I was sitting in front of the TV with a plastic bag on my lap. The bag contained a souviaki with all the trimmings, a bifteki with all the trimmings, a kebab with all the trimmings, and a portion of chips that had been hot when they went into the bag and had now become mush. I separated them mouthful by mouthful and ate them. I didn't use a plate, because I enjoyed eating the souvlaki like a gypsy. If Adriani had seen me then, she would have punished me with a weeklong suspension of contact between us.
The news featured a full report on Hourdakis. Where he was from, when he entered the army, where he served, everything. They had discovered his house, but his wife and mother-in-law had locked themselves inside and wouldn't come out. So they had to limit themselves to showing the tower from the Mani that had been transplanted in Milessi and to expressing the surprise that I felt when I'd first seen it: Where had a customs officer found the money for a house like that? The son, whom they tracked down in the street, was uncommunicative. Yes, he'd been called by the police to tell them where his father was. All he knew was that he was away. The reporters told him that a warrant had been issued for his arrest. "My father will answer any questions the police may have as soon as he gets back," he said with a conviction that he hadn't shown when I'd questioned him. Dourou had been relegated to the end, as there was nothing new in her case. They only stated that she was still being held. As for Kolakoglou, he had slipped out of the news altogether. No one was interested in him anymore, not even Sotiropoulos, the man who wanted to bring to light the miscarriage of justice and restore his name.
I finished the souvlaki along with the news. I was deciding be tween watching TV or taking refuge in my dictionaries, when the phone rang. It was Thanassis.
"We've found them," he said triumphantly. "Evangelos Milionis is here and is waiting for you. Christos Papadopoulos is arriving tonight in Patras, on board the ferry from Ancona."
"All right, I'm on my way. Send a message to the police in Patras to detain Papadopoulos without fail and to send him to us."
Pylarinos had turned out to be reliable. By five in the afternoon, he had provided us with the information I'd asked for. Milionis and Papadopoulos were the drivers of the refrigerator trucks that Karayoryi had noted. As for the lists of passengers, things were a little more complicated. Those who were from EU countries got in simply by showing their identity cards. I'd sent the lists of passengers from America and Canada to the airport, but the chances of their being able to locate which of them had come using a family passport or had declared children as traveling with them were slim. Following the appearance of the couple at Dourou's nursery, I was now sure of the way the operation worked, but without the English couple it was going to be extremely difficult to prove it. My only hope was that Dourou or Hourdakis or one of the drivers would crack.
Waiting at the station was a spare man with a mustache and a threeday-old beard-Evangelos Milionis. His criminal record was clean. No convictions, no arrests, no accidents. He was thirty, unmarried, and lived with his parents. He sat with his arms folded over his chest, a tough truck driver, a man who wasn't going to be easily intimidated.
"Are you a driver for Transpilar?"
"Yes."
"And you drive a refrigerator truck?"
"Refrigerator truck, lorry, whatever they give me."
"And do you do runs to Albania?"
"Not only there. I go to Bulgaria and Italy and Germany too."
"When you go to Albania, what do you carry?"
"When I'm driving a refrigerator truck, frozen meat, frozen fish, or cured meats. When I'm driving a lorry, anything from canned foods to clothes, whatever you can imagine."
"And what do you bring when you come back?"
"Nothing. I come back empty."
"On August 8 last year, on April 22, July 18, and November 5 of this year, you crossed from Albania into Greece."
"Maybe. How should I remember with all the trips I make?"
"What cargo did you have when you came back?"
"I told you. I was empty."
"I know otherwise. I know that you were illegally carrying Albanians and young children."
He gave me an inquiring look, then laughed at me. "Since when have we been bringing frozen Albanians into Greece?"
I leapt to my feet and put my face up close to his. "Don't be a wise ass, Milionis, because you'll find yourself laughing on the other side of your face," I said. "I know that on all four trips you went to Albania loaded with frozen goods and came back loaded with Albanian kids! We're holding Eleni Dourou and she spilled everything!"
"Who's she?"
"Does The Foxes mean anything to you?"
"No."
"The Foxes is a nursery in Gizi, belonging to Mrs. Dourou. It was to her that you handed over your load of Albanian kids."
"I don't know any Mrs. Dourou and I've never seen a nursery. I grew up in the streets, getting beaten by my mother every day of my life."
"That may serve you in good stead, now that you're on your way to prison."
"Let's wait till I get there first," he said calmly.
"You're going, all right, because we've also picked up Hourdakis."
"And who's he?"
"The customs officer who turned a blind eye so you could pass untroubled with your illegal cargo."
He shrugged. "No one ever turned a blind eye to me. They kept me waiting there for hours."
"You're a blockhead, Milionis. Go on playing the tough guy and we'll hang everything on you, and those who feathered their nests will be rubbing their hands together because they'll have you to take the rap. Talk if you want to make things easier for yourself. Did you take your orders from Sovatzis?"
"I've never spoken to Sovatzis in my life. I saw him once, that's all, from a distance, when I went to the garage. He was speaking to the freight manager and didn't even turn his head to look at us"
"Where were you on November 27?" The day that Karayoryi was murdered.
"Let me think… On the twentieth I left for Italy, Germany. On the twenty-seventh, I took on a load in Munich."
He had to have been telling the truth, because he knew I could easily check. "And on the thirtieth?" The day that Kostarakou was murdered.
"Here, in Athens."
I could have checked him when it came to Kostarakou's death, but since he had an alibi for Karayoryi, it was pointless.
The interrogation went on till seven in the morning. We kept recycling the same questions and the same answers, sometimes with more aggression on my part, sometimes with more irritability on his. But it didn't get us anywhere. Milionis was a young truck driver, used to being at the wheel all night, and at seven he was as fresh as he'd been when we'd begun at ten the night before. He was relying on his endurance and was trying to exhaust me. I sussed him out and changed tactics. I went at him for thirty or forty-five minutes and then I sent him to Thanassis. I had a coffee, relaxed, and then took my shift again right from the beginning, as if nothing had gone before, for another thirty minutes or so. I thought that in this way I'd both break him down and keep myself awake through all the coffees, because after about three in the morning, my eyes had begun to get heavy with sleep.
I was on my fifth coffee, leaning back in my desk chair, and I closed my eyes to rest them, when the phone rang.
"Inspector, they've brought us someone by the name of Papadopoulos. He's for you," said the officer on cell duty.
"Get Milionis out of the interrogation room and take in Papadopoulos. I want you to isolate those two. There mustn't be any communication between them."
I picked up what information we had about Papadopoulos and tried to concentrate to read it. He had a wife and two kids. He was in his fifties. His daughter was married and had a one-year-old boy. His son was doing his military service.
I let another half hour go by and went back into the interrogation room. I found myself facing a bald-headed man with a potbelly that swooped over his belt. He obviously turned the steering wheel with his stomach, and, if he didn't wear moccasins, his wife must have to tie his shoelaces. As soon as he saw me, he propped himself up with his hands on the tabletop in order to support his weight.
"Why have you brought me here? What have I done? I haven't had any trouble on the roads or been involved in any accidents, nothing! I asked your people where they were taking me and no one has told me!"
He fell silent, thinking that I would tell him, but when he saw that he wasn't going to get any answer, he began shouting: "I've left my truck with a full load in Patras, at the mercy of all and sundry! If any thieves get wind of it and empty it, the company will be on my neck!"
He tried to pass this off as an outburst, but most probably he only wanted to quench his anxiety with his shouting.
"Sit down," I told him quietly. He obeyed immediately.
I began just as with Milionis. I received the same answers, but in a different tone of voice. He always came back empty and he knew nothing of any illegal children, what was all this that we were trying to pin on him, thirty years behind the wheel and he'd never had a single accident. Whereas Milionis was calm and above it all, Papadopoulos shouted and yelled, and deep down was scared. Things changed when we got on to Hourdakis.
"Do you know Hourdakis?"
"I don't know any Hourdakis."
"Hourdakis is the customs officer at the border, who stuck his head in the clouds while you crossed unchecked."
"I don't know customs officers by their names. Do you know how many customs officers I've seen in my time as a driver?"
"This one knows you at any rate. He was in on it. He was on the take in return for letting you through. He's the one who gave us your name.
He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He looked at me, trying to guess whether I was telling him the truth or not. There was no way he could know that Hourdakis had slipped the net and that we were still looking for him.
"Listen to me, Papadopoulos," I said softly, in an almost friendly way. "I know that you're the last spoke in the wheel and that it was others who got the lion's share. They're the ones I'm after, not you. If you cooperate, I give you my word that you'll get off lightly. I'll talk to the public prosecutor and most likely you'll be able to buy off your sentence. But if you play tough with me, I'll send you down for five years minimum. Think of the effect that would have on your son, on his spell in the army. And on your daughter, who might lose her family. And you'll be stuck in prison, getting slapped around from morning to night."
I fell silent. He said nothing either. We just stared at each other. And then suddenly I saw this great lump of a man break into sobs. His stomach heaved and kept catching on the edge of the table, like a truck's tire scraping up against the curb. His tears found it difficult to roll down his fat cheeks, but then acquired momentum and ended up on the table. He let them fall unchecked. The spectacle was so sad that I wanted to turn my face away so as not to see.
"I did it all for my daughter," he said through his sobbing. "I'd promised her a flat for her dowry and I couldn't make ends meet with the payments. All the money I took went to my daughter's flat"
"Slow down, let's take it from the beginning. Who got you into the racket? Sovatzis?"
His sobbing was instantly arrested and he looked at me in astonishment. "Which Sovatzis? Ours? What did Sovatzis have to do with all this?"
It was my turn to be surprised. I stared at him without speaking and bit my tongue so as not to betray myself.
"Who then? Mrs. Dourou?"
"No. A foreigner."
"What kind of foreigner?"
"Around the middle of June in 1991, I'd gone with a cargo to Tirane. A foreigner approached me. He was with a northern Epirot Greek. The foreigner spoke Italian to the northern Epirot, and he relayed it to me in Greek. They knew that I was going home empty, and they asked me if I wanted to transport a load for them on the quiet and make half a million for myself every month. I told them I didn't get involved in things like that, but the foreigner persisted. He told me that everything had been taken care of at the border and that I wasn't running any risk."
"And you believed him?"
"Not just like that. He offered to come with me on the first trip so that I could see for myself that everything had been arranged. And that's what happened. He came with me and we crossed the border at night without any check. From then on, on every trip, I took a cargo plus the 500,000 for myself."
"And the cargo was Albanians and Albanian kids."
"Only kids. Apart from an Albanian couple who took care of the kids. It was the same each time."
I'd begun to catch on, but I didn't want to interrupt him now that he'd gathered momentum. "And where did you deliver them to in Athens?"
"I didn't deliver them in Athens."
"So where to?"
"Ten kilometers outside Kastoria, I left the motorway and turned onto a side road. There, a closed van was waiting for me. The kids and the couple transferred to the van and I returned empty to Athens."
So that's why neither he nor Milionis had known Dourou. Krenek arranged everything from Albania. Sovatzis appeared nowhere. Krenek was in charge of the supply department, Sovatzis was in charge of the sales department, and Dourou of the warehouse. The only connecting link was the brother and sister: Sovatzis and Dourou. All the others vanished somewhere in between. I called Thanassis and told him to bring me the photographs of the couple murdered by Ramiz Seki and the photographs of Seki himself taken by forensics.
"Where were you on November 27?"
The date didn't appear to ring any bells for him. He answered quite spontaneously. "Here, in Athens."
"What were you doing on that night between eleven and one? Do you remember?"
"Till twelve I was at my daughter's house. We were celebrating my grandson's birthday. Then I went home with the missus." Bringing his grandson to mind made him well up with tears again.
"Who else was there?"
"My daughter's in-laws and my son-in-law's sister with her husband. Why are you asking?"
"Because that was the night a journalist connected with this business was murdered."
"I'm no murderer!" he shouted in terror. "Okay, my daughter was going to lose her flat and I got involved, but I'm no murderer!"
"Calm down. No one's accusing you of murder."
Thanassis brought the photographs. First, I showed him the photograph of the couple. He glanced at it and turned his head so as not to see.
"Do you know them?"
"That's them," he mumbled. "The ones who accompanied the kids."
I moved the photograph away from him before he puked on the table. "And what about this man? Do you know him?"
"Yes. He's the driver of the van that waited for me outside Kastoria."
So that was it. The three of them had been stealing kids and selling them to feather their own nests. Seki had murdered the couple because they hadn't given him his cut. That's why we found the 500,000 hidden in the cistern in the hovel. Then others had put another Albanian to murder Seki because he was the only path that led to Dourou.