The way things were going, the Green Park looked like becoming a regular haunt for my clandestine meetings with Sotiropoulos. If it had been winter, we would have gone to sit aside in some quiet booth. But it was summer and the previous day’s lousy weather was continuing with the humidity stultifying. So we chose a table at the back, among the trees, to avoid any indiscreet eyes.
I’d asked to see him because the search done by Koula and her cousin, Spyros, had not revealed even one company owned or joint-owned by Vakirtzis. Spyros had even managed to get into the tax returns, but had found nothing. I began to have doubts about Logaras’s reliability, but then I reflected that he no doubt knew what he was saying; we were the ones who didn’t know where to look. And so I had decided once again to have recourse to Sotiropoulos, who was after all a colleague of his and, as was usually the case, would know far more than the Ministry of Trade.
This time, however, I was facing an uneasy Sotiropoulos. He took a sip of his iced coffee and stared at me with the look of someone in a tight corner.
‘You’re asking me to reveal the secrets of a colleague who died in a tragic manner. It’s not exactly easy for me.’
‘Secrets or skeletons? Because Logaras, who knows everything, seems to be talking more of skeletons.’
He remained silent and took another sip of his iced coffee.
‘And there’s another thing,’ he said, even more tense. ‘Vakirtzis and I both came from the same ideological background.’
‘So what?’
All that stuff concerning ideological background meant nothing to me and I was at pains to understand where he was leading. Apparently, however, he took my reaction as an expression of disparagement because it rankled him.
‘You’re quite right. It was my mistake to bring up ideology,’ he said sarcastically. ‘You coppers don’t have a clue about the meaning of comradeship and solidarity.’
After several weeks, Sotiropoulos was back to his normal self. Except that, in the meantime, we had grown familiar and the relations between us had changed.
‘You know, Sotiropoulos, how I used to refer to you before we got to know each other better?’
‘How?’
‘Robespierre in Armani. And with those little round glasses that you and your intellectual friends wear, like the ones that Nazi butcher Himmler used to wear.’
He stared at me for a moment in astonishment and then burst out laughing. ‘You know, you’re not far wrong.’
‘But I’ll give you one thing.’
‘What?’ he asked, genuinely curious.
‘You’re above board. You might use pressure to come up with a story or exaggerate your reports or make us out to be incompetent, but you never do it for your own ends. You don’t try to scare or blackmail to make money for your businesses.’
He eyed me with satisfaction. ‘I’m glad you give me that at least,’ he said, his face beaming.
‘So what’s your relation with Vakirtzis that makes you want to cover for him? Didn’t you see his place?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re still in any doubt?’ I didn’t want to say anything about the notes we’d found on Stefanakos’s laptop because it would only start his mouth watering. ‘I still haven’t found out how and from where he was filling his pockets, but he certainly had his finger in several pies, and I think you know about it. So why give me all that stuff about solidarity? What kind of solidarity is that? The “heat of the moment” kind?’
‘Or the “anything for a comfortable life” kind,’ he replied with a bitter smile. ‘Why bother yourself about it?’ He was silent for a moment and then added without looking at me: ‘Vakirtzis had a brother, Menelaos Vakirtzis.’
The ‘M’ in Stefanakos’s notes, I thought to myself. An entire cooperative was starting to appear. Favieros and his wife, Stefanakos and Lilian Stathatos, and the two brothers, Apostolos and Menelaos Vakirtzis. Of course, the last two were probably on the fringes of the group as they had to secure their participation through pressure and blackmail.
‘You may have heard of Menelaos Vakirtzis as a mayor,’ Sotiropoulos went on. ‘But he’s also a businessman. One of those who, unofficially, are surrounded by misappropriation, scandals, unfair trading and so on. Officially, however, nothing ever comes out into the open. On the contrary, he’s continually nominated for mayor and he’s been elected on the last three occasions. It’s rumoured that all the hushing up and the nominations are due to his brother.’ He turned and looked at me with that ironic expression of his. ‘If you want, wait another three years. If he doesn’t stand at the next local elections or if there’s suddenly a shower of allegations, it means that the rumours were right.’
‘Too long to wait.’
‘So start investigating Menelaos Vakirtzis right away.’
‘Don’t you know what businesses he was involved in?’ I asked, in the hope he might know something and save me some time.
‘No, and I’m not interested any more. Since Vakirtzis died, his brother has ceased to concern me. He’ll either make it as a businessman or he’ll come to a bad end as mayor.’
The idea flashed through my mind to assign this too to Ghikas. But I immediately rejected it. I didn’t know whether Menelaos Vakirtzis still had clout even after his brother’s death. And it would have been a mistake to ask Ghikas to investigate people with clout. If he didn’t refuse straight out, he’d no doubt feel so uncomfortable that he would go too easy on them.
I was about to settle on Koula and her cousin again when Zamanis suddenly came to mind. He’d be sure to know whether Favieros had any delings with Menelaos Vakirtzis. I also remembered something else that Stefanakos had noted: that his wife had paid ‘M’ in gold. It might have meant that she had contributed financially to his election campaign just as Favieros might have done. Again, Zamanis would be the one to know.
Of course, I knew from Yannelis that I wasn’t his favourite person, but I wasn’t going to lose any sleep over that. I wanted answers. Whether he gave them to me with a smile or with a frown made absolutely no difference to me.
On the other hand, it would be a good idea to get Koula to investigate Menelaos Vakirtzis so that I could go to see Zamanis prepared.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ I said to Sotiropoulos and I got up to phone Koula.
When I returned, Sotiropoulos had finished his iced coffee and was about to get up, but I stopped him.
‘There’s something else I want you to tell me. Do you know whether Favieros and Stefanakos’s wife contributed to Menelaos Vakirtzis’s election campaign?’
Sotiropoulos shrugged. ‘It’s very likely. But what do you have to gain by finding out? Parliamentary candidates, candidates for mayor, even candidates for the town council all find various ways of getting money out of businessmen. The businessmen give something to everyone, not because they expect to get it back, but because they believe in being safe rather than sorry. In my opinion, you’ll get far more mileage out of investigating Menelaos Vakirtzis’s businesses.’
‘I intend to do that anyway. But if I manage to unravel the thread linking Vakirtzis’s campaign contributors, I may come up with a lead to something else.’
Sotiropoulos gazed at me and smiled. ‘You’re a smart customer,’ he said. ‘It’s not that common in the Greek Police Force, but you’re a smart customer.’ He paused for a moment and added: ‘I’ll make a few discreet enquiries. If I find out anything, I’ll call you.’
We both got up to go: he to his TV channel and I to see Zamanis. I reached into my pocket to pay, but he stopped me.
‘My turn,’ he said. ‘You paid last time.’
I hadn’t paid, in fact, but I appreciated his kindness.