The Green Lady Read online

  Mavros had a vague memory that pigs were sacrificed during the Eleusinian Mysteries. Was this something similar? Then he saw the faces beneath the black veils worn by the men and the white ones worn by the women. Tryfon Roufos, struggling to keep hold of his porker; Maria Bekakou, a knife in her right hand and the piglet under her left arm; her husband, Rovertos, knife between his teeth and both hands on his sacrificial victim; a stooped old man, presumably Professor Phis, who was relying on one of the heavies to hold up his piglet; and, in front of Persephone, none other than Paschos Poulos. The tycoon had a tight grip on his sacrifice, knife blade already at its throat. A shorter woman Mavros couldn’t make out was to the rear. The noise of the terrified animals increased in volume.

  Bitsos was swearing under his breath, unable to take photographs because of the flash. Mavros held him back, the Webley still in his hand.

  ‘Accept, oh chthonic gods, this humble sacrifice,’ said the old man. ‘May the blood of these healthy creatures nourish you and persuade you of our devotion.’

  The squealing of the pigs suddenly stopped. Mavros saw jets of blood spurt over the statues’ robes and plinths. He frequently ate pork, but he felt sickened. These people were savages. Then he felt a throbbing in his pocket – he had turned his phone to vibrate. He took it out and saw Niki’s name on the screen. He cut the call and turned off his phone. His ex-lover always did have an exquisite sense of timing. Turning his attention back to the scene in the temple, his heart took a hit. The celebrants had gathered close around the deities and were placing the dead animals beneath them. If Lia really was down the tunnel, would they go to visit her? Or was it Lia in the robes behind Paschos Poulos. He clutched the revolver even more tightly.

  Then the people in black and white stepped back from the statues, bowing low. Phis was mumbling a prayer, this one in ancient Greek. A few seconds later, they were at the temple entrance. It was then that Mavros saw the face of the second woman. It was Angeliki, the ecologist.

  Then the tip of a fish spear pierced the skin of his lower back and the Webley was swiftly removed from his hand.

  ‘Time you two intruders met the VIPs,’ Akis Exarchos said, pointing the revolver at Bitsos and keeping the harpoon in place.

  They stumbled forwards and were surrounded by security men, as well as the celebrants.

  ‘You sold us out,’ Mavros said, glaring at the fisherman.

  ‘The company’s offer was generously increased earlier today,’ Akis said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘We decided that bringing you over was a plan worth sticking to.’

  ‘So, no shooting Rovertos Bekakos?’ Mavros said, with heavy irony.

  The lawyer stepped forward. ‘That would be somewhat counter-productive on Mr Exarchos’s part.’ He looked over his shoulder at Paschos Poulos, who was keeping his distance. ‘You’ve been poking your nose into things that don’t concern you, gentlemen,’ he continued, glancing at Bitsos and then Mavros.

  ‘And you’ve had a spy in Ecologists for a Better Viotia all along,’ Mavros said, giving Angeliki a filthy look.

  ‘My loyalties are to the great gods,’ the young woman said, her head high.

  ‘Not much sign of Demeter here.’

  ‘Her daughter is present,’ Angeliki said. ‘Can’t you feel her aura all around?’

  ‘Kiss my aura,’ said Bitsos. ‘Will you crazies just fuck off?’

  Mavros grimaced. Diplomacy had never been in the journalist’s armoury.

  ‘Crazies?’ the old man shrieked. ‘How dare you? The Olympian gods are omniscient and all-powerful. You will regret those words.’

  ‘I rest my case,’ Bitsos said.

  ‘And what are you doing here, you slimebag?’ Mavros demanded of Tryfon Roufos. ‘Going to sell the statues?’

  The antiquities dealer gave a tight smile. ‘Of course not. They are holy objects. But there have been other finds of interest.’

  ‘Enough,’ Paschos Poulos ordered. ‘Mr Mavro, I know that my wife employed you to find Lia. She has paid the price for that.’

  Mavros’s gut clenched.

  ‘As will you,’ Poulos continued.

  ‘You know where Lia is, don’t you?’

  Poulos’s gaze wavered. ‘As a matter of fact, we don’t. But Angeliki will soon find out from Lykos.’

  ‘He has her?’

  ‘So it would seem. He’s been very secretive about it.’

  ‘You know his aunt is involved?’

  Poulos waved his hand loosely. ‘That Communist hag is of no significance. The same goes for the strongmen she sent.’

  ‘What about the Son?’ Mavros demanded. He was fast running out of ammunition. ‘He’s been picking off members of your lunatic cult.’

  Professor Phis let out a chilling cackle. ‘No, he’s been killing off members of a rival group, one which, unlike ours, could indeed be described as a cult – a minor and misguided group of Olympian enthusiasts. Lykos is also one of them. The young man is strong-willed. He has been sent photographs of their terrible deaths, but has not deviated from his course. And he has kept Angeliki out of the – how does the expression go? – loop.’

  Mavros looked at Paschos Poulos, deciding that it was time to shake the tycoon up. He had nothing to lose. ‘So, do you ejaculate over fourteen year olds like your lawyer?’

  Kloutsis came forward in a rush and put his arm round Mavros’s neck. Poulos followed him.

  ‘Girls became sexually available as soon as they started their periods in ancient times,’ he said, sour breath snaking into Mavros’s nostrils. ‘We follow the traditions.’ He signalled to Kloutsis to relax his grip.

  Mavros gasped for breath, then remembered what his client had said. ‘I don’t remember incest being a feature of ancient Greek life, except in myths where the people who practiced it met bad ends. How many times did you rape Lia?’

  This time Kloutsis felled Mavros with a punch to the side of the head. Stunned, he heard the professor’s high voice.

  ‘In this, as in so many things, you are wrong. Demeter was impregnated by her brother Zeus and Persephone was the product of that union. In turn, Persephone was given to Hades, brother of Zeus and Demeter, and the Maiden’s uncle.’

  ‘Given?’ Mavros panted. ‘Hades raped Persephone.’ He took a kick from Kloutsis in the belly and writhed on the stone floor.

  ‘We are finished,’ Poulos said. ‘You and your snooping friend will not see the light of day again.’ He nodded towards the tunnel. ‘Down there lies Hades’ kingdom. May you have joy of it.’

  ‘Kiddie fiddlers!’ Bitsos shouted. He hit the deck after a heavy blow to the ribs.

  Kloutsis grabbed Mavros and one of his sidekicks the journalist.

  ‘Oh, by the way,’ Bekakos called. ‘That fat slob you had following us. He’ll shortly be feeding the fish in the bay.’

  Bile rushed up Mavros’s throat. Not only had he killed himself and Bitsos, he’d also condemned his best friend to death – as well as giving his mother another lost son to mourn and his sister another brother.

  TWENTY-ONE

  The Fat Man understood why Mavros had told him to stay away from the parked Peugeot. Obviously he was safer hiding behind a boulder ten metres up the hillside, even though getting there almost killed him. He ruined a perfectly serviceable pair of shoes that he’d been wearing for a decade. Having got used to being a private eye, he’d taken tools from his box with him. Forearmed was forewarned, or something of the sort.

  The problem was, it had got dark and he didn’t know what to do. The BMW had disappeared beyond the gate to the HMC plant and was still in there – unless it had gone out the other side, which he could do nothing about. He considered calling Mavros, but decided against it. He would be busy and wouldn’t like being distracted for no good reason. Yiorgos lay back on the stony ground and looked up at the stars. They weren’t as bright as they should have been out here in the sticks, the lights from the aluminium works polluting the night sky almost as much as the cloud of poison gas
. How did people live down here? Even in Athens in the years of the nefos, before filters had been applied to vehicles and chimneys, his lungs hadn’t burned like this. Maybe you got used to it. Yeah, right. Probably you died.

  The other problem was, he was starving. There was a bag of food in the car, but going down to get it might blow his cover. Then again, hardly any cars had passed either way in the last half-hour. Yiorgos gave it another five minutes and then lumbered down the slope, ending up on his arse more than once. He slid the key into the lock and slipped his hand under the passenger seat. The bag had moved during the race to keep up with the BMW and he had difficulty reaching it. That was why he didn’t hear the approaching car till it was too late. He stood up in the headlights, one hand in the pocket with the screwdriver.

  A very tall man in white shirt and dark blue trousers got out of the other vehicle, holding up a plastic-covered ID card. The Fat Man swore under his breath.

  ‘Good evening, sir. Need any assistance?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can I ask what you’re doing here?’

  ‘Yes.’ Yiorgos grinned and kept silent.

  ‘I see. Is this your car, sir?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll need to see the insurance document, as well as your licence and ID card.’

  The Fat Man put the bag of food on the roof and bent down, fumbling with the handle of the glove compartment. He found the certificate, which was stapled to the hire agreement, and handed it over, along with his personal documents.

  ‘This car was hired by Alexander Mavros,’ the policeman said, his brow furrowing.

  ‘And my name’s on the insurance cover.’

  ‘So it is, Mr Pandazopoulo.’ He came closer. ‘My name’s Telemachos Xanthakos.’

  ‘Oh, yes. He mentioned you.’

  ‘Am I right in assuming you’re a colleague of his?’

  ‘Yes.’ Yiorgos smiled proudly. ‘I’m assisting him with his inquiries.’

  ‘Are you now? And that includes parking on the side of the road leading to the HMC plant? You’re lucky the security section hasn’t been out to ask what you’re doing.’

  ‘It’s a public highway, isn’t it?’

  Xanthakos nodded. ‘Here it is. That doesn’t mean they won’t get curious. Just out of interest, what are you doing here?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  The policeman sighed. ‘You wouldn’t happen to be a member of the Communist Party, would you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Xanthakos smiled. ‘Now I understand. Listen, I had dinner with Alex last night. We’ve been working together on the case.’

  Yiorgos raised an eyebrow, his hand inching towards the food bag. ‘What case would that be?’

  The policeman looked around. ‘The Son’s murders. And Rovertos Bekakos’s activities with an underage girl.’

  So he doesn’t know about Lia Poulou, the Fat Man thought. ‘Disgusting what rich lawyers get up to. Have you arrested him?’

  ‘Not yet. Look, do you know where Alex is? I’ve called him, but he doesn’t answer.’

  Yiorgos tried his friend’s number and got the unobtainable signal. He felt a twinge of unease. It went against the grain to talk to a cop, but Alex seemed to trust this one. ‘He told me he was coming across to the plant from Kypseli by boat. Some fisherman called Akis was bringing him.’

  ‘That would be Akis Exarchos.’

  ‘Is he dependable?’

  ‘He’s with the Ecologists for a Better Viotia. He lost his wife to cancer recently.’ Xanthakos looked across the bay to the lights of the village. ‘Why don’t we go and see if they’re back? Alex shouldn’t have tried to enter the plant by stealth.’

  ‘Em, I think there was someone else with them.’ The Fat Man saw no reason not to include Lambis Bitsos in the equation – it would serve the nosy fucker right if he got charged with trespassing. Though that would mean Alex did too. He gave the cop the hack’s name, all the same.

  ‘Bitsos? The guy on TV? What’s he doing down here?’

  ‘You’re asking me?’

  Telemachos Xanthakos laughed. ‘All right, I should know what’s going on in my own backyard.’

  ‘Especially since you’re deputy commissioner. Why are you on your own? Doesn’t your rank drive about with convoys of bully-boys?’

  ‘Not in Viotia. Turn your heap round and follow me.’

  The Fat Man did as he was told, but slowly. He grabbed bites from the large sandwich he’d made earlier in the day as they drove along the water’s edge. The lights of Paradheisos rose up the slope ahead. It looked like a kid’s drawing of a pyramid, in layers of white, yellow and pink. Christ and the Holy Mother, where have I ended up, he asked himself. And what am I doing taking orders from a cop? This isn’t paradise, it’s the other place.

  Angie Poulou was in the bath, the water so hot she could hardly breathe. Her assailant’s face came out of the cloud of steam, then a hand. In the latter was the cut-throat razor with the ivory handle that Paschos had inherited from his father, though he never used it. At least the man who was orchestrating her death had allowed her to keep on her swimming costume. That made her feel less vulnerable, which in turn made her more determined to fight for her life. She would see Lia again, she’d do anything to ensure that.

  ‘Now,’ the smooth-faced man said, still wearing his wide-brimmed hat. ‘You take the razor. You cut these veins here, in this direction.’ He demonstrated, then raised the pistol. ‘Don’t try to take a swipe at me.’

  The threat was empty, Angie knew. Whoever was paying him – and she thought her husband was the most likely contender – wanted it to look like she’d been driven to suicide. She had no idea of his plans for Lia, should she still be alive. Whatever they were, he would find a way of attributing her death to their daughter’s absence. Shooting her would make that harder to explain, though Paschos’s contacts in the police would probably cover it up. But did the dead-eyed man with the pistol know all that?

  ‘What’s Alex Mavros to you?’ she asked, keeping her eyes off the razor.

  ‘Never mind. Take the blade.’

  ‘I can arrange a meeting. He’ll come running when I ask him.’

  ‘Take the blade.’ The voice had a harder edge, but it was still low, almost conversational.

  ‘I know his mother as well.’ Angie’s eyes met her killer’s. ‘Would you like me to introduce you? I’m sure you’d enjoy that.’

  ‘You’re a cold one.’

  Angie smiled. ‘On the contrary, it’s a sauna in here.’

  ‘Take the fucking blade!’

  She let out a scream, then his other hand was on her mouth. He must have dropped the pistol. She bit down hard, feeling her expensive crowns shear through skin and muscle. She locked her jaws. The razor dropped from his other hand into the water and he hit her hard on the cheek repeatedly. She felt for the blade, knocking it away with her fingers the first time. Then she grasped the handle and whipped it out of the bath, striking him on the side of the head. He pulled away quickly, gasping in pain. Blood fountained horizontally before he jammed his hand against the wound. She felt her teeth move as he tried to wrench away his other hand. She slashed at him again, this time opening a wound higher on his head.

  ‘Fucking bitch!’ he screamed, taking the hand off the wound and scrabbling for the pistol.

  There was a dull crack as her crowns left her mouth, but by then she had located the pistol. She pulled herself out of the water and aimed the weapon at the bleeding man. He glared at her, then turned and left.

  Angie Poulou looked down. Her shattered teeth were on the floor alongside her assailant’s hat. There was a piece of his ear in the bloodied bathwater.

  Kloutsis and one of his thugs pushed Mavros and Bitsos against the wall at the rear of the temple and searched them. Mobile phones, keys, watches and the journalist’s camera and other equipment were taken. Mavros watched as the robed figures left, none of them casting a backward glance.


  ‘This way to the underworld, snoopers,’ Kloutsis said, taking one of the burning brands from the wall and pushing Mavros into the tunnel. His sidekick also took a light and drove Bitsos after them.

  ‘You’re making a mistake,’ Mavros said. ‘Both of us are well known. We’ll be missed.’

  ‘Not by us you won’t,’ the heavily built man said, swinging the brand at Mavros.

  ‘I’m a television personality,’ Bitsos said.

  ‘Not down here you’re not.’

  ‘The police in Viotia know where we are,’ Mavros said, the damp mineral air sticking in his throat.

  Kloutsis laughed. ‘The police in Viotia do what we tell them. Now fucking shut up.’

  After five minutes of descent, the flames showed a frame with bars ahead.

  ‘The miners used to keep their dynamite here,’ the other thug said. ‘Got anything explosive to say?’

  Mavros and Bitsos watched as a rusty key was put in the lock and the door squealed open.

  ‘Thought not.’

  They were pushed inside and the door slammed after them. The key was turned and removed.

  ‘Have a nice death,’ Kloutsis said, as he and his colleague started the walk back up to the surface. It wasn’t long before the lights disappeared completely.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Bitsos.

  ‘I rather doubt it,’ Mavros replied, crawling away from the bars. His head soon banged into a rough wall of rock. ‘No, you’re right,’ he said. ‘Fuck.’

  ‘I’m scared of the dark,’ the journalist moaned.

  Mavros moved closer to him. ‘I think that may be at least part of the point.’

  The Fat Man followed the lanky cop’s car round the seafront in Paradheisos and towards the faint lights of Kypseli. He was now officially worried, mainly because Alex wasn’t answering his phone but also since he’d never trusted a policeman further than he could throw him – and he’d thrown plenty over the years on demonstrations. What option did he have, though? Xanthakos seemed concerned and, surprisingly, was prepared to do something. Whether it would get them any further was another story.

  The vehicle ahead stopped in the village’s small seaside square. Yiorgos drew up next to him and got out. He looked around anxiously, aware that the Son had been there. Where was the fucker now? Xanthakos had gone over to an unlit building and was knocking on the door.