gestured no. “No idea. We could only trace it back as far as the top guy in each country.”

  “Do you have names?”

  “I’ll get them for you.”

  “Good.”

  “I hope you can do something. It’s tough enough running any business in Greece these days, but with taxes being what they are, and counterfeiters not paying taxes, there’s no way I can compete with them.”

  “I hear you. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do what I can.”

  Theo smiled. “That’s all I can ask for. Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me, thank your wife.”

  Theo laughed. “I always do. And if I forget, she reminds me. It’s the secret to a happy marriage.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “Plus gold jewelry on birthdays, name days, and anniversaries.”

  Andreas laughed. “Bye.” He watched as Theo disappeared from the screen. Not a bad guy, just worried. Can’t blame him.

  Andreas turned his head and stared out the window of his fourth-floor office. There wasn’t much of a view. Just other buildings.

  “Maggie,” he shouted. They’d found yelling to be far more effective than the intercom.

  The door swung open and Maggie’s head popped through the doorway. “Yes, Chief?”

  “Is my old friend still in charge of organized crime at GADA these days?”

  “Which old friend?”

  “We always called him Rolex.”

  Maggie gestured no. “He was too honest.”

  “Cute. You do know you’re a cynic.”

  “Born out of a lot of years in this place.”

  “Well, see if you can find out where he landed. I’d like to talk to him.”

  “Will do.”

  Andreas nodded. “And what about Tassos? Where’s he these days?”

  “You mean your poor, loyal friend who thinks you’ve abandoned him?”

  “Gimme a break. Phones work both ways.”

  “He’s on Syros enjoying the weather.”

  “Working?”

  “The day he quits is the day he’ll die.”

  Tassos Stamatos reigned as Chief Homicide Investigator for the Cycladic Islands. They’d been friends since Andreas’ days as police chief on Mykonos, and Tassos and Maggie had been an item since the moment Andreas unknowingly rekindled an old romance between his widower friend and never-married Maggie.

  “When do you think he’ll be passing through Athens?”

  “Tomorrow morning, probably.”

  “Good, set up a meeting here tomorrow around noon with Tassos, Yianni, Petro, and me.”

  “And the subject?”

  “Counterfeit booze and mobsters gone corporate.”

  ***

  Kharon stood in the shadows across from Jacobi’s taverna. He’d been there for twenty minutes. Watching. Not for anything in particular, just anything out of the ordinary. Ordinary for this neighborhood meant weird. That’s why he’d fixed on the big man dressed all in black sitting at the bar with his back to the broad, open front door of the taverna. He’d not turned around once, but from the movement of the man’s head Kharon could tell he was watching everything behind him in the mirror spanning the back of the bar. Just what he’d expect of a professional.

  He doubted a man with a private jet would have walked here from the Metro or come alone. He could have come by taxi, but then he’d have to find one willing to pick him up in this neighborhood. Several motorbikes sat by the taverna. One could be his. But where are the others who must be with him? Probably parked away from the taverna so not to draw attention from the neighborhood locals. Or Kharon.

  Kharon had been careful in his work, but there were those who knew of his role in many unhappy incidents, making all who possessed such knowledge potential betrayers to someone willing to bribe or threaten for what they knew about him.

  Kharon did a slow walk around the square. No one bothered him. Tonight he looked as if he belonged there. Twenty more minutes passed before he returned to his place across from the taverna. The man at the bar now sat sideways on a stool, looking out into the street. He waved across the room to Jacobi and said something Kharon could not hear. Jacobi shrugged. The man looked at his watch.

  That was the sort of irritated behavior Kharon expected from someone waiting for a latecomer to show up for a meeting. Quite different from the patience required of a professional prepared to execute a hit.

  Kharon crossed the street and strolled into the taverna. Jacobi saw him the instant he entered, caught his eye, and gave a quick jerk of his head toward the man at the bar.

  The big man at the bar studied Kharon as he walked toward him. “Mr. Kharon?”

  Kharon nodded.

  The big man extended his hand. “Glad you decided to come. My name is Panos.”

  Kharon shook his hand. “You’re not Greek.”

  Panos smiled. “And that’s not my real name.”

  Kharon sat on the bar stool next to Panos but looked in the mirror as he talked. “So, how can I be of service to you?”

  Panos swung around and met Kharon’s eyes in the mirror. “You have quite a reputation for so young a man.”

  “Not so young. We’re about the same age.”

  “Still, it’s quite a record you’ve amassed.”

  “I started young.”

  “So I’ve read.”

  “Then what’s there left for me to tell you?”

  “Me? Nothing. I’m just a messenger. My duty is to arrange transport for you to a meeting with my superior.”

  “You’re ex-military?”

  He nodded. “Not so sure I’d call it ex.”

  “I still haven’t heard what you want with me.”

  “Not my call. As I said, I just arrange transport.”

  “Rides with strangers can be dangerous.”

  “We have no reason to want to harm you. If we did we could have done it anytime.” The man paused. “Up where you live in Delphi.”

  Kharon smiled. “Why is it that bad guys in the movies always say, ‘If we wanted to get you we could?’ It’s not difficult to find me if someone really wants to, but I can assure you, it’s much harder to kill me.”

  “I’m sure that’s a reason you’re so attractive to my superior.”

  “Tell me about your superior.”

  “I’m not authorized. But I can offer you something as a sign of good faith. If you agree to the interview you’ll receive fifty-thousand euros whether or not you take the job.”

  “Nice promise, but they’re only words.”

  Panos waved to the bartender. “Hand me my bag, please.”

  The bartender lifted a small backpack from behind the bar and handed it to Panos, who handed it to Kharon. “This is yours.”

  Kharon opened the bag and looked inside. “Nice, very nice.” He reached in and pulled out some one hundred and a fifty-euro notes. He turned them over, rubbed them between his fingers, and held them up to a light above the bar.

  “I’m not so sure you want to be flashing that kind of cash around this neighborhood.”

  “Why not? It’s mine to do with as I wish, isn’t it? I mean assuming I go for the interview.”

  Panos looked around the room. “Yeah, but I still think you should be careful.”

  “I agree.” Kharon s
wung off the bar stool and carried the bag over to a table where Jacobi stood talking to a customer. “Jacobi, I need your professional opinion.” He dumped the contents of the bag onto the table, sending the customer leaping out of his chair.

  “Sorry, sir,” said Kharon to the customer, who now stared wide-eyed at the cash-covered tabletop. “Tell me, Jacobi, do you think this stuff is real?”

  The customer hurried out of the taverna as Panos ran over to the table. “Are you crazy? The whole neighborhood will be in here in a minute.”

  Kharon ignored him. “Well, is it or isn’t it?”

  Jacobi studied one, then another bill. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and rubbed it across a different bill. “Very good, but fake.”

  “You guys don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Panos.

  Kharon said, “I suggest you pack up your cash and leave before the ‘whole neighborhood’ shows up looking to take it from you. Even counterfeit has value.”

  Panos bit his lower lip and started stuffing the counterfeit cash back into the backpack. “You still need to come with me.”

  “I think not.”

  “I’ll give you the real money.”

  “Too late. You’ve lost your credibility with me.”

  “This isn’t going to play well for you.”

  Kharon took Panos’ chin in his hand and pried his attention away from stuffing the bag. “Far worse for you.” He let go of Panos’ chin. “I’d like to hear how you’re going to explain to your superior why you couldn’t get a poor young kid like me to show up for a meeting in exchange for fifty-thousand euros. My guess is curiosity will lead your superior to making inquiries, and inevitably to learning that I was offered counterfeit cash. If your superior gave you counterfeit, then all’s fine with your world.” Kharon shook his head. “But if not, and your superior begins to wonder how counterfeit got into that backpack, I think you’ll have some explaining to do.”

  Panic broke out across Panos’ face. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you the real stuff. I didn’t feel safe carrying all that cash in this neighborhood.”

  Kouros shrugged. “How safe are you feeling right now?”

  Panos looked desperate, as though he might cry at any moment.

  “Kharon, hey, maybe you should cut the guy some slack?”