The Green Lady Page 27

  ‘Slower,’ he ordered, slapping the girl’s buttocks. In his sixties, he found the prolongation of a single act more pleasurable than the frequent but brief encounters of earlier years.

  Of course, Paschos Poulos had been the architect of his escape from justice. Roufos had always suspected that the entrepreneur shared his taste for young flesh but, until recent months, he hadn’t realised quite how deviant Paschos was. The entrepreneur’s contacts in the Olympic movement had brought Roufos a huge increase in business, ancient Greek pieces having gained a higher profile because of the Games. Fortunately Professor Phis, one of his long-term suppliers, had managed to lay his hands on many more objects. The old man really did believe in Hades and his bride and, although he liked to leer at young female flesh, he could no longer perform. Right now he was in the study, updating his digital archive.

  ‘All right, that’s enough,’ Roufos said, seizing the girl’s arm and pulling her beneath him. ‘Relax. That way it won’t hurt.’

  The door opened. He turned to see Maria Bekakou in an open robe, her hair loose over her shoulders, with a sheepish boy beside her.

  ‘May we join you?’ she asked.

  ‘Why not? What about Rovertos?’

  ‘He’s with Paschos. Their girls were . . . reluctant. They’re disciplining them.’

  ‘Really. I’d like to watch that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t interrupt if I were you. Our lord and master has a short fuse.’

  Tryfon Roufos nodded. It was extraordinary how much rage lay beneath Paschos Poulos’s calm exterior. In some dark way it had driven his impregnation of his daughter Lia. Her disappearance had been both a blessing – what would Angie have said when the girl had begun to show? – and a curse. The people who were holding her had extracted millions of euros, which only increased Paschos’s anger.

  Maria Bekakou sat on the bed and rang her long-nailed fingers down the girl’s back.

  ‘She’s a tense one, isn’t she? Perhaps she’s worried about what will happen to her father’s job and the family home if she doesn’t please us.’ She glanced at the boy, whose head was hung low. ‘It must be an epidemic. Priapos here can’t get hard for more than a few seconds at a time.’

  Roufos rolled off the bed and went to the wardrobe.

  ‘Time to follow our leader,’ he said, coming back with two pairs of handcuffs, a peacock feather and a narrow cane. ‘These will help.’

  Maria Bekakou laughed. ‘Careful, you old swine. You’re making them cry.’

  The antiquities smuggler shrugged. ‘All part of the fun,’ he said, grabbing the girl’s wrist. ‘If you cry out I’ll put golf balls, plural, in both your mouths.’

  The young people kept quiet.

  It was after five a.m. by the time the vehicles were all in place, Mavros having confirmed that on the deputy commissioner’s phone. The two of them were in Lykos’s van, with Akis, whose mouth had been taped again, Lambis Bitsos, Angie Poulou, and Cadres One and Four. The large BMW that the Fat Man had followed from Athens, a gold Mercedes and Rovertos Bekakos’s Porsche were parked outside the pink house at the far end of the street. There was no sign of heavy security, suggesting that Kloutsis and his men hadn’t yet been reported missing. But there was a green people-carrier near the other cars and it wasn’t hard to imagine who that would have carried.

  ‘Drive towards the house,’ Mavros said to Lykos. ‘No headlights. Cut the engine about a hundred metres away and roll to a stop.’

  The young man nodded and started the engine. During the short trip, Mavros glanced to his left and saw Yiorgos standing by the rental Peugeot, which he’d manoeuvred into a blocking position on the side street. Lykos cut the power and they coasted towards the parked cars at the dead end.

  ‘Remember, fire only in self-defence,’ Xanthakos said, drawing his weapon. ‘We’re doing this by the book.’ He nodded to Mavros. ‘Let’s go.’

  They got out, the VW’s sliding door making more noise than was ideal. It had been agreed that the deputy commissioner and Mavros would lead the way, with Lykos, Bitsos and the fisherman following. The two cadres would guard Angie Poulou at the rear.

  Ducking behind the vehicles, Xanthakos and Mavros made it to the entrance of the property. There was a chain across the short drive, but no sign of any guards. They exchanged glances. That seemed very unlikely. Then Mavros saw a brief flash to his left. Aromatic smoke drifted across the low-level lighting in the garden.

  ‘Someone having a cigarette break,’ he whispered.

  The policeman looked away. ‘There may be another one on my side. Nothing else to do but—’

  ‘Go and get them.’ Mavros held up his thumb and two fingers, counting them down. Then he moved away, crouching as low as he could. There was a rock covered by a succulent and he made it there without being spotted. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Xanthakos behind the thick trunk of a palm tree. Looking to the front, he made out the smoker. He was sitting on another rock, this one bare, and the only thing in his hands was the cigarette.

  Mavros found a stone that filled his palm, took a deep breath and tossed it towards the house. As the guard got to his feet, head turned in that direction, Mavros rushed him, getting the muzzle of the Glock beneath the man’s chin before he could react.

  ‘No noise,’ Mavros hissed, taking the pistol and mobile phone from the guard’s belt and pulling the latter from the loops on his trousers. ‘Kneel down.’

  Mavros tied the belt round the man’s ankles, then taped his mouth – Lykos had several rolls of the material. Then he took off the guard’s shirt and lashed his wrists behind his back. Finally, he picked up the phone and turned it off, then put the pistol in his belt. Looking round, he saw the tall policeman across the driveway, one arm in the air.

  ‘Secure, Telemache?’ he whispered.

  ‘He’s not going anywhere. I’ve got his phone and weapon.’

  ‘Phone turned off?’

  ‘I’m not a complete idiot. There’s one more guard inside, or so the securitate said. Probably in the kitchen, to the rear.’

  Mavros turned and saw the other groups behind the cars. He signalled to them to stay where they were.

  ‘I’ll go left, you right—’

  ‘And maybe one of us will make it.’ The deputy commissioner moved away, shoulders lowered.

  Mavros made it to the corner of the house. The electric blinds were tightly closed and he couldn’t make out anything apart from lights in all the rooms. He followed the wall round and reached a swimming-pool surrounded by thick oleanders. There were loungers at the end nearest the house, a couple of which had damp towels on them. He tried the glass sliding door and, to his surprise, found that it opened. Stepping inside, he moved noiselessly across the stone floor. There was a single light above a pair of sofas. Gun in both hands, Mavros approached, but quickly saw that no one was lying on either. There were items of clothing on both furniture and floor. He crouched down and made out a female top, a brassiere, a pair of skimpy knickers and a single training shoe. The sizes suggested a girl or a small woman. Was Lia Poulou here?

  He went back outside, intending to alert Xanthakos to the way in. There was no sign of the policeman, so he waved Bitsos, Lykos and Akis forward.

  ‘What now?’ the journalist said, standing by one of the sofas.

  Mavros was pressing out a message to Xanthakos on the phone he’d borrowed from Bitsos earlier – they had all set their devices to mute. A few seconds later, he got a reply: ‘In kitchen, guard down. Meet in hall.’

  ‘Down?’ Bitsos said over his shoulder, sniffing blood. ‘Has he killed him?’

  ‘I doubt it. I’ll go first, then Lykos, Akis and you in that order, Lambi.’

  Mavros opened the door as quietly as he could and crept forwards. A passage led to the main part of the house and came out into a large hall. The deputy commissioner was on the other side of a wide staircase.

  ‘I haven’t seen anyone else,’ he said.

  ‘What about the gua
rd?’

  Xanthakos smiled. ‘He helpfully stepped outside for a piss, so he had the wrong weapon in his hand. He’s trussed up nicely.’

  Mavros told Bitsos and the other two to stay in the hall. He and the policeman headed upstairs, separating at the top. Mavros went left, putting his ear against every room door – they were all closed, except for a luxurious bathroom. A trail of clothes, this time male, led to a room on his right. He gripped the handle, took a deep breath and opened the door, swinging his pistol around. The room was empty, though the sheets on the king-size bed had been disturbed. There was a cloying perfume in the air. A suitcase full of women’s clothing was on a collapsible stand. Maria Bekakou’s?

  He went into the corridor and headed to the door at the end. He could hear muffled noises before he got there, and then a sharp cracking sound. He pressed out ‘Ready?’ to Telemachos and got the OK. Counting to three, he turned the handle.

  ‘Hands in the air!’ he shouted, taking in Paschos Poulos and Rovertos Bekakos. Both were without clothes and aroused, the former holding a large purple dildo and the latter a whip dangling a single strip of leather. Two naked girls were on their fronts, their wrists and ankles bound to the iron bedstead.

  ‘Drop those things,’ Mavros ordered, ‘and untie your victims.’

  The men exchanged glances and did as they were told, fumbling with the ropes.

  ‘I didn’t know private investigators were allowed to carry weapons, Mr Mavro,’ Bekakos said.

  ‘And I didn’t know lawyers were allowed to sexually abuse minors.’ Mavros stepped forward, gun pointing at Poulos’s groin and helped the nearer girl up. ‘Go downstairs to the hall, there are friends waiting.’ He handed her a gown from the floor. The other girl rolled away from the naked men and followed, wrapping a towel under her arms. Their faces were wet and there were red marks on their wrists and backs. Neither of them resembled Lia.

  ‘Cover yourselves up,’ Mavros said to the men, in disgust.

  Poulos smiled. ‘Not keen on the male form?’

  ‘Where’s your daughter, you piece of shit?’

  The businessman reached slowly for his trousers. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that? My wife hired you to find Lia, didn’t she?’

  Mavros turned to the lawyer. ‘Do you know where Lia is?’

  Bekakos zipped himself up. ‘If I did, I wouldn’t tell a common criminal like you. Breaking and entering while carrying a lethal weapon is a very serious offence.’

  ‘This is a police operation. Prepare to be arrested.’

  At that moment, Paschos Poulos made a rush for the door. Mavros had no hesitation in shooting him.

  The Son, who was working his way down the valley on foot and was only fifty metres from the top row of pink houses, heard the shot and stopped. He recognised it as coming from a pistol. The location was close to where he was headed. Checking his own weapons, he set off again, reaching the level of the rear garden walls. He remembered there was a path between the third and fourth houses. The fading light of the moon revealed it as he approached. He got to the pavement of Isiodhou Street, about twenty metres to the left of Omirou. In the distance he could see a car parked across the road, blocking it. Was he too late?

  There was a tree with low branches on the garden to his right. The Son swung himself up and cleared a space between the leaves. He could see several people coming out of the house at the dead end. He was glad he had brought the Beretta sniper rifle with the ATN night vision scope rather than the tranquilliser gun. The only question was, how many people should he take down?

  Then he saw Alex Mavros along with his other designated targets, as well as the bitch who’d slashed his ear.

  This was going to be a massacre.

  ‘It’s OK!’ Mavros yelled, after firing. He tied a sleeve torn from Paschos Poulos’s shirt tightly around the businessman’s upper arm and told him to press the rest of the garment tightly over the wound. Rovertos Bekakos had lost control of his bowels and was wiping himself with a sheet.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Mavros said, glancing down the corridor as Xanthakos pushed Maria Bekakou and Tryfon Roufos towards the stairs. The antiquities dealer didn’t look at all happy to see Mavros. ‘Come on.’

  There was a crowd in the entrance hall. As Mavros was halfway down the stairs, a door to his left opened and the bent figure of Professor Phis staggered out.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded, eyes wide.

  Mavros shook his head. ‘Didn’t anyone check the other rooms?’

  Lambis Bitsos looked at Lykos, but both remained silent.

  The cadres were at the front door, Angie Poulou between them. When she saw her husband, she rushed forward. He tried to back away, landing hard on his backside on the stairs. Mavros tried to put himself between them.

  ‘How could you?’ his client screamed at Poulos, slipping past Mavros. ‘How could you hire that pig to kill me? Where’s Lia? You know, don’t you?’ She looked at the young people who had been upstairs before glaring at him again. ‘You disgusting pervert!’ Her eyes shifted to the Bekakos couple. ‘You’re all child abusers, you . . .’ She broke off and vomited over the banister, narrowly missing Epameinondhas Phis.

  ‘All right, calm down, everyone,’ Xanthakos shouted. He identified himself. ‘We have transport to get everyone to police headquarters in Livadheia.’ The Communist cadres glanced at each other. ‘Assemble on the drive outside, please, and I’ll allocate vehicles.’

  Mavros pulled the tape from Akis’s mouth as he passed. ‘Didn’t need you after all,’ he said, touching Bitsos’s shoulder. ‘Lambi, keep an eye on Roufos, will you? I don’t want him slinking off again.’

  The journalist nodded avidly. ‘He’s got a big part in the scoop of my life.’

  Mavros went outside and saw the Fat Man in the gateway. ‘It’s OK, Yiorgo. We’ve nailed the lot of them.’

  ‘Really? The Son as well?’

  Mavros froze. In the heat of the bust, he’d forgotten about the killer.

  ‘Back inside, everyone!’ he yelled. ‘The Son, Telemache!’

  It was too late. The first shot blew Rovertos Bekakos’s head into a welter of blood, bone and brain. The second ripped through Tryfon Roufos’s throat. A fountain of arterial blood arced through the air as he sprawled back on the steps. Paschos Poulos moved faster than anyone, getting back inside the house, closely followed by his wife, Maria Bekakou and Xanthakos. The Fat Man had taken cover behind the gatepost, while the cadres, Bitsos and Lykos ran towards the door. That left Mavros, who was on the ground crawling towards the rock where the guard had sat earlier, and Akis Exarchos. The fisherman stood in front of the main entrance, offering cover to the others.

  ‘Get down!’ Mavros yelled.

  Akis did so, but not voluntarily. He was sent crashing back against the wall of the house by a shot that passed through his chest, killing him instantly.

  ‘Fuck!’ Mavros said, looking at Yiorgos. ‘Stay there!’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  Mavros called Xanthakos. ‘What’s going on in there?’

  ‘The Communists have disappeared,’ said the policeman. ‘I think they’ve gone out the back to meet the comrade beyond the trees.’

  ‘Can you see if the car’s still blocking the far end of the street?’

  ‘No, it’s gone too. Bastards.’

  ‘They have different priorities. So, what do we do?’

  ‘Hang on, Poulos and his wife have disappeared as well. Has anyone seen them? Shit!’

  Mavros groaned. Was there any way this could get worse, he asked himself.

  He didn’t have to wait long for an answer.

  ‘Alex Mavro?’ came a shout from down the street. ‘Come out and I’ll let the rest of them live. Come out now!’

  ‘No!’ the Fat Man yelled. ‘Alex, no!’

  Mavros lay back and checked his weapon. Then he ran through his options. The neighbours would presumably have called the police by now – sensibly, none of them had
shown their face. Telemachos would find Poulos – how far could they have gone, the husband in shock from the gunshot wound? Yiorgos was armed, as was Bitsos, though Lykos’s long knife wouldn’t be much use against a professional assassin armed with a heavy-duty rifle. So, they could stay put and wait for backup – who would be shot to pieces by the Son – or he could save the day.

  Stuffing the pistol into the back of his trousers, Mavros got up. He raised his arms as he reached the gate and smiled at the Fat Man as he stepped over the chain.

  Then he set off down the street named after the ancient farmer-poet Hesiod.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Angie Poulou had grabbed her husband by his injured arm and dragged him to the kitchen, before ramming a chair under the door handle and locking the door that led to the garden. Paschos collapsed against the fridge, cringing.

  ‘Tell me why you did it,’ she demanded. ‘Tell me why you sent the killer.’

  ‘I . . . no . . . aaaargh!’

  Angie slowly released her grip from his arm.

  ‘You . . . you hired that busybody Mavros. You . . . you should . . . have trusted me.’

  ‘Trusted you? You like to put your pathetic penis in underage girls like those poor souls here. Is that what you did to Lia? Where is she?’ Angie seized his arm again.

  ‘No!’ Poulos screamed, breaking off when there was hammering on the door.

  ‘Mrs Poulou?’ the deputy commissioner called. ‘Please, let me in. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Angie repeated, taking the Son’s pistol from beneath the back of her loose blouse and pointing it at her husband’s groin. ‘Tell me, NOW!’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Poulos gasped, his eyes bulging. ‘Honestly, I don’t know. The . . . the killer was supposed to find her.’

  Angela Poulou’s shoulders sagged. ‘Then there’s no point in you living any longer.’

  She lifted the weapon and pulled the trigger.