Authors: Jeffrey Siger
“Turn off the siren, Yianni, there's no more reason to hurry now.” Andreas stared out the ambulance's passenger side window at nothing in particular.
“Got to give you credit, Chief,” said Yianni shaking his head. “I never thought it would work.”
“Yeah, let's see how well it works once the press finds out the truth.”
“Who cares at that point?” said Yianni. “You got us in, got the body out, and prevented a guaranteed major riot.”
“Plus,” added the big cop sitting in the back next to the body, “we collected evidence before the protestors trampled everything to mush.”
“As I said, Petro, let's see what happens next. I expect to be reamed out big-time for taking it upon myself to go in and extricate the body.”
“Not to mention giving the order pulling our guys out of there once we were clear of the scene,” said Yianni.
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“Who sent in all the cops in the first place?” said the coroner.
Andreas did a quick upward jerk of his head in the Greek gesture for no. “No idea. Maybe the same idiot who's out there waiting to ream me out. But whoever gave the order obviously forgot the lesson we learned the last time cops killed a demonstrator.”
“Or maybe just wanted to see history repeat itself?” said Yianni.
Andreas smiled. “That's rather cynical, even for you.”
“Why? If demonstrators go to war against cops it diverts everyone's attention from the unbelievable mess our government's got the country into.”
Andreas shook his head. “As I said, cynical.”
“How do we know cops did the killing?” asked Petro.
“It's how the report came into GADA,” said Yianni. “âTwo police killed a demonstrator and ran off, leaving the body in the middle of the street.' Then someone upstairs pushed the panic button and sent every riot cop they could find to the scene.”
Andreas drummed his fingers on the dashboard. “Yianni, get the university and anyone else in the area with surveillance cameras to turn over any video that might have caught something on what happened.”
“We'll probably see whatever there is running any minute on the news.”
Andreas nodded. “Yeah, for sure the media will somehow get its hands on whatever the university has. But check around the neighborhood anyway. I'm sure the reporters won't be as thorough as you.”
“Flattery? Wow, your three-month gig as our minister turned you into a politician.”
“Don't worry, it won't last and isn't contagious.” Andreas turned his head to look back at the coroner. “Doc, what can you tell us about our victim?”
“Once you get me back to my lab I should be able to tell you a lot.”
“Just give me what you know about him now.”
The coroner frowned. “Well, there's one thing you obviously don't know.”
“From the look on your face I'm not sure I want to know. But okay, I'll bite. What is it?”
“Your victim's not a
him
but a
her
.”
***
Andreas sat outside the autopsy room, waiting to hear what else the coroner might have to tell him. The victim's gender in and of itself was enough to kick the inevitable media firestorm up a quantum level or two, but until Andreas knew what other surprises the coroner might turn up, he wasn't about to get into speculating on details with anyone. That meant staying away from his office in Athens Central Police Headquartersâbetter known as GADA. At least for now. He'd told his secretary Maggie to cover for him, and she said that from the number of calls she'd already received from folks way above his pay grade screaming for him, she'd have better luck hiding an elephant under a tea towel.
Andreas had taken that to mean, “No problem.”
He'd sent Petro off to the ballistics lab to see what it could come up with on the shell casings, and had Yianni looking for video footage and running down their only potential lead to the victim's identity. There were no meaningful labels in any of her clothes and, though her sneakers were expensive, many students wore the same style. As expected, she carried no ID and less than thirty euros in small bills and coins. Demonstrators, especially the rock- and bomb-throwing kind, had long ago learned that losing your ID in the middle of a riot could lead to unexpected visits from the police.
But they did find a possible lead neatly tucked into the bottom of one of her sneakers: a Starbucks customer loyalty card. Slim, but something.
Andreas hoped to identify the girl without turning to the media for help. The press would go wild with the story, some inevitably playing the angle of “police ineptitude” for all it was worth. Still, it was only a matter of timeâhours at mostâbefore the victim's friends and family started to wonder where she was, and once they knew, charges of “murder coverup,” “conspiracy,” “blood on their hands,” and every other anti-establishment, firebrand accusation would blister GADA's walls.
Andreas drew in and let out a deep breath. He knew there was nothing he could do about any of that. All he wanted was to let the girl's parents know what had happened to their child before the media made her a
cause célèbre
.
***
The coroner charged through the battered pair of swinging doors and headed straight for where Andreas sat.
“You, my friend, are in deep shit,” said the coroner, shaking his finger at Andreas.
Andreas stared up at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Because you're a cop and once this gets out,
every
cop's going to be in deep shit. That girl wasn't just shot. She was executed by professional killers.”
“Could you run that by me a little slower?”
The coroner dropped onto a chair next to Andreas. “She was approximately twenty years old, well-nourished, well-groomed, athletic, and yes, attractive. She died from multiple gunshot wounds. Four into her heart, three into her spine. If the reports of the shooting are correct, she and her pursuers had been running all-out until the killers stopped at the last instant to take aim at their moving target. That sort of shooting takes terrific marksmanship skills.”
“Tell me about the shot groupings.”
“All shots within a group were inside a small fist of each other. One grouping came from one gun, one from another.”
“You're certain of that?”
He nodded. “It's Ballistics' call, but I've seen enough bullet wounds to tell that the solid point bullets that took out her spine were designed to shatter bone, and the hollow point heart rounds expanded in soft tissue.”
“That doesn't sound like a spontaneous, error-in-judgment shooting to me.”
The coroner nodded. “Precisely. Her killers had assigned, specific tasks. One shooter brought her to the ground by taking out her spine, the other made certain to end her life by stopping her heart.”
Andreas stared at the lab doors. “You know, Doc, I never met a cop who could shoot that well.”
“What are you saying?”
“I wish I knew. But if the shooters always meant to kill the girl, why did they wait until she'd reached the gates? They could have done it anywhere, anytime while chasing her, but they didn't start shooting until she was in front of a crowd cheering her on with surveillance cameras filming everything.”
The coroner nodded. “Yes, I'm afraid there looks to be another agenda operating here. But the media won't take the time to see it. And the demonstrators won't want to.”
Andreas exhaled through his lips. “I know.”
“As I said, you're in deep shit.”
Andreas' phone rang. He looked at the name of the caller. “Yianni, what's up? Please make it good news.”
“Well, Chief, it's news. We have an ID on the victim.”
Andreas sat up in the chair. “Terrific.”
“I checked out the Starbucks by the university, told them I'd found the card and wanted to make sure it got back to the rightful owner. They looked it up online and lo and behold, she'd actually used her real name, Penelope Sigounas.”
“How do you know it's her real name?”
“I did an Internet search and found images of her with her family.”
“Do we have an address for the family?”
“Yes, they're from Athens, in Papagou.”
“Papagou? By the Pentagon?”
“Yes, her father's in the military. As a matter of fact, he's a Brigadier general in the Army.”
Andreas shut his eyes. “Please tell me you didn't just say her father is a general.”
The coroner's mouth dropped open.
“Yeah, I know. It's a headline writer's wet dream. âDaughter of Greek general murdered by police at anti-government demonstration.'”
Andreas rubbed at his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his free hand. “Pick me up. We've got to get to the family before the press does.”
“I'll be there in ten minutes. Bye.”
Andreas put the phone back in his pocket, shook his head and looked at the coroner.
“In your professional opinion, Doc, just how much deeper do you think this shit can get?”
The coroner shook his head. “Sorry to tell you, my friend, but I don't think I have a probe that reaches that far.”
Andreas stood up, patted the coroner on the shoulder, “Thanks, Doc,” he said, and headed toward the front door.
“Penelope, you poor kid,” Andreas asked aloud, “what on earth happened to get you killed?”
The family lived three miles east of the heart of Athens in Papagou, a well-maintained neighborhood of single family homes, tasteful small apartment houses, and wide, tree-lined streets. Named after General Alexandros Papagos, who'd led the Greek Army during World War II and the Greek Civil War, and later all of Greece as its Prime Minister, Papagou was also home to Greece's Pentagon.
This was the part of the job that Andreas disliked most. How do you tell a father and a mother that their child is dead? It was a job for a chaplain or a priest, not a cop. Especially not a cop when the whole world was about to think her killers were cops. He knew this wouldn't be pleasant. But he also knew, as a parent, that he'd want to know. So, here he was.
Andreas and Yianni stood on a street corner in front of an immaculately maintained, white stucco apartment building tucked behind a high stone wall enclosing orange and palm trees. They stared up at the top-floor balcony running the length of the three-story building.
“That's where they live?” asked Andreas. “It looks nice, but even at one apartment per floor it's not a very big apartment.”
Yianni nodded. “They've lived there for twenty years.”
“You'd think an Army general, even a one-star Brigadier, would live in a bigger place.”
“They moved in about the time their daughter was born, and from the family photos I saw they never had any other children. I guess they felt they didn't need a bigger place and so never moved.”
“At least there's a lift,” said Andreas, walking up to the iron gate separating the street from the building.
“And I bet it works,” said Yianni pressing the buzzer marked 3 beneath a camera.
“Who is it?” said a voice with a Filipino accent.
“Police,” said Yianni.
“Please show identification.”
Each man held his ID in front of the camera. Seconds later the gate buzzed and Yianni pushed it open.
They walked to the elevator and rode up to the third floor in silence.
The first thing Andreas noticed when he stepped off the elevator was white Dionysus marble trimmed in gold inlays covering the floor. Clearly not standard issue apartment house flooring.
“Ready?” said Andreas.
Yianni nodded, and Andreas knocked on the front door.
A half a minute later, the door opened just wide enough for them to see a petite Filipino woman in a pale blue housecoat peeking out at them blank-eyed and silent.
“Uh, are Brigadier or Mrs. Sigounas at home?”
The woman nodded yes.
“Could you please tell them that Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis andâ”
“Lena, who's at the door?” came a shrill woman's voice from down a marble staircase off to the left of the entrance foyer.
So much for living the simple life in a small apartment
, thought Andreas. They probably owned the entire building.
“Police, madam,” said the housekeeper in a voice not much louder than a whisper.
“What?” came the same loud voice accompanied by the sound of high heels clicking up marble steps. “When will you ever learn to speak up?”
A trim woman in her forties appeared behind the housekeeper. Her blond hair and makeup looked freshly done, and she stood dressed in what looked to be a pink Chanel suit. No matter the designer, she definitely wasn't dressed for hanging around the house, especially with an alligator Chanel handbag slung over her shoulder by a gold tone chain. Andreas made a mental note to ask his wife if she knew Mrs. Sigounas.
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
“Are you Mrs. Sigounas?” said Andreas.
She gave a tight smile. “This is my home, so why don't you first identify yourselves to me.”
“Certainly,” said Andreas pulling out and showing her his identification card. “Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis, and this is Detective Kouros.”
Yianni showed his ID.
The woman cursorily glanced at their identification. “So, what do you want with my husband and me?”
“Is your husband home?”
“No. He's at work.”
“May we come inside?”
Mrs. Sigounas looked at her watch. “I'm already late for an important event.”
“It won't take long. And I can assure you what I have to tell you is more important.”
She sighed and waved for them to follow her into what most would call a living room, though from its marble appointments, slew of gaudy decorative objects, and gilded red-velvet furniture, a better description might be the sitting room of an upscale brothel. Mrs. Sigounas dropped onto a gold damask Louis XIV settee. She did not invite her two visitors to sit.
Andreas stopped directly in front of her. “Mrs. Sigounas, I think it would be a good idea if you called your husband. He should hear what I'm about to tell you.”
“Chief Inspector, neither my husband nor I have time for any of your police dramatics. If it's something about Penelope, just tell us and we'll find a way to work out whatever trouble she's in.”
The suggestion of a bribe was obvious from her tone of voice, but Andreas kept his own voice under control. “Your daughter has been in trouble before?”
“My daughter's past is none of your concern. Just tell me what she's done, and what you want to make it go away.”
Andreas swallowed hard and sat in the chair across from her.
“I didn't say you could sit.”
“Mrs. Sigounas, I'm here on a very serious matter, one that isn't going to go away.”
She smirked. “Oh, is that so? My husband is a very important man. It would be unwise to cross him.”
“I really think you should call your husband.”
“If I call him, it will be to have your head on a platter.”
“Please make the call.”
“Have it your way.” She glared at Andreas as she pulled a mobile phone from her handbag and pressed a speed dial button. She held it to her ear. “Honey, I'm still at home. I've been delayed by a most obnoxious cop sitting uninvited in front of me who's insisting on talking to us together about some tiff Penelope's undoubtedly got herself into. Would you please set him straight?”
She pressed the speaker button and held the phone out in front of Andreas' face.
A voice came roaring into the room. “Who the hell do you think you are to come barging into my home and upset my wife?”
Andreas waited until the man finished his rant. They were an extremely unpleasant couple, but Andreas was about to give them the absolutely worst news a parent could hear, so he kept his temper in check. “I'm sorry to disturb you and your wife, sir, butâ”
“I asked for your name,” boomed the same voice.
“Andreas Kaldis.”
“Well, listen up, Policeman Kaldis, my wife and I won'tâ¦.” The voice faded for a couple of seconds. “Did you say Kaldis?”
“Yes, Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis of Special Crimes.”
“The former minister of public order?”
“Yes, one and the same.”
Mrs. Sigounas jerked to attention. “Lena,” she yelled, “please bring our guests some water. Or would you prefer something else?”
Andreas smiled. “No thank you. Brigadierâ”
“Sorry to have spoken to you that way, Kaldis. I had no idea it was you.”
“No problem.”
“What sort of trouble did Penelope get herself into that warrants you showing up at our front door?”
Andreas again swallowed hard and looked straight into Mrs. Sigounas' eyes. “There is no easy way to say this. Your daughter's been killed.”
The mother's mouth dropped open, her face drained of color, and her body collapsed back upon the sofa, her hand still clutching the phone. Behind him, Andreas heard the crash of crystal and silver striking a marble floor. Andreas swung his head around and saw the housekeeper standing in the doorway wailing in Tagalog and yanking at her hair.
Yianni stepped over to the maid and gently but firmly pulled her hands away from her hair.
Not a sound came over the phone.
“Brigadier?” said Andreas.
Still not a sound.
Andreas took the phone from the mother's hand. “Brigadier.”
“How did she die?”
Andreas cleared his throat. “She'd been participating in a demonstration several blocks from the university, and was chased by two as yet unidentified men to the gates of the university, where the men shot and killed her. They were dressed in the manner of police but there is no confirmation yet that they were police.”
“What do you mean âin the manner of police'?”
“Black fatigues, black balaclava.”
“Then they could be police
or
military?”
“Do you have any reason to believe they might be military?”
“No. Just a professional observation to keep my mind from processing⦔ His voice drifted off.
Andreas could hear the Brigadier drawing deep breaths.
“How is my wife?”
“I think you better come home. And bring a doctor with you. She looks as if she's in shock.”
“Will do. How is Lena?”
“The housekeeper?”
“Yes. She's like Penelope's other mother. Been with us since our babyâ¦was born⦔
Andreas heard the sobbing start on the other end of the line. “Please hurry home, sir. We'll stay until you get here.”
“Thank you.” The phone went dead.
Andreas' eyes jumped between the nearly comatose mother sitting on the couch, and the now silent housekeeper standing frozen in the doorway. He motioned for Yianni to bring the housekeeper over to the sofa. Yianni half walked, half carried her there, and gently nudged her down onto the sofa next to the mother.
For several minutes neither woman moved, only sat in place, staring blankly into the room. Almost imperceptibly at first, the mother's fingers crept toward the housekeeper's hand, and the instant they touched each woman grasped hold of the other as if she were a lifeline, beginning amid tears and embraces the eternal process of mourning the death of their child.
***
Andreas and Yianni stood in the foyer close by the front door.
“I hope the Brigadier gets here soon.”
Andreas looked at his watch. “It's only been ten minutes.”
“Seems a lot longer.”
Andreas nodded. “I wonder why the Brigadier suggested it could have been military who killed his daughter.”
Yianni shrugged. “It has a paramilitary feel to it.”
“Are you speaking as an ex-Navy commando?”
“Yes, but every branch of the service has personnel capable of doing what they did.” Another shrug. “They train for different purposes than police.”
“Sure hope it stays that way.”
Yianni nodded toward the women. “They've stopped crying.”
“Why don't you get them some water.”
Yianni went into the kitchen. The women had gone back to staring off into the middle distance, but now their faces showed the sadness. The mother bit at her lower lip and rubbed at her temples with her fingers, the housekeeper's lips trembled as she fought back tears and clutched a handkerchief in her fist.
Yianni came out of the kitchen carrying two small plastic water bottles and headed toward the couch. He twisted off the caps and handed each woman a bottle.
The mother nodded at Yianni and the housekeeper said, “Thank you.”
Yianni returned to Andreas in the foyer. “The Brigadier should have been here by now. The Pentagon's only five minutes away.”
“He's probably picking up the doctor,” said Andreas.
“He's a general. They have colonels to do that sort of thing for them.”
Andreas shook his head. “I pray the day never comes where someone's trying to figure out how I'd react to this kind of news.”
“Amen to that.”
Andreas' phone rang. He looked at the number before answering. “What's up, Petro?”
“Ballistics has a preliminary report on the shell casings, Chief. They're police-issue calibers, but with a twist.”
“A twist?”
“They're handloads, not out-of-the-box ammunition.”
“You mean someone made their own cartridges?”
“Yes. The casings were standard issue but the lab found markings on them consistent with handloading equipment. Standard powder loads were replaced with something more powerful. No doubt the bullets were replaced, too, but we'll have to see what the coroner recovers to confirm that.”
“His first reaction was that each shooter used different bulletsâone to shatter bone, the other to mushroom in the heart.”
“Damn.”
Andreas stared at the mother as he exhaled heavily. “For sure. See you back at the office, but make sure you don't talk about any of this with anyone.”
“Understood, Chief. Bye.”
“That didn't sound very encouraging,” said Yianni.
“Wait until the Brigadier gets here if you want to see just how very
not
encouraging things can get.”
“What's he got to do with this?”
“That's what I aim to find out. It's sounding more and more like we've got a well-planned execution on our hands.”
Two minutes later the front door swung open and a vintage version of John Wayne, Greek-style, strode into the room. Military beret and all.
***
The Brigadier gave Andreas and Yianni a cursory nod as he passed them on the way from the front door to his wife. She burst into tears the moment he walked into the room. He gently pulled her up from the sofa and held her tightly in his arms. At a head taller and half a person broader than she, he looked like a bear embracing a ballerina. He closed his eyes and stood dry-eyed as she poured tears out onto his chest.
When her crying subsided to sobs, the Brigadier eased off on his grip and opened his eyes. He kissed her on the forehead, hugged her, and eased her down next to the housekeeper. Then he reached down and took the housekeeper's hands in his. She looked up at him, her lips trembling. He nodded, she nodded back, and he let go of her hands. She put an arm around the mother. The Brigadier turned and walked to where Andreas and Yianni stood silently watching. He stood a half-head taller than Andreas and looked ten years older, with a barely noticeable potbelly.