Che Committed Suicide (39 page)

I heard the sound of a motorbike approaching in the distance. It was the locksmith from Forensics. He came to a stop a little way off, opened the box on the back of the bike and took out a smaller box with his tools. I waited for him beside the terrace steps.

‘Good day, Inspector. What is it you want me to open?’ he asked, coming up to me.

‘A desk drawer with a security lock.’

We went up together to the third floor. Spyros was still sitting in front of the screen. Koula had put all of Vakirtzis’s cassettes on top of his desk and she was arranging them.

‘This drawer here,’ I said to locksmith, pointing to it.

He glanced at it. ‘Child’s play.’

True enough, the second key he tried opened it. Koula and I looked inside it with anticipation. It contained just five cassettes. One was the one from May 21st that we had been looking for. The others were dated October, December, January and February, but without the year. It didn’t take a great deal of imagination for me to realise that this was where Vakirtzis had hidden the tapes of those he had been blackmailing for favours.

‘Take them and have them transcribed,’ I said to Koula.

‘I’ll take all the others with me too.’

‘Take them, but have these five transcribed first. They’re the ones with the goods.’

Beneath the cassettes I found two envelopes. I opened the one and found a copy of the letter of protest to the Minister that Komi had shown to Favieros just before he committed suicide. Beneath it was a photocopy of a cheque for the sum of forty million drachma, around one hundred and seventeen thousand euros in today’s
currency
. The cheque had been made out to cash and had no stamp, so it must have been one of Favieros’s personal cheques. It wouldn’t be too difficult to discover who had cashed it, but it would be more difficult to discover who was behind whoever had cashed it. That blackmailer Vakirtzis wouldn’t have kept a photocopy if it wasn’t a cheque for greasing someone’s palm or buying someone off. Beneath this were photocopies of three property contracts. In all three, the public notary was Karyofyllis. So Vakirtzis knew about the network of real-estate agencies owned by Favieros and how they operated. That’s why Favieros was scared of him.

The second envelope was on Stefanakos. But the only thing that related to Stefanakos was the draft law on the cultural identity of Albanians in Greece. Everything else concerned his wife. A quick glance revealed three photocopies of approvals for large amounts of funding from the EU. For Vakirtzis to have hold of them, they must have been granted to Stathatos as a result of her husband’s political intervention. I also found another one, in English, that I would have to have translated, as my English wasn’t up to it. Underneath all this, I unearthed another cheque for three hundred thousand euros. However, this one wasn’t drawn on a Greek bank but on a bank in Bucharest.

If Vakirtzis had been murdered, we would have had Favieros and Stefanakos at least as accessories before the fact. He was blackmailing them and they had him killed. But the blackmailer had committed suicide too. This was where it all got complicated and you started to tear your hair out.

The locksmith was the first to leave. He was most likely swearing at us under his breath for having made him come all this way in the scorching heat for something that was child’s play, but that was one of the joys of the profession.

It was the first time that we actually had our hands on some
tangible
evidence, even if we didn’t know where it would lead.

‘Well done, you two. You did a good job,’ I said to Koula and Spyros, as we walked past the pool.

‘I told you,’ said Koula full of enthusiasm, ‘Spyros is a whiz kid when it comes to computers. They’re in his blood.’

‘Yeah, okay, don’t overdo it,’ Spyros commented indifferently, because with today’s generation modesty is usually expressed as indifference.

‘You know, Spyros is thinking of going into forensics,’ Koula went on, unabashed.

‘Cut it out, Koula. Enough, for fuck’s sake! All that was just between us, because I’m still toying with the idea. You’re acting like a cop and it gets up my nose, damn it!’

‘Hold on a bit, it’s just a friendly chat. It’s not an official
interview
!’ I said, cutting in. ‘All I want to ask you, and you don’t have to answer, is why you want to enter the Police Force.’

‘Okay then. If it means studying computers like I want to and having a job waiting for me on top of it, it’ll be a real gas.’

My generation spoke about a ‘golden opportunity’, today’s speaks about a ‘real gas’, but they’re just as concerned to get themselves set up as we were.

‘Think it over in your own good time. And if you decide, let Koula know. We’ll take care of the rest.’

After all, Ghikas owed Koula a favour. And it wasn’t a very big favour to put in a good word for her cousin. We reached the front gate. I saw Spyros getting on Koula’s bike and Koula climbing on behind him. Before they set off, Koula turned and winked at me. I realised she was doing it to let Spyros show off.

I had parked the Mirafiori in the shade of a tree, so it wasn’t like an oven inside, as usual. Whether it would get me to Athens without the radiator boiling over, I had no idea.

The idea came to me during the night. I suddenly felt myself jump and sit up in bed. I didn’t know whether it had happened in a dream or not, though I don’t recall dreaming about Logaras or about the three suicides at that moment. Whenever I jump like that in the night and my mind is fuzzy, I do what everyone does: I go to the kitchen for a glass of water. Then I went into the sitting room and sat down in the doorway to the balcony, half inside and half outside.

What Logaras had sent to Favieros, Stefanakos and Vakirtzis and then deleted or had returned to him was incriminating evidence. Logaras had the proof in his hands and was threatening them with public vilification. The biography was the alternative solution, the lesser of two evils, so to speak: either you agree to commit suicide publicly and I publish a flattering biography and so safeguard your reputation, or you remain alive and I vilify you so you vanish from the scene. He’d sent them the incriminating evidence electronically so that they could see that he wasn’t bluffing. After they had seen it, it was automatically deleted or returned to the sender by means of the program that Spyros had explained to me. As for the biography, he let them keep it so they could read it and see that he wasn’t selling them a pig in a poke.

The question still remained, however: what were the trump cards that Logaras was holding and where had he found them? And the question that followed on: if they really were trump cards, why weren’t they known to others? How come nothing had leaked out? We were talking here of three public figures. Was it possible that all three had such skeletons in their cupboards that they preferred death to exposure and that no one else had heard anything about it other than Logaras? And given that no one else had come up with this information so far, how was Logaras able to dig it up?

When I eventually went back to bed at around six, the questions were still unanswered and I couldn’t get back to sleep. With some effort, I managed to doze a bit till around eight, when I jumped up for a second time at the sound of the phone ringing. Ghikas had called me to tell me that the Minister was expecting us at ten. Before I left, I phoned Koula and told her to get her cousin and go to Domitis and make a thorough search of Favieros’s computer. I didn’t expect them to find anything, but it’s always a good idea to tie up any loose ends.

I found myself sitting, together with Ghikas, facing the
Minister
and I was watching him comparing the two copies of Vakirtzis’s biography: the one that had been sent to me and the one we’d found on his computer. I had brought both of them along with me so that he could see that they were identical.

He looked up and slowly asked me: ‘Do you think he sent their biographies to all three of them first?’

I explained my theory to him. Ghikas had already heard it outside in the corridor and agreed with me. I told him how, in my opinion, the public suicide was Logaras’s condition for publishing the
biography
. Then I went on to outline the conclusions I’d come to early that morning: that Logaras had been in possession of information detrimental to them and that the biography was a respectable way out for them. They could choose public suicide and safeguard their reputation or go on living and have it tarnished.

‘What information could this Logaras have had?’ asked the Minister.

‘I’ll only be able to tell you that when I discover who he is. I think it’s someone from their immediate environment and,
probably
, someone from their past.’

He looked at me curiously. ‘How did you reach that conclusion?’

‘Because such secrets can only be secrets from the past. If they had to do with present-day scandals, eventually every reporter would have got hold of them and we’d have read about them in the papers. I’d go so far as to say that whatever the secret is, it’s probably common to all three. It’s no coincidence that all three had a common past and were working together in the present, even though this involved blackmail in Vakirtzis’s case.’

He looked at us and we could tell from his expression that he could find nothing to counter what I’d said. ‘What are our chances of discovering who this Logaras is?’

‘Our one and only chance is if he reveals himself,’ Ghikas replied. ‘Otherwise, the chances are zero. He’s hiding behind a pseudonym and so far he’s managed to avoid leaving any traces.’

The Minister leaned back in his seat and looked at us in
disappointment
. ‘In other words, he has us where he wants us.’

‘Not exactly. We can go down a different route,’ I countered. ‘We can investigate the past of all three and try to discover their common secret for ourselves. If we succeed, it’s quite probable that we’ll also discover the identity of Logaras.’

‘And what do you need to do that?’

‘Apart from mobilising the department,’ Ghikas said, cutting in again, ‘we’ll also need to involve the Fraud Squad.’

‘Can we exclude the possibility that it has some connection with the Junta? Perhaps they succumbed to the torture and spoke, for example, and Logaras knows about it?’

‘All that’s been written off, Minister. No one cares anymore.’

‘Besides, it’s highly improbable that all three were informers,’ I added. ‘I’m certain that whatever their secret may be, it’s one they have in common and at least involves the three who committed suicide. Let’s hope it doesn’t involve others, too, because the deaths will continue.’

‘All right. I’ll undertake to inform the Fraud Squad. But the
investigations
must be discreet and there must be no leaks.’

‘Given that we’ve kept them under wraps so far, I think it’s safe to say that we’ll be able to continue to do so,’ Ghikas replied. ‘Having the Inspector conduct his own private enquiries has paid off.’

I didn’t know whether I would be able to continue working from home or whether I’d need to return to the office. I decided to leave that question for later, depending on how things panned out.

We returned to Security Headquarters in Ghikas’s limousine. Since Vakirtzis’s suicide, he’d been giving me the kid-glove treatment.

‘This case has turned my life upside down,’ he said to me as we were driving down Mesogheion Avenue. ‘I even had to cut my
holidays
short and come back to the office.’

‘And I had to postpone mine, even though I’m on sick leave,’ I replied, so he wouldn’t think he was the only one making sacrifices.

‘I wouldn’t care so much about the holidays if it wasn’t for my wife. I left her on her own in Spetses and every day she phones me to ask me when I’m going back. It’s getting on my nerves.’

‘I know what you mean,’ I said. He looked at me, I nodded my head, and we were in complete accord.

When we reached Security Headquarters, I went straight up to the third floor and into my assistants’ office. Dermitzakis was arranging some files, while Vlassopoulos was immersed in a hi-fi magazine. As soon as he saw me enter, he leapt to his feet
mouthing
‘Inspector!’ while trying, blindly, to stash the magazine in one of the drawers.

‘Never mind. I’m on sick leave, have you forgotten?’

Dermitzakis turned and greeted me: ‘Good to see you, Inspector.’

‘Listen to me very carefully,’ I said to them, closing the door of the office. ‘You know about the suicides of Favieros, Stefanakos and Vakirtzis?’

‘How couldn’t we? They’ve created such a buzz,’ said Dermitzakis.

‘I want you both to look into their pasts. Systematically and in detail. And, most important of all, with the utmost discretion. Nothing must leak out, no one must hear about it.’

‘Why?’ asked Vlassopoulos.

‘What did I tell you the last time I was here, Vlassopoulos? If I tell you to do something, you’ll do it without asking for any explanations.’

‘Right you are, Inspector.’

‘What are we looking for, exactly?’ said Dermitzakis, cutting in.

‘I don’t know. Most likely all three of them committed suicide for the same reason, so it must be to do with something they all have in common. But I can’t give you any more details than that, nor can I tell you where to start looking. If you need any help, contact me or go direct to the Chief. I’ve spoken to him.’

‘How urgent is it?’ Demitzakis, who had a weakness for
superfluous
questions, went on.

‘Why aren’t you already on your way?’ was my answer.

I was about to leave when Vlassopoulos stopped me. ‘Just a moment, Inspector. Would you come with us?’

I saw them shooting a meaningful look at each other and I was curious. Vlassopoulos opened the door and went out first. I followed him and Dermitzakis brought up the rear. They took me as far as the door of my office. Vlassopoulos opened the door and stood aside to allow me to pass.

I halted in the doorway. My office was empty.