Deadline in Athens (21 page)

"Nothing yet."

"Ha!" cried Petratos, triumphantly.

"All we have up to now is some information from a clerk in the ticket office at the bus station in Kifisos. He remembers him buying a ticket to Thessaloniki."

"And why didn't you tell us that before? From our first meeting I told you that I want you to give us priority with regard to any information you might obtain. Mr. Petratos told you the same thing. Yet you continue to keep us in the dark, in a matter that is of intimate concern to our channel."

"I didn't want the information to leak out and for Kolakoglou to hear of it. When you're hunting for someone, you don't say where you've seen him, or you'll help him get away. At any rate, that, I can assure you, is the only information we have."

"I tend to believe that Mr. Petratos was right," Delopoulos said. "You are incompetent, and I'm seriously thinking of asking the minister to have you replaced. It will depend on whether you-"

Before I had time to learn what would depend on me, the telephone rang. He lifted the receiver, answered with a sharp "Yes," and handed the receiver to me.

"It's for you."

"Hello." I only use "Haritos" at the station. At the other end of the line, I heard Sotiris's worried voice.

"Martha Kostarakou has been found dead in her home, Inspector."

It took a few moments for the news to work its way around my circuit and for me to reassemble my thoughts. "When did you learn this?"

"A very short while ago. An anonymous telephone call. I've sent a patrol car. I'm on my way there now, but I thought that perhaps you'd want to come too. The address is Twenty-one Ieronos Street, Pangrati."

"Okay. I'm on my way."

Delopoulos, who was waiting for me to hang up, went on regardless. "I was saying, then, that it will depend on whether you-"

But he paused, like Rommel in the desert, and he lost the advantage. "I have some exclusive information to give you, Mr. Delopoulos. A short while ago, Martha Kostarakou was found dead in her home."

I saw them freeze on the spot, speechless, and suddenly Mrs. Kolakoglou's words came to mind: "I won't say I'm glad she was killed, but there's such a thing as divine retribution."

CHAPTER 21

"Can you tell me what time it happened?"

Markidis slowly got up from the corpse. He didn't reply straightaway. He looked at his watch and did his calculations.

"It's twelve now. I'd say about seventeen hours have passed, so that means she was killed between six and eight yesterday evening."

Great. While I was listening to Thanassis giving me the report on Kolakoglou, someone was murdering Martha Kostarakou ten blocks up from my house.

She was lying facedown in front of me, next to the sofa. One arm was under her body, while the other, the left one, was stretched out at her side. As though she'd tripped after getting blind drunk and had fallen flat on the floor. She was wearing jeans, a pullover, and those Dutch clogs.

"She was strangled, right?"

"Yes. With wire or wire cord."

He bent down and pulled her hair back. Her head was resting to one side and was facing her arm. A scar, rather like a gash, ran along the left side of her neck. The trickle of blood to either side of it had dried.

"That wound was made by wire," Markidis said. "Rope and cord don't leave scars like that. He strangled her while she was on her feet and let her fall to the floor when she was dead."

"Was he strong?"

"Yes, just like with the other woman. We're probably talking about the same person."

I knew what this meant and I didn't like it at all. If he'd strangled her with her own scarf or with a cord, then it would have been the same as in the case of Karayoryi. It would mean that he hadn't come with the intention of killing her but had decided on the spot, taking hold of whatever he could find to do the job. But in this case, the murderer had come prepared. And if he was the same person, as Markidis supposed, then he'd progressed from a murder committed on impulse to a premeditated one. In other words, from bad to worse.

Besides, the flat spoke for itself. Someone had ransacked it. Drawers hung open, papers were strewn all over the floor. The books from the fitted bookcase were scattered to the four corners of the room. He'd been frantically looking for something that Kostarakou hadthat's why he'd killed her, I thought to myself. The officers who'd arrived in the patrol car had found the front door to the flat half open, but the lock hadn't been broken. Kostarakou must have let him in. Just as Karayoryi had been sitting with him before he killed her. Markidis's theory seemed to be right. It was the same murderer and he was known to both of them. So, it must have been someone from their circle. Petratos again came to mind. Maybe his affair with Karayoryi had been even more complicated. Maybe Karayoryi had found out something about him, from when they were together, and was blackmailing him. But why would Petratos suppose that Karayoryi had told his secret to Kostarakou? He knew that they couldn't stand each other. One thing for sure was that Kostarakou had known far more than she'd told me. I'd told her the night I was coming out of Petratos's office that she'd land herself in trouble, but she hadn't listened.

The letter I'd found in Karayoryi's desk now acquired even greater importance. If the one who had threatened her in writing was Nestor Petratos, then it was all as clear as daylight. He'd learned from Kostarakou about the telephone call she'd received from Karayoryi, but he hadn't believed her. He was sure that he'd find in Kostarakou's place what he was looking for and killed her in order to get it. That was why the door hadn't been forced. Kostarakou wouldn't have thought twice about opening the door to Petratos. But if N was not Petratos, we were in a real mess, because it meant that there had to be a third suspect.

Sotiris came out of the bedroom and interrupted my thoughts. "It's just as bad in there," he said.

"Have you found anything?"

"Like what? It's not like we know what we're looking for."

"The anonymous telephone call. Was it from a man or a woman?"

"From a woman, but she didn't call us. She called the Emergency Unit."

"He must have been in a hurry. Otherwise he'd have seen that he hadn't closed the front door properly."

"Can we exclude the possibility that the woman who found her had a key? She entered the flat, saw the body in front of her, and in her confusion ran out and left the door open."

"We can't exclude it, no, but it's unlikely. If it was someone who had a key, a cleaner for example, she'd have started screaming and alerted the neighbors. The woman who found her couldn't have known Kostarakou. The door was open, she came in, saw her dead, and left quietly. Then she called to inform us, or the Emergency Unit, without giving her name so as to avoid getting involved."

Sotiris looked at me pensively. "Who could that have been?" he said, at a loss because no one came to mind.

"It was probably one of those women who carry out research or advertising campaigns. She'd have taken to her heels, afraid she might lose a day's work. Have you found any wire or wire cord?"

No.

"That's what he used to strangle her with. Have you talked to the neighbors?"

"Yes. The ones above and below were at home yesterday evening, but they heard nothing."

For them not to have heard any disturbance meant that Kostarakou didn't put up a struggle. He'd killed her just like Karayoryi, suddenly, when she wasn't expecting it. Both of them had known him and hadn't suspected him. That's how he'd been able to take them unawares. He did what he'd come to do, put the wire back in his pocket, and left as quietly as he'd come.

"Did they see any stranger coming or going between six and eight, when the murder took place?"

"I asked, but they saw no one. There's no super in the building. The woman in the shop opposite says that it's a big block and there are always lots of people coming and going. She didn't see anyone who looked odd to her."

"Why should the murderer look odd to her, Sotiris? He wouldn't have a sign on his forehead, would he?"

I was in a vile temper and I took it out on him, though he was in no way to blame. He understood and remained calm.

"I'm gonna go see Ghikas," I said and patted him on the back. "He'll be waiting for a report. If you find out anything new, call me at the station."

Koula had been waiting for me. As soon as she saw me come in, she jumped to her feet.

"God, what's happened now?" she said, trying to pass her curiosity off as concern. "Are all your people suffering from a death epidemic?"

"My people? Since when do I work for the TV channels?"

"That's not what I meant," she replied, giving me one of those playful smiles that she used to bring Ghikas to his knees. "It's just that with all the dealings you have with them, you've become rather hand in glove. They're downstairs now, waiting for you." She nodded in the direction of Ghikas's office. "He didn't want to see them and sent them to you."

The good guy and the bad guy. He was the good guy who gave them the good news and feathered his own nest. I was the bad guy who was left to sort out the mess.

"Can I go in?" I asked Koula.

"Do you have to ask? He's like a cat on hot bricks."

Apparently Koula meant what she said because I found Ghikas standing behind his desk. He indicated that I should sit down in a chair while he sat on the edge of his own.

"Well?" he said impatiently.

I gave him all the information, piece by piece, along with Markidis's view that we were dealing with the same murderer. He looked at me thoughtfully.

"Do you think it's the same person?" He said eventually.

"All the evidence points to that."

He let out a huge sigh as if he'd missed winning the lottery by just one number. "Then the likelihood of Kolakoglou being the culprit becomes more remote. Even if he made good on his threat and killed Karayoryi, he had no motive whatsoever for killing Kostarakou."

With difficulty I refrained from saying, "I told you so," but he took the sting out of my tail.

"And for the same reason, Petratos couldn't have killed them either," he added, without concealing his satisfaction at having proven me wrong. "You got me into hot water with Delopoulos for no reason. Let's suppose that he killed Karayoryi because she left him and was a threat to his job. It's a bit far-fetched, but let's suppose it's true. Why, then, did he kill Kostarakou?"

"He'd have a reason if she was blackmailing him."

"Blackmailing him? Kostarakou?" It seemed incredible to him.

"Let's say she had some evidence to prove that Petratos had murdered Karayoryi. She said nothing about it to me when I questioned her, but she went to Petratos and blackmailed him. She saw it as an opportunity to get something out of it for herself. Let's not forget that he'd brushed her aside to promote Karayoryi. Petratos told her that he'd come to her flat so they could discuss it. He went armed with the wire and strangled her. Then he turned her home inside out, searching for the incriminating evidence. Karayoryi sat down and talked to the killer. Wouldn't she have talked to Petratos? Kostarakou opened the door to him. She wouldn't have opened it to Kolakoglou, most likely, but to Petratos, why not? And both victims were killed instantly, unsuspecting. Would it have crossed their minds that they were in danger from Petratos? The profile fits perfectly."

I'd kept the "profile" for the end. It was the icing on the cake. He listened pensively and silently.

"All that might work as a hypothesis," he said cautiously, "on condition that Petratos is without an alibi. If, for example, he was in the studio at the time of the second murder, then your entire theory falls to pieces."

"He goes to the studio at seven-thirty, an hour and a half before the main news bulletin. I verified it before coming to see you. Markidis says that the murder happened between six and eight. If he killed her around six, he'd have an hour and a half to get from Ieronos Street to Spata. In his haste, he left the front door open. My mistake was that I didn't investigate him more thoroughly from the beginning."

It was as if I were saying to him: "My mistake was that I let myself be talked out of it by you, you and Delopoulos, and that I didn't do what I knew was right." He swallowed the bitter pill just as I used to swallow the cod-liver oil my mother used to give me to make me strong.

"In other words, we've found the murderer? So we can give up on Kolakoglou?"

He was fishing for any other little morsel. Keep hold of yourself, Haritos, don't let this one run away with itself, I thought to myself. Blow hot and cold.

"No, it's still a hypothesis. We're still looking for Kolakoglou."

"If we had a sample of Petratos's handwriting, that would shed some useful light," he said with some reluctance.

I'd willingly have got my own back, but the more I thought of it, the more my satisfaction abated. "To some extent."

"Why only to some extent?"

"Let's suppose that it was Petratos who wrote the letters. That doesn't prove that he killed her. And vice versa. Karayoryi had her finger in a number of pies. Maybe someone else had threatened her, and that doesn't leave Petratos in the clear. There's a pile of other incriminating evidence. Let me first find out where Petratos was yesterday evening between six and eight. We can take it from there."

"If we suppose that Kostarakou was killed by the other person, the one she was blackmailing, how did he know that what he was looking for was at Kostarakou's?"

"From the news. They made Karayoryi's phone call to Kostarakou public knowledge."

All he could find to say to me before I left was to keep him informed. For no other reason than to cling to a little honor.

As soon as they saw me coming along the hall, they ran up to me, as if I were returning from some long journey. I looked around, trying to pick out some unknown face among them, the new reporter for Hellas Channel, but all the faces were familiar and I was left wondering.