I had to stop myself from wondering aloud if she was also his bit on the side, because the way that Karayoryi did as she pleased meant that she had someone high up watching over her.
"Do you have any clues? Any information to give me? Is there anyone you suspect?"
"It's too early to say, Mr. Delopoulos. We do know, at least, the time of the murder and that the murderer was someone she knew because, before he killed her, they were chatting together in makeup."
"Then it must be someone she'd exposed, someone who had been damaged by her revelations and was looking for revenge. That's where you should begin your investigations."
Now he was telling me where I should start looking. I'd got another Ghikas on my hands. "Mr. Sperantzas told me that Karayoryi had asked to appear on the late-night news because she had a bombshell to deliver."
"That's what Sperantzas told me too, but I knew nothing. And I didn't need to know what it was; I had total confidence in her."
"Do you know what she was investigating in particular of late?"
"No, but even if there was something in particular, I wouldn't have known. Karayoryi never disclosed what she was working on, or the information she had unearthed. She never got it wrong, and I'd given instructions that she be left alone to get on with her work." He stopped, leaned toward me, and said, "Come what may, you will have as much help as you need from us. Tomorrow morning, I will put two of my reporters on the case. They will be in constant contact with you."
"Let them search, of course. Any help is welcome;" I said with an excessive willingness, which seemed to please him. "But let's not make any bets as to who finds something first, and let's make sure we don't get under each other's feet."
That took the wind out of his sails, because he suddenly turned cold toward me. "What do you mean exactly? Speak openly. You realize, of course, that Yanna Karayoryi was one of our star reporters and her murder is of direct concern to us."
"I do realize that, Mr. Delopoulos. But this evening, Mr. Sperantzas gave the news of Karayoryi's murder on the late-night bulletin before informing the police. I'm not saying that this will cause us serious problems, but it could. So it would be wise if your people consulted you before taking any similar initiatives."
"A reporter's work is to inform the public, Inspector Haritos," he said in the same icy tone. "Swiftly and accurately. When he steals a march on a rival, even on the police, that is a bonus for the channel. I should congratulate Mr. Sperantzas and not threaten him, as you did."
I should have expected it. Sperantzas had shot off his mouth about Kostarakou, his colleague; why wouldn't he have done the same about me?
"We wish to cooperate with the police. But for us, Karayoryi's murder is in the nature of a family matter. I require, therefore, that you keep us informed as to the course of your investigations, and exclusively us, not the other channels. Objectivity and impartiality do not apply in this case" He paused, looked at me, and went on deliberately: "Otherwise, I shall have no choice but to convey the information we gather to the minister responsible, who as it happens is a friend of mine, and you'll get it relayed to you from him."
In case the point needed underlining, he also gave me a meaningful look-apparently he regarded all police officers as backward third worlders, so speaking to them rudely wasn't enough; you also had to browbeat them with looks and hints to be sure the message had sunk in.
"I'm sure that our cooperation will be of the best possible kind," he said, cordial once more and holding out his hand.
As I was shaking his hand, it occurred to me that I was at that moment inaugurating an agreement between the FBI and CNN and that we wouldn't catch the murderer in a month of Sundays, unless, that is, we bumped into a good fortune teller.
I left with my tail between my legs.
Sotiris was waiting for me in the entrance. Standing beside him was a young kid dressed like a security guard. Blue-eyed with closecropped hair, he held his arms and legs apart to make himself seem stockier. A chubby backstreet marine. And a lucky kid. If he'd been in a gang selling protection, we might very well have run him in. Whereas now he was working for a company, drawing a salary every month and eyeing me like a colleague.
"Did you know Karayoryi?" I asked him.
"Of course I knew her. I know them all, every one of them. My memory is like a computer."
"Forget the computers and tell me about Karayoryi. What time did she arrive tonight?"
"Eleven-fifteen. I always check."
He was playing with fire, this one. He'd no idea how close I was to the end of my tether. "Was she alone?"
"All alone'
"Perhaps she came with someone who left her at the gate."
"If someone dropped her outside on the road, that I wouldn't know, because you can't see it from here. She was alone when she got to the studio."
"Did you see anyone unfamiliar leaving the studio? Or someone you've never seen before?"
"No. No one."
"Did you leave your post at any time?"
He didn't answer this last question immediately. He appeared to be giving it some thought. Finally, he mumbled, "For two minutes only. Vangelis, my colleague, who was on duty in the boss's office, came and told me that Karayoryi had been found dead. I ran back upstairs with him, because I thought that most people are inexperienced in such matters-they might have made a mess of it."
"And you, with all your years of experience, what were you going to do? Bring her back to life?" I screamed, furiously. It seemed that this computer had crashed, because he didn't know how to answer and remained silent.
"Take his details and arrange for him to come to make a statement," I said to Sotiris.
As I went out to the street to retrieve my car, which I had left parked up on the curb, it began drizzling. That, at least, was something.
CHAPTER 12
Karayoryi lived in Lycabettus, not far from the Doxiadis building. She woke up every morning, saw the wood from her window, and lived with the illusion of being in the countryside. Now, too, it was morning, nine o'clock, except that it was raining cats and dogs. The windshield wipers on my Mirafiori were working only at slow. By the time they'd swept one wave of water off and were ready to get to work in reverse, the windshield was awash again. I had to strain my eyes to maintain a steady distance from the car crawling in front of me. I missed the house. I'd almost gone past it when I saw the patrol car parked outside and I braked sharply. "Where did you learn to drive, moron?" shouted the driver of the car behind me. "Is that how you brake on a wet road? You'd have been better off sticking to a donkey!" And all this to the accompaniment of his horn. In the end, he held up the flat of his hand to me, end quotes. I pretended not to notice any of it. There was a space behind the patrol car. I backed into it.
The house was an old two-story building, yellow with orange shutters and a wrought-iron door with leaf patterns. It recalled the elegant houses on Akritas Street in the good days. I switched off the engine but stayed in the car. I'd slept for no more than two hours and had woken up with a fearful headache. The aspirin I'd taken before leaving home did nothing for me. My head was bursting and my temples felt as if they were clamped in a vise. I looked at the door to the house, which was half open. From the car to the front door was three strides, but in the rain it seemed enormous and I didn't dare move.
I must have looked suspicious to the two police officers in the patrol car because one of them got out and came over to me. I opened the door and sprang out. "Inspector Haritos," I barked as I hurried past him. By the time I got into the house I was soaking and my socks were squelching inside my shoes. God-awful weather.
The hall was small, marble-floored, and had two doors, one to the right and one to the left. At the far end was a narrow wooden staircase, with a polished handrail, leading to the second floor. I opened the door on the right and found myself in Karayoryi's study. Dimitris, from records, was standing in front of a small fitted bookcase, looking through some folders.