The Green Lady Page 11

  Mavros took in the town of Paradheisos. Despite the heat, he had to suppress a shiver. The place was inhuman, a façade of colours that hid exploitation and unhappiness. He had seen the workers on the way to the bauxite processing plant. The people, mostly men but a few women, initially looked normal, but their eyes were empty – black holes leading to abysses he couldn’t fathom. He got into the Citroen and drove towards Kypseli. He was halfway there when he remembered what he had to do.

  ‘Speak!’ Lambis Bitsos wasn’t paid by the word, so he restricted use of them when he was working.

  ‘Mavros.’

  ‘Black by name, black by reputation.’

  ‘Very amusing.’

  ‘Yes, like that demonstration you got yourself caught up in.’

  ‘Shit, I was on TV?’

  ‘Only for a minute or so. Why? Worried your mystery client will fire you for not keeping a low enough profile?’

  ‘No comment.’ In truth, Mavros didn’t think Angie Poulou would care about him being in Viotia – unless she thought he’d given up the search for Lia. In any case, Rovertos Bekakos had got a good look at him.

  ‘So, is it true what they say?’ Bitsos liked being cryptic.

  ‘About what?’ Mavros said, humouring him.

  ‘About the pollution from the HMC works?’

  ‘Well, put it this way – you wouldn’t want to run a marathon around here.’

  ‘Like I’m going to. Then again, female athletes don’t wear much, do they?’

  ‘Jesus, Lambi. Are you on your own?’

  ‘Working from home. Have you got something juicy for me?’

  ‘Not sure. First of all, have you heard anything more about the burned man on Mount Kithairon?’

  ‘Not really. Except the Ministry of Public Order’s been sending out the press releases, not that they say much apart from it being unattributable gang violence and asking us to give it only minor coverage. I asked why Viotia Police weren’t doing that and was told they aren’t up to homicide cases of this sort. It’s obvious the ministry’s trying to keep a lid on the case during the Olympics.’

  Mavros wondered what Telemachos Xanthakos would think about that negative characterisation of his force. ‘Wouldn’t want the visitors being brought face to face with the real Greece,’ he said, deciding against putting the journalist on to the deputy commissioner. ‘What with the interest groups making such huge profits.’

  ‘Been listening to that fat friend of yours?’

  ‘Not more than usual. What would you say if I told you it was Nikos Kriaras who personally laid down the law to the Viotia Police?’

  There was a brief silence. ‘Interesting. Given his role with the Games, I’d have thought he’d delegate that to a minion. Then again, he is responsible for organised crime.’

  ‘In Athens and Attica.’ Mavros thought of Kriaras’s meeting with Maria Bekakou. ‘But Athens is the centre of the world right now.’

  ‘What would you say if I told you the blessed Kriaras was in Delphi this morning?’

  ‘Don’t know. The Pythian Games were held there in ancient times. Did some party of Olympic VIPs go to pay homage?’

  ‘Always the smartarse. No, it’s much more succulent than that.’ The journalist coughed. ‘I’m afraid I can’t talk about it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My source swore me to secrecy and the ministry hasn’t released anything.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Lambi, Delphi’s only an hour from here. Information share?’

  There was a longer pause. ‘OK, deal. Apparently a phylax was found in the stadium with his head several metres away from his body.’

  Mavros immediately thought of the Son, his stomach doing several somersaults. Should he tell Bitsos about the torturer? He decided to hold back what the Fat Man had heard Paschos Poulos say for the time being.

  ‘Are you receiving me?’

  ‘How come it hasn’t been on the radio?’

  The journalist laughed harshly. ‘Because that dickhead Kriaras got over there fast enough to close the rumour mill down – well, almost. Not that I can print anything. They were lucky. Another guard found the body – I mean body parts – before the site opened. They’ve cleaned it up and no one knows any different. Apart from the staff and they’ve been threatened with firing and pension removal if they talk.’

  ‘No heavy-handedness there, then. Hm. Got to go.’

  Bitsos wasn’t letting him off so easily. ‘Your rich man and his missing daughter. Is that what you’re in HMC land for? HMC being part of Poulos A.E.’

  Mavros knew he couldn’t get away with, ‘No comment’, again. ‘You got me, Lambi. I don’t suppose you’ve come across—’

  ‘Come across? Is that how you think I do my job – sit around waiting for hot information to appear in front of me?’

  ‘No, that would be terrible for your weight.’

  ‘Wanker. Do you want me to do some serious digging?’

  Mavros thought of Angie Poulou’s privacy. With the murder in Delphi and the potential involvement of the Son, she was no longer his sole priority, client or not. He would keep looking for Lia, but not at the cost of his life.

  ‘Yes, Poulos is the one, Lambi. But make sure none of his family or sidekicks finds out I told you, OK?’

  ‘Better than OK, Alex,’ Bitsos said. ‘You just made my day.’

  Mavros got out of the car near Kypseli and looked across the bay. There were spots of oil on the narrow beach, a seagull studiously ignoring a dead fish. The whole area was soiled by the plant across the water. Delphi could wait. He hoped he could get Bitsos to give him the name of his contact. Deputy Commissioner Xanthakos would be no use as the town was in the neighbouring prefecture of Fokidha, though maybe he could smooth Mavros’s way with the local cops. But first he needed to talk to the ecologists. They were the sworn enemies of the HMC and Paschos Poulos, and he’d seen how effective they were.

  Might they know something about Lia Poulou?

  Brigadier Nikos Kriaras ushered out the Olympic Games security committee, including officers from the FBI and Scotland Yard, then went over to the window of the conference room. From the fifth floor of the Attica General Police Directorate, he looked down at the old Panathinaikos football stadium. It was swathed in Games hoardings, one of the many examples of stringy mutton dressed as frolicking lamb in Athens. In under two weeks it would all be over and he could get back to his normal working life.

  Or could he? The Poulos affair was expanding in directions he couldn’t control and that made him nervous. The worst development concerned Alex Mavros. What had the long-haired private eye been doing at the protest outside the HMC plant in Viotia? Kriaras had seen him on the TV coverage, standing on the blockade like a revolutionary in 1848, even though he knew the dick wasn’t political – or at least, he didn’t use to be. Had he suddenly become a save-the-planet type? The brigadier dismissed that immediately. Mavros was investigating something. The question was, what? Could he have dropped a hint to Deputy Commissioner Xanthakos? He’d seen the pair of them talking behind the breathless broadcaster. Then he’d had Rovertos Bekakos on the line, demanding that the PI be arrested immediately for his part in disrupting the movement of workers to the plant – as well as asking why there was still no word on the missing girl.

  The truth was, Kriaras was sick of Paschos Poulos and everyone connected with him. Considering that included all of the Greek Olympic Committee, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Working with the grasping, self-obsessed thieves who had only got involved because they smelled profit had been the most frustrating time in his career – apart from the occasions when Alex Mavros had played him for a fool. Maybe he should ring Xanthakos and tell him to arrest the tosser after all. No, that would be counter-productive. On balance, Mavros had done more good than harm in the past. What Xanthakos could do was find out why he was in Viotia.

  Kriaras went along the corridor to his office, nodding at the uniformed secretary in the outer room. H
is private domain was always kept locked. Although there was a master key held in case of fire, he had made sure that all the others had been delivered to him. That meant he could spread files out across the long table. Although they all had service blue cardboard covers, some were more personal. The Lia Poulou case was officially on the books, but aspects of it were known only to the brigadier. He sat down behind his desk and opened the reports that had been sent from both Viotia and Fokidha. There was nothing further on the burned man. The victim was still unidentified, despite his teeth having been compared with dentists throughout the prefecture. Perhaps he wasn’t a local, in which case pulling the records of thousands of tooth-pullers across the country would be necessary – but in no way justifiable in terms of man hours. DC Xanthakos reported that no vehicles had attempted to approach the scene. His officers were checking blue pickups for scrapes but had found none so far.

  As for the beheaded man at Delphi, the forensics team he’d sent from Athens confirmed what he had already been told by the medical examiner in Fokidha – there were five pomegranate seeds in the man’s mouth and nowhere else. On that subject at least, he hoped he was about to make some progress. The box containing the sculpture of the ancient figure taken from the victim’s house was at the far end of the table and the expert was late.

  Five minutes later, the secretary showed in an elderly, stooped man with thick white hair that almost reached his shoulders. Another superannuated hippy, the brigadier said to himself.

  ‘Professor Epameinondhas Phis,’ the old man said, blinking at Kriaras. ‘You have something for me?’

  The policeman went over to the box and opened it. ‘What can you tell me about this?’

  The professor pulled on a pair of white gloves and carefully lifted the figure from the strips of newspaper it had been packed in. He examined it front and rear, muttering to himself.

  ‘Well?’ Kriaras said, losing patience.

  Phis looked up. ‘You mentioned there were offerings.’

  ‘In the box.’

  The old man tossed pieces of newsprint on to the floor and removed two bowls that had been covered with transparent film, one containing meat and the other fruit. ‘Pork,’ he said. ‘And apple and pear.’

  ‘Are they significant?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Brigadier.’

  Kriaras managed not to bark another question, assuming that the professor would talk when he was ready.

  ‘You said you have photographs.’

  The policeman handed over a file.

  ‘Mm, libations of wine, as would be expected. Niche in the wall, yes.’ And more that was barely audible. Phis turned his attention back to the small statue, turning it up and examining the bottom with a lens in his left eye. Eventually, after putting the figure down and measuring it with a tape from top to toe, the old man smiled broadly.

  ‘I must congratulate you, Brigadier. You’ve found something very rare indeed. This is only the third specimen of this size that I’ve ever seen, and the other two were from Sicily. Mid-to-late fifth century BC.’

  ‘It’s an original?’

  ‘Oh yes. And it’s in remarkably good condition, especially as it has been in recent use.’

  Kriaras clenched his fists and took several deep breaths. ‘Just tell me, Professor, which god is it?’

  ‘Excuse me, in my excitement I omitted the most important fact. This is Hades – the Unseen, the Invisible, Aidoneus, son of Cronos and Rea, brother of Zeus and Poseidon, He Who Receives Many – usually referred to by mortals as Plouton the Wealth-Giver, lest his anger be aroused.’

  ‘Hades, the King of the Dead?’

  ‘Ruler of the underworld, yes.’ Professor Phis raised a finger. ‘Where did you say this was found? In Delphi?’

  Kriaras nodded.

  ‘I rather doubt it would have been an offering there. Apollo, Lord of Light, had no dealings with Hades.’

  The brigadier was thinking about the small group of paganists that had demonstrated against the modern Olympic Games being a travesty of the original sacred festival.

  ‘Do you know anyone who would worship Hades?’

  ‘Nowadays?’ The academic’s mouth twisted in disgust. ‘If you’re referring to those lunatic revivalists of Hellenic polytheism, I have no dealings with them.’

  Kriaras believed him. The few representatives he had met were several laurel leaves short of a wreath and Phis, for all his wild hair, seemed pretty much the rationalist. ‘You said the statue is very rare.’

  ‘Of course. Unlike most of their modern counterparts, the ancient Greeks weren’t fools. Not even the most blood-crazed warriors worshipped the Death God, probably because of Homer’s depiction of Achilles in the realms of Hades.’

  A vague recollection crystallized in the brigadier’s mind. ‘He said he’d rather be the humblest farm labourer on earth than a ruler of the dead.’

  ‘Very good. Worshipping Hades was a perversion to the overwhelming majority, even of non-citizens and slaves. We know very little about the few cults that existed – for example, there was a temple to the god in Elis, but it was open only once a year and to the priest alone. Who would pray to the bringer of his own end?’ Phis gave a crooked smile. ‘Apart from this person in Delphi.’

  Who’s gone to meet Hades without his head, Kriaras thought.

  ‘However, there is another approach to Hades worship.’

  ‘Please enlighten me.’

  The professor cackled. ‘There is very little light in the realm of the unseen one.’ When the brigadier didn’t respond, he continued. ‘Anyway, Hades as Plouton was worshipped jointly with his wife, Persephone. You remember that myth, I imagine.’

  ‘Persephone daughter of Demeter, the earth goddess, abducted by Hades and forced to stay with him during the winter months?’

  ‘Quite so.’

  Nikos Kriaras was interested now. He had remembered something else. ‘Weren’t there pomegranate seeds in that story?’

  Epameinondhas Phis nodded and opened his mouth to give another lecture.

  ELEVEN

  Mavros was about half a kilometre away from Kypseli when his phone rang – an unknown Athens number. It was probably Angie Poulou. He stopped and answered.

  ‘I saw you on the TV news. Is Lia in Viotia?’

  There was something in her voice that Mavros couldn’t put his finger on.

  ‘Did you also see your friend Rovertos Bekakos?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s not my friend.’

  Again, her tone was interesting, though perhaps she meant only that Maria fulfilled that role. Then again, Maria was playing a strange game, meeting Kriaras and also Angie’s husband – he was prepared to bet she didn’t know about what the Fat Man had seen and heard at the airport.

  ‘Anyway, he was down there because of the protesters at the HMC plant. Why were you there?’

  When in doubt, tell the truth, Mavros thought. ‘I followed him from his home.’

  ‘You what?’ There was no doubt about how Angie Poulou sounded now – scared. ‘If he saw you, he’ll tell Paschos.’

  ‘He saw me all right. You needn’t worry. There’s nothing to connect me to you.’

  ‘Maybe not, but he’ll start digging. Rovertos is very good at that.’

  ‘That’ll explain why he comes to the bauxite works so often then.’

  There was a short silence. ‘Was that a joke?’

  ‘Not entirely. Tell me, apart from the trip to Kithairon when she disappeared, did Lia often visit Viotia?’

  ‘Occasionally. I keep bees on the slopes of Mount Helicon. She came with me. Sometimes she would go with Paschos to that weird multicoloured town.’

  ‘The inaptly named Paradheisos? There are worse places on the western outskirts of Athens, but you probably haven’t seen them. No, you’re right. Paradheisos is weird.’

  ‘Have you found anything out about my daughter?’

  ‘To be honest, no. But the investigation’s still a live one.’

  Angie
Poulou sighed. ‘Tell me you think Lia’s still alive too.’

  ‘Given the amount of money she’s worth, I’d have to say she is. Don’t give up hope.’

  ‘Thank you,’ his client said in a small voice and hung up.

  Mavros drove on. He did believe Lia was still breathing, even after three months, but what he hadn’t told Angie was that the case was getting both complicated and nasty. If the Son was burning and beheading people, it was unlikely to end well. But why would Poulos have hired him? What was the significance of his victims? The trick would be minimising the body count – and he was sure that he’d soon be on the torturer’s list. He considered calling Nikos Kriaras, but decided against it. For one thing, he was already involved. For another, it was likely that the brigadier would be calling him after his appearance on the TV.

  He drove into Kypseli. It was a pretty village, built round a small curved bay. On the hill behind he could see the bee hives that would have given the place its name dotted over the flank of a low hill. The nearer ones looked in disrepair. There were a few fishing boats tied up beside a wooden pier, but they too were in less than pristine condition. This was a place in decay and it was obvious why – across the larger bay, the dark cloud was pumping from the plant’s high chimneys. He could make out a couple of large ships berthed, presumably loading finished aluminium. He wondered how much those cargoes were worth.

  Not that the inhabitants of Kypseli were taking it lying down. There had been signs by the roadside objecting to the pollution all the way from Paradheisos. From there, a high headland blocked out the HMC works and the wharf, so the workers could pretend that they lived in rural bliss – apart from the muck in the sky. In Kypseli, almost every building had a banner hanging from its eaves. ‘Put your carcinogenic waste in your own garden, Poulo!’ read one; another, ‘We can’t work, we can’t even swim – shut down the HMC works!’ As he parked in the three-sided square, Mavros realised that he hadn’t seen a single person. It was siesta time, but even then there would usually be some sign of life. He got out and looked around. The Ecologists for a Better Viotia office was easy to spot. It was the only building with its door open and people visible inside.