The Green Lady Read online

  ‘What about it?’ Lykos asked.

  ‘I think Bekakos and his sidekicks will have been infiltrating your set-up.’

  Angeliki stared at him. ‘We’re not complete idiots. You think we haven’t considered that? Everyone has to submit their personal details and email address for vetting.’

  Mavros hid his interest in the last statement. He had been wondering if Lia Poulou was a ‘secret’ ecologist. Maybe she was horrified by what her father’s company was doing in Viotia. But Kriaras’s officers had her computer. If they’d found she’d had dealings with Ecologists for a Better Viotia, surely they would have been all over the group.

  ‘Have the police ever shown up in the last three or four months?’ he asked Lykos.

  ‘Until today at the blockade, no. Why?’

  Mavros shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t be beyond Poulos A.E. to set tame cops on you.’

  ‘That’s why they employ Bekakos,’ Angeliki said.

  Lykos waved him over to the computer. ‘Here, I’ve brought up our discussion group membership list.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Mavros ran down it, not sure what he was looking for. If Lia Poulou had got in touch, it could have been from someone else’s computer and with a cover name and details. Would he be able to spot those? The alternative would be grinding his way through the debates to see if any text struck him as having been written by her. That wasn’t an inviting prospect.

  ‘Have you actually met any of these people?’ he asked Lykos, who was handing round pieces of fruit.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Mavros raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t you have volunteers coming down to help?’

  ‘At weekends and on holidays, yes. But we don’t encourage online supporters to reveal their real identities.’ The young man tapped the side of his nose. ‘Basic security.’

  ‘Really? Surely that makes it easier for your group to be penetrated.’

  Angeliki stepped forward. ‘Volunteers in person have to fill in forms when they arrive. We take photos of them as well.’

  ‘Is that right? Could I see them?’

  There was a muttered conference and then Lykos went to the back room, returning with a box file.

  Mavros went through the enrollment sheets. Although the people were mainly young, none was anything close to fourteen and none resembled Lia.

  ‘What age do people have to be to participate?’

  ‘Eighteen,’ Lykos replied. ‘We used to allow kids but, though they’re keen, there’s too much trouble when the parents kick up shit.’

  ‘When did you give up on them?’

  ‘Over a year ago.’

  He finished the list and went back to the top. There were more females than males, many of them from the Athens-Piraeus conurbation. He knew that Lia was a good student. Was she also a smartarse? Could she have changed sex online? If so, what masculine name might she have chosen?

  At second glance, a user name and email address made him sit up: LaiosGoodNews and [email protected]. The server was one of the transglobal companies that provided addresses to anyone with Internet access. The first half was the interesting bit. Laios – Laïos in Greek – was the mythical King of Thebes, father of Oedipus. To avoid a curse that the child would kill his sire, Oedipus was sent for exposure on Mount Kithairon. Mavros felt a stirring in his gut. That was where the burned body had been found. The boy was rescued and later did indeed kill his father. Mavros’s memory for myth was good – he’d been fascinated by the subject as a child. The place where Laios was murdered was at the junction of three roads, one that was still pointed out to tourists. It was about fifteen kilometres from where he now was – the road from Thebes met those that led to Delphi and, via Dhistomo, to Paradheisos and the HMC works. More to the point, the first three letters of Laios were in Lia’s name, which was a diminutive of Evangelia, meaning ‘good news’. The missing girl was a smartarse.

  Mavros looked at the data that had been provided. There was a postal address in Piraeus, which he ran through a search engine and found did not exist. The phone number rang unobtainable when he tried it. She had made things up. He went into the Ecologists for a Better Viotia forum and tried to access LaiosGoodNews. The site showed that the user had logged in several times in February, March and April, but had never made a contribution.

  Sitting back, Mavros thought about what he’d discovered. Nothing very useful. Then again, it appeared that the missing girl had been interested enough in the activities of the ecologists in the area where her father controlled a large plant to fake an identity. Maybe she had been a secret ecologist after all. But would that have driven her father or his slimy lawyer to hide her away or worse? It seemed unlikely, especially since they had apparently employed the Son to find her. He had another thought. Could Lykos and Angeliki have worked out who Lia was, as he had done, and contacted her some other way?

  His phone rang. As he answered it, he realised that night had almost fallen.

  ‘How goes it?’ he said to the Fat Man.

  ‘Wonderful. I lost the cow.’

  Mavros listened to his friend’s tale of woe. He got a shock when Yiorgos ran through the names of the people in the apartment block Maria Bekakou had come out of. ‘Phis?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes, Epameinondhas Phis. Crazy name, eh?’

  ‘Not only that. I heard Rovertos Bekakos mention the surname to his wife when I was watching them.’

  ‘So she went to see him, obviously.’

  ‘I’d guess so. See what you can find out about Phis. I wouldn’t worry about Maria Bekakou,’ he said. ‘She probably went home after visiting him, or to her shop.’

  ‘Or she could have driven to the hideout where she and her husband have stashed our missing girl.’

  ‘Unlikely – though possible, I suppose. Listen, I can’t talk. I’ll probably stay down here tonight.’

  ‘You’ve got leads? I’m on my way.’

  ‘Whoah! I might still make it back, but it’ll be late. If I don’t, I’ll talk to you first thing.’

  ‘Huh. I’m making imam bayildi.’ The Fat Man knew very well that ‘the imam fainted’, a dish of aubergines stuffed with onion, garlic and tomato, was one of Mavros’s favourites.

  ‘Don’t eat it all.’ Mavros commanded, then rang off.

  Epameinondhas Phis, he thought. The name meant something, but there was no time to follow it up because Angeliki was calling the girl in Paradheisos. He couldn’t keep his knowledge of ancient history down, though. The most famous Epameinondhas was the great Theban general who defeated the Spartans at Leuctra in the fourth century BC – and Leuctra, modern Lefktra, lay in the foothills of Mount Kithairon, near where the burned man had been found.

  Another coincidence, Mavros told himself. Eternal Greece had a habit of screwing you that way.

  The Son finished his routine of five times fifty press-ups and fifty stomach crunches. The floor of the cheap hotel in Thiva was tacky and he had laid a towel under his naked body. The Father used to laugh at his fitness regime, saying all a true torturer needed was his equipment and the ability to terrify his victim. But the truth was, the Son had never really been interested in causing pain. Of course, he did it if he had to, as in the cases of the burned man, the eyeless woman in Trikkala, and the phylax who’d lost his head in Delphi. The Son was actually relieved when they’d refused to disclose where the girl was. That meant he could deprive them of life, which was what he really enjoyed.

  In the two years he’d been out of Greece, he had come to realise that the Father was hidebound and old-fashioned. The old fool even believed in the rubbish the dictators had peddled of a Greece for Christian Greeks, even though he’d been happy enough to work as the Chiotis family enforcer for years, doing things that were neither civilised nor Christian. What would the old fool think of the influx of foreigners, especially those who had worked on the venues for the Olympic Games? He’d been proud that the festivities were coming back to Athens and had hit the Son across the face when he’d
expressed contempt. Anyone with a brain knew that the Games would provide vast profits for Greek business interests and their political marionettes, but would tie a vast weight round the country’s never healthy economy. What was the city in Canada that had been paying off its Olympic debt decades later?

  Not that he cared. From an early age, he had set himself in silent opposition to the tyrant. He had learned everything he could and then left the country to avoid arrest. In his time abroad, he’d expanded his skills and was now capable of anything a single operator could achieve. His reputation had grown in the circles where such work was prized and, given the intrinsic lawlessness of the wealthy in his home country, he’d been sure it would only be a matter of time till he was called back, with immunity from prosecution guaranteed.

  The Son stood in the shower and let the cold water course over him for ten minutes. During that time he cleared his head – a trick the Bulgarian assassin had taught him – and thought only of the split-second when life ended: the final flicker of eyelids, the last shallow breath, the abbreviated cry or cough as bullet or blade penetrated vital organ. He looked down. As usual he was erect, but he did nothing about it. Do-it-yourself sex wasn’t for him.

  Flaccid by the time he had finished towelling himself down, the Son walked out of the bathroom and turned on the TV. The news bulletins were the usual dreary mixture of politicians shouting at each other, journalists trying without success to be witty and moderators whose plastic surgery had failed big time. He flicked from channel to channel, registering little, then felt a jab of surprise and went back to one of the state channels. There was no doubt about it. The long-haired piece of shit standing on top of a trailer in the middle of a demonstration was Alex Mavros. The Son grabbed a pen and took notes on the first page of the Gideon’s Bible – how the Father would have cursed him.

  Mavros, the HMC plant near Paradheisos, Ecologists for a Better Viotia, and the snake who had acted as go-between – Rovertos Bekakos looked unhappy. On the contrary, the Son was ecstatic. He’d been planning on catching up with the private investigator who had driven him from his home country after the last case with the Father. Maybe he wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

  The call from his employer came on time. Truly the God the Father had believed in moved in curious ways. They wanted him to deal with the young male ecologist he’d just seen on the screen, after ascertaining if he knew where the missing girl was. They also wanted to know what Alex Mavros had been doing at the demonstration. However, the PI was not to be harmed.

  The Son would see about that.

  Telemachos Xanthakos was unimpressed. He’d got back to his office in Livadheia to find a message from the chief summoning him along the corridor immediately. He was then given a tongue-lashing for failing to intervene effectively at the HMC protest. Why hadn’t he called for backup? Why hadn’t he arrested the ring leaders? Why were the Ecologists for a Better Viotia even operating in the prefecture? He’d been tempted to reply that it would have been pretty odd if Ecologists for a Better Viotia had been going about their business in, say, Fokidha, but he managed to restrain himself. The commissioner was known as Vesuvius – he rumbled and puffed, but very rarely erupted into full-blown action. Xanthakos made a reasoned case in his defence and managed to calm the old man down.

  ‘They watch these things in Athens, you know,’ his boss said.

  That was what this was about. Xanthakos had seen the TV crews, who’d presumably been tipped off by the protesters. Some king pin in the Public Order Ministry must have pulled the commissioner’s chain.

  ‘What was it really like down there, Telemache? Sit down, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Well, the workers were unhappy, especially those trying to get home after their shift. The protesters were serious, though, and I thought it better to keep a low profile. Backup wouldn’t have made much difference, considering the tailback and the lack of room for manoeuvre. As for arresting the ecologists, we can do that whenever you like. They blocked a public highway, for a start.’

  ‘I think their activities have been successfully curtailed by Mr Bekakos.’

  ‘The HMC lawyer? I saw him at the blockade. He signalled to the driver of a bulldozer to crash into the tractor and trailer. People could have been injured. Actually, I considered arresting him.’

  The commissioner went into pre-eruption mode, his face redder than a prime Boeotian tomato. ‘You did WHAT? Are you out of your mind? You know how important the bauxite plant is to the local economy. We treat its executives and their officials with the smoothest of kid gloves. Do you understand?’

  Xanthakos stood up. ‘Yes, sir. Is there anything else?’

  ‘There is. I hear a private investigator by the name of Mavros was nosing around at the demonstration. Make sure you keep an eye on him.’

  The deputy commissioner saluted, though it wasn’t the usual form when they were on their own, and went back to his office. He had never actually met Rovertos Bekakos, but he’d seen the chief bowing and curtseying to him when the plant hosted open days and festivities. The lawyer always stuck close to Paschos Poulos and his English wife. That reminded him. He’d read that Bekakos and his wife had been going around the white houses in Paradheisos. A disaffected worker whose wife had died of cancer and who had subsequently lost his job – and his right to live in the town – had complained that they’d tried to buy his silence. Xanthakos hadn’t paid much attention as Paradheisos was generally off limits.

  That was going to change. He didn’t like being smacked around by the chief and he definitely didn’t like the Athenian lawyer. On the other hand, Alex Mavros had struck him as a reasonable human being. He would take a drive down to Paradheisos in the evening and sniff around – even though he knew that would make his nostrils burn. There was something about the place that struck him as beyond strange. Besides, he’d been given a direct order to check up on the private eye.

  THIRTEEN

  Lykos and Angeliki offered to come with Mavros to Paradheisos, but he told them not to put themselves at risk so soon after the court order had been served. He had a feeling that the muscleman Kloutsis and others like him would be out in force. The question was, how was he going to get into the town without being spotted?

  ‘Your best bet is to leave your car here,’ Angeliki said, pointing to the map on the wall. ‘A line of trees and bushes marks the town boundary and they’re pretty thick. If you walk up the watercourse here, you’ll be able to slip through at the end of Themistokleous. Ourania’s house is halfway down. You’ve got till eleven, when her mother closes the shop.’

  ‘I won’t need that long,’ Mavros said. ‘I don’t want to stress the poor girl out.’

  Lykos nodded. ‘She’s still very vulnerable.’

  Mavros looked at him. ‘You did a great job convincing her to see me.’

  The young man gave him an admonitory glare. ‘Just make sure you don’t make it worse for her, you hear?’

  ‘I’ll try not to. I’ve got a voice recorder in the car, so all she has to do is tell her story.’ He raised a hand towards the statue in the niche. ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Demeter,’ Lykos said. ‘Goddess of the earth and fertility.’

  ‘The second part I knew,’ Mavros said, smiling. ‘And I can see her relevance to ecology. But there’s more to her, isn’t there?’ He had decided to press the pair of them. He was almost certain they had nothing to do with Lia Poulou’s disappearance – they wore their hearts very much on the short sleeves of their T-shirts – but he wanted to be sure, though he also had to be careful not to give the game away.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Angeliki asked suspiciously. ‘She is the greatest of powers on the surface of the earth, the provider of food and fuel. Without the Green Lady’s munificence, humans would not survive.’

  Mavros had an acute sense of religious faith, probably because he didn’t possess any himself. The offerings around the statue suggested some form of worship. He wasn’t sure what significance that
might have, but he pressed on.

  ‘Demeter,’ he said, ‘if memory serves, was only effective for between a third and half of the year because her daughter Persephone was stolen away by Hades and taken to the underworld.’

  ‘She was raped,’ Angeliki said, sudden tears dulling the brightness of her eyes. ‘The myths still speak to us, they enshrine the eternal truths. Men abuse girls and women, they overwhelm them physically and treat them as little more than slaves.’

  ‘Well, it’s not exactly so—’ Lykos broke off when he saw the set of his partner’s jaw.

  ‘It’s exactly like that,’ she said, her voice shrill. ‘It was in earliest times and it continues to be so. What’s Alex going to talk to Ourania about?’

  Mavros and the young man exchanged glances.

  ‘So, are you one of those ancient religion revivalists?’

  ‘We both are,’ Lykos said. ‘Does that disturb you?’

  ‘No, I don’t have any issue with religions that bring comfort to their followers and do no harm to others.’ Mavros smiled. ‘The problem is, I’ve never come across one of those.’

  Lykos took Angeliki’s hand. ‘We worship Demeter and we do what we can to protect the precious earth.’

  ‘What about Persephone?’

  ‘We worship the Maiden too,’ Angeliki said fiercely. ‘Her return from the underground realms stimulates Demeter’s fertility.’

  Mavros decided to go for broke. ‘So, since Persephone was married to Hades by Zeus’s command, you must also worship the death god.’

  Lykos gave him a cold look. ‘No one gives offerings to the lord beneath the earth, no one who is a true Olympian believer. We do not even speak his name.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Mavros said emolliently. ‘I’m an amateur in these matters.’ He looked out the open door and across the dark water to the lights of the bauxite plant. ‘I seem to remember that Hades was also known as Plouton because the bounty of the earth – minerals and so on – belongs to him. That would have given you another reason to oppose the HMC. The company is despoiling not just Demeter’s top soil but Hades’s wealth deep down.’