The Golden Silence Page 14

  The Father curled his lip as a group of Albanians in cheap clothes clustered round him, their voices coarse. There was a million or more of them in Greece. They were gradually taking over the country and no one cared. They were welcomed because Greeks were too busy sitting on their arses to do a real day’s work. It wouldn’t be long till the foreigners were in charge. At least the Americans who supported the Colonels had been anti-Communist. Now there was the European Union, socialist bearers of corruption. And there were the Russians, who were trying to oust the family by importing their filthy drugs, their whoring women and the violence they’d learned in Afghanistan and their other failed wars. That was the worst irony. The war against Communism had been won, but its former followers were setting themselves up in the countries that had ground down their mother states. The godless scum! Stratos Chiotis was a true fighter. He’d declared war on them from the start. But now he’d been replaced by the woman. The world had gone mad. Women ordering men about? At least that one had learned the virtue of pain.

  Moving to the chapel, the old man stood by the entrance and breathed in the scent of incense. It reminded him of his childhood, Sundays with his grandmother in the neighbourhood church. Boys weren’t expected to go regularly but he wanted to, especially during the long period of Lent. He enjoyed the harshness of religion. The church banned chairs and allowed only the old and infirm to hang from uncomfortable frames during the ritual. He gloried in the agony of the Passion and the terrible breaking of the Saviour’s body. But it was when he joined the army, following his martyred father into the ranks of the just, that he really understood how important pain and suffering were.

  The Father heard the priest chanting the liturgy and the years fell away. He was young again. Similar sounds were coming from the radio in the sergeants’ mess. They had it playing over the prisoners’ screams. It was a Sunday and the service lasted most of the morning. There were no rest days in the cell block. Military policemen willingly worked long hours. Theirs was a sacred duty.

  He was in uniform, his tie knotted tightly despite the temperature inside the building. He was smoking a cigarette, a newspaper in front of him. ‘Christ and the Holy Mother,’ he said to the sergeant across the table, ‘those bastard students, setting bombs to murder policemen. The sooner our leaders let us put them against a wall the better.’

  His colleague grinned and wiped sweat from his forehead. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer to carve them up first? You like breaking the fuckers, don’t you?’

  The Father spat a fragment of tobacco on to the floor. He didn’t like the other’s tone. ‘Yes, I’m dedicated to my work. Is there something wrong with that?’

  The sergeant, an older man whose stomach was stretching the fabric of his tunic, dropped his gaze. ‘Nothing,’ he said in a cowed voice. ‘Did the boy in cell seven talk?’

  ‘Not enough,’ the Father said, scowling. ‘He thinks he’s a hard man, but I’ve got a surprise for him.’

  ‘Going to use the electrics on his balls?’

  ‘I’ve already tried that.’ The Father ran his hand across the smooth skin of his face. No matter how many hours he worked, he always made sure he was well-turned out. Shaving was part of a soldier’s duty. ‘This time I’m certain he’ll give us the names of the others in his pathetic little resistance group.’

  ‘Why are you so sure?’ the sergeant asked, raising an eyebrow.

  The Father smiled, noting the effect that had on his colleague. ‘Because we picked up his girlfriend.’ He stood up and straightened his tunic. ‘And I’m going to work on her in front of him.’

  ‘…the sufferings of our Saviour on the cross…’ the priest’s voice brought the Father back to the hill above Athens. The Albanians were all around him.

  ‘Heathens,’ the old man said under his breath. ‘But the reckoning is coming.’ Then he pushed his way through the group and headed down the steps, eager to re-enter the world of pain.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MAVROS WALKED DOWN the avenue to a row of phone booths. The commander had always been paranoid about being contacted, insisting that he be called from public land-lines to reduce the chance of surveillance. The run-in they’d had during the terrorism case at Christmas and his recent promotion to chief of the organised crime division would have made him even more nervous.

  Leaning against the scratched plastic of the booth and pressing the receiver hard against his ear to reduce the traffic noise, Mavros slotted in a phonecard and called the restricted number.

  ‘Yes?’ Kriaras never identified himself.

  ‘It’s Mavros.’

  There was a pause. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I need to talk to you about the Sifis Skourtis killing.’

  ‘You know something?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, go to headquarters and make a statement.’

  ‘This is urgent. And you might not want everything I know to go on the official record.’

  ‘Are you strongarming me?’

  Mavros laughed. ‘No comment.’

  ‘Don’t play games. Very well.’ The commander gave the name of a nearby street. ‘In ten minutes.’

  Mavros set off down the avenue. Kriaras sounded like he was under pressure. That meant there was a chance he could play this to his own advantage. Unless the commander’s promotion had turned him into the kind of policeman who observed the rules. Mavros didn’t think that was very likely.

  Arriving at the street on time, Mavros crossed to the side adjoining the park. An unmarked dark blue Citroen with tinted windows flashed its lights. He checked he was unobserved and sauntered over. The back door clicked open.

  ‘Niko,’ he said, smiling at the uniformed man as he got in. ‘Good to see you.’

  ‘I’m very busy,’ Kriaras said, giving him an acid look. His dark curls were neatly styled for the benefit of the TV cameras, but the face below was lined. ‘This had better be good.’

  Mavros looked at the heavily built driver, who was wearing a leather jacket and dark glasses. ‘What about the man in black up front?’

  ‘What about him?’ Kriaras said, looking at a file on his knees. ‘He hears only what I tell him to hear.’

  ‘And have you told him to go deaf during this conversation?’

  ‘That depends on the content. Spit it out.’

  ‘Nice, Niko, very nice. Okay, here it is.’ Mavros told him about Katia and her connection with the dead man, but didn’t mention the musclemen from the Silver Lady or his client’s weapon. ‘So your people will probably find my prints in there,’ he concluded.

  The commander let out a sigh. ‘You really have a talent for sticking your nose into things that any normal person would keep away from.’

  Mavros shrugged. ‘Got to keep you guys on your toes.’

  ‘Who do you think put a bullet in the unfortunate young man’s brain?’

  ‘Now you want me to do your job for you?’ Mavros raised a hand when he saw the look on Kriaras’s face. ‘All right. He was a drug dealer. Either the opposition got to him, or his own people did.’

  ‘Any idea who he was working for?’

  ‘You’re the organised crime expert.’

  Kriaras jammed an elbow into his ribs. ‘You’re not making this easy for yourself, Alex. Do you want to spend a night in the cells?’ He pointed to the driver. ‘With the big man for company?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Mavros saw that he going to have to give the commander more. ‘I tailed him to a club in Alimos last night.’

  ‘Really. Name?’

  ‘The Silver Lady. I saw Sifis talk to a couple of heavies.’ He still didn’t want to come clean about the episode on the hillside. Kriaras would haul in the nightclub staff and that wouldn’t make the search for Katia any easier. He was pretty sure those guys, or others like them, had dealt with Sifis. He didn’t feel good about what had happened to the young man, but there was nothing he could do for him now. Katia had priority.

  Kriaras was writing notes in a clea
r hand. ‘You know who owns the Silver Lady?’

  ‘The Chiotis family.’

  ‘Bravo. Mrs Chioti was nearly killed outside the Silver Lady. The family is involved in a fight to the death with other criminal operations.’ He nudged Mavros again. ‘Are you sure you aren’t out of your depth?’ He gave a tight smile. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’

  Mavros let that go. ‘You think Sifis had something to do with all this mayhem that’s been going on?’

  ‘It did cross my mind,’ Kriaras said ironically. ‘The gangs are executing each other’s personnel. Maybe that’s what happened here.’

  ‘Could be,’ Mavros said, running his hand over his hair. He’d seen his client receive a gun from a Russian. He should be telling Kriaras that, but he couldn’t bring himself to hand Dmitri over till he was sure he was guilty.

  ‘This girl you’re looking for, have you made any progress?’

  ‘Not much.’ He wasn’t going to mention the link to the actress. ‘It could be she’s working at the Silver Lady.’

  ‘Are you going to check the place out?’

  ‘I haven’t got much choice.’

  Kriaras looked thoughtful. ‘Watch your back down there.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning. Anything else I should know before I enter the lion’s den?’

  The policeman gave that some consideration and then twitched his head. ‘No. Your co-operation is noted.’ His brown furrowed. ‘But if I find out that you know more about this death than you’ve told me, I’ll come down on you like a landslide.’

  ‘Great,’ Mavros said under his breath. He wanted to ask about the Russian Fyodor’s operation, but that would be too obvious a point to Dmitri. ‘I’ll be in touch if I find anything.’

  The commander smiled humourlessly. ‘Of course you will. In the meantime, don’t swim with the big fish, Alex. The last time you were almost swallowed whole.’

  Mavros narrowed his eyes. ‘So were you.’

  He got out of the car and walked away. He’d talked his way out of Sifis’s killing, but he was still no nearer finding Katia. Seeing Kriaras had brought back bad memories. The policeman had some very questionable friends.

  Damis walked into the headquarters of a Japanese car dealership on the avenue that led to the sea. The afternoon sun was glinting off the glass front of the futuristic building. A four-by-four on a tiled display stand looked like it was about to take off and smash through the windows to join the herd of similar vehicles on the wide road.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked a thin but beautifully dressed girl at the reception desk.

  ‘Mr Gikas is expecting me,’ he replied, glancing at his watch. ‘At three-thirty.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ the girl said, understanding that the visitor would not be giving a name. ‘Sixth floor.’ She pointed to the hall behind. ‘Take the furthest lift.’

  Damis did so. When the doors opened, a security man in a cap that was too small for his enormous head beckoned him in. Damis smiled and spent the trip watching him closely. It didn’t seem likely that the guy would make a move, but maybe his boss was feeling nervous.

  ‘End of the corridor,’ the man said, stepping out and standing by the lift.

  Damis didn’t bother replying. The top floor was obviously where the dealership’s owners worked, a series of wooden doors running down a wall faced with polished stone. When he got to the last one, he knocked and went in without waiting for an invitation.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said a small man in his fifties. He was standing at the window that took up the whole of the far side of the room. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’

  Damis had seen Gikas at the Silver Lady more than once. He came with his wife, a tight-faced woman who overpainted her lips and chain-smoked small cigars. ‘Apparently not. You know why I’m here?’

  The car dealer gave an uneasy smile. ‘Mrs Chioti said you were carrying out an investigation for her. She didn’t specify the—’

  ‘Two nights ago,’ Damis interrupted, going up to him. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I…I was working late,’ Gikas said, stepping back. ‘I—’

  ‘What happened outside the Silver Lady?’ Damis asked, stepping close and placing his hands on the glass to either side of the diminutive man’s shoulders.

  ‘Oh…I see…well, there was that shooting. Terrible thing. Thank God Mrs Chioti—’

  Damis moved his face closer. ‘You knew she was going to be there.’

  Gikas licked his lips and blinked. ‘I…yes, I was going to meet Rea at the villa that evening to go over some figures with her. She…she rang me and told me to meet her at the club instead.’

  ‘What time did you take the call?’

  ‘I’m not sure…I…please, you’re making me nervous.’

  Damis looked over the car dealer’s shoulder. ‘Long way down, isn’t it? Do these windows open? Yes, of course they do.’ He flicked the catch and slid the glass panel aside, then pushed Gikas backwards on to the narrow balcony. ‘I’m waiting for an answer. What time did she ring you?’

  ‘Nine-thirty or…or thereabouts.’ The man’s voice had broken like a teenager’s.

  An hour before Rea Chioti arrived at the Silver Lady, Damis thought. Time to get a hit man there if preparations had been made. ‘Did you tell anyone she was going to the club?’ he said, one hand behind Gikas’s neck and the other at his throat.

  ‘Only the Silver Lady, to make sure they had good champagne. I’m not sure who I spoke to.’

  ‘You’re not sure who you spoke to?’ Damis scoffed.

  ‘No…I…no.’

  ‘You definitely mentioned that Mrs Chioti was going to be there?’

  The dealer hung his head. ‘I…yes.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone else? Your wife?’

  ‘No…no.’ The dealer’s eyes were bulging, his lips flecked with spittle. ‘I know the business, I never talk…’

  ‘Is your phone system secure?’

  ‘Yes, it’s checked every day.’

  Damis took the hand from behind the small man’s neck so that he was holding him only by the throat and jerked him into the air. ‘I want all your mobiles, as well as printouts of the office phones for that evening.’

  ‘Yes…yes…’ Gikas turned his head and gasped when he saw how far over the edge he was. ‘Please, I’ll give…I’ll give Rea everything she wants.’

  Damis stared into his eyes. They were damp and fearful, but he could see nothing else in them. If there had been an attempt to bribe him, he’d have known Gikas was guilty. He let him down and pulled him inside. ‘All right,’ he said with a smile. ‘There was a security operative in your executive lift. Get him in here, please.’

  The car dealer was clutching his throat, his breathing rough. ‘Why?’

  Damis flexed his hands. ‘I’ll need something to do while you’re gathering up your mobiles and organising the printouts.’

  Gikas gave the command into an intercom.

  ‘Phones,’ Damis said, pointing to the desk. He watched as the quivering man took a mobile from his suit pocket and then another two from his briefcase.

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Come in, you fool,’ Gikas said hoarsely.

  ‘Anything wrong, boss?’ the gorilla asked, giving Damis a suspicious look as he stepped towards him.

  ‘Yes,’ said Damis, smashing his elbow into the security man’s abdomen. ‘Your tie isn’t done up properly.’ He bent over the figure writhing on the floor and wrapped the strip of fabric round the thick neck. ‘He can live or he can die,’ he said to the car dealer. ‘Your choice. Are you sure you’ve remembered all you phones? Are you sure you’ve told me everything?’

  Gikas’s mouth opened and closed. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘Yes, there’s nothing else.’

  Damis held his position for a few more moments, then lowered the security man’s head and let go of the tie. ‘Good,’ he said, rolling the man on to his side. ‘I’m glad we understand each other.’

 
; Ten minutes later he was out of the offices, his suit pockets full of phones and a sheaf of paper under his arm. Mrs Chioti’s people would check the numbers, but he was certain that the dealer wasn’t the one who’d betrayed her. He’d seen all the people on the list now. Most of them had convinced him of their innocence. That meant he had to ask more questions at the Silver Lady. So much for moving up the ladder.

  Mavros was climbing the stairs to Niki’s second-floor flat in Palaio Falira when his mobile rang. He stopped and fumbled for it in his pocket. Fortunately the caller didn’t hang up.

  ‘Alex? It’s Dmitri.’

  ‘Hello, Dmitri,’ he said as the timer on the light ran out and he was plunged into darkness. ‘Shit.’

  ‘What’s the matter? You have news?’

  ‘No,’ Mavros said, going up to the next landing and feeling for the switch. ‘Sorry, Dmitri. There’s nothing.’

  ‘What you spend the day doing?’

  ‘Listen, I can’t talk now. I’m working.’

  ‘Ah, all right, Alex. You call me tomorrow, yes?’

  ‘Okay.’ The call was terminated. Mavros felt bad about deceiving his client. The Russian-Greek didn’t sound like a man who’d shot someone earlier in the day. His voice conveyed the usual mixture of concern and impatience, but nothing else. Mavros told himself not to harbour suspicions about his client. Dmitri would have been at work on the motorway in the morning when Sifis was murdered.