"You didn't find a wallet? Any money?"
"No, but if he had any on him, it would be at the General Hospital in Nikaia, together with the clothes that he was wearing."
From what the warden found out, the Albanian didn't have a single visitor all the time that he was in the prison.
I went back the same way along Grigori Lambraki Street, more worried than I had been on the outward journey. The new clothes lent even more credence to the idea that the Albanian had been killed to keep his mouth shut. For that good-for-nothing to have had enough money to buy an entire wardrobe meant that someone had been paying him for his trouble. And the only trouble he'd gone to was to kill the couple. How he had got hold of the money, yet had no visitors, was simple. They'd sent it to him by means of a guard. After the first interrogation, they hadn't been worried because he'd convinced me that he'd killed them on account of the girl. They'd paid him and their minds were at rest. But when the public examiner had called him for a second interrogation, they'd been scared and had bumped him off so as to leave no loose ends.
Preoccupied as I was, I missed the turn for Chrysostomou Smyr- nis. I had to go back onto Petrou Ralli Street and return via Thivon Street.
The doctor who had dealt with the Albanian had gone, but I found a supervisor who was willing to help. She took me herself to the storeroom. The Albanian's clothes had been put into a large bag. I took everything out and went through them piece by piece. He had been wearing the same anorak he'd had when he left us, but his jeans were new. But again, I found no money.
"Didn't he have any cash on him?" I asked the supervisor, who had stayed to help me.
"If he did, it would be in the accounts department."
The head of the accounts department was getting ready to leave and made no attempt to conceal his displeasure at being delayed. He opened the safe and handed me a wallet. It was a cheap plastic one with a gold outline of the Acropolis on it, the kind you find at any of the kiosks in Omonia Square. It was stuffed and difficult to fold. I opened it and took out a fistful of 5,000-drachma notes and three 1,000-drachma notes. I counted the 5,000s. There were twenty-five. The scoundrel had been carrying 128,000 on him. Add to that what he'd spent on his wardrobe. He must have had around 200,000. The rest of what was in his wallet were papers written in Albanian, so I couldn't read what they said, but they resembled official documents. Last of all, I unfastened the pocket for loose change. I didn't find any coins, but I did find a crumpled piece of paper and I opened it up. Someone had written in Albanian characters and in capital letters: 34 KOUMANOUDI STREET, GIZI. I studied the paper, then shoved it into my pocket, thanked the supervisor, and left.
CHAPTER 35
My stomach had settled, but the coffee and croissant made me feel sick. I had spent the entire previous evening in the kitchen. No dictionaries, no nine o'clock news, nothing. Adriani had been cooking so that I would have plenty to eat while she was away, and I'd been keeping her company. We were going through one of our sloppy phases. Roast pork, fresh beans, fried meatballs, all meals you could eat cold so that I wouldn't have to warm them up. I looked at it all and felt sorry for all the expense because as soon as her back was turned I'd be into the souvlaki. Adriani doesn't let me eat them because, she says, they make them from old meat and fat and it's bad for my cholesterol. I didn't give a shit. I loved them. It wasn't likely that I'd eat more than two meals worth of the food she was preparing. A day or so before she came back from Thessaloniki, I'd throw it in the rubbish so she wouldn't find it in the fridge and whine about it.
"What did you do with the names of the passengers that Sotiris gave you?" I asked Thanassis, who was looking at me, like every morning.
He raised his hands in the air. "It was impossible for me to get anywhere with the airport. They asked me if they were scheduled flights or charters, and I didn't know. They asked me for the airline companies and the flight numbers. I didn't know that either. All I know is that they were arranged through Prespes Travel, but that's not enough. They referred me to the airline companies that fly those routes, but they can't help me either unless I give them more information. The only way is to get it direct from Prespes Travel."
I knew that myself, but that wasn't possible for the time being. Once I was alone, I called Koula. "I have to see the superintendent. It's urgent"
"One moment." She put me on hold while she conferred with him. Then she told me that he was free and I could come up.
This time, the elevator did me the favor of arriving right away. Ghikas listened to the story of the Albanian without interrupting me. I showed him the paper with the address in Gizi.
"When can I have a team from the Special Armed Force to go to.arty-four Koumanoudi Street?"
"What do you want the SAF for?"
"I don't know what I'll find and I want to be ready for anything."
He telephoned the head of the SAF to discuss it with him. "They'll let you know as soon as they're ready. Count on about fifteen minutes."
I went back to my office to see what Sotiris was up to.
"Hourdakis has a wife, a son, and a mother-in-law. They all have bank accounts. His is with the National Bank, his wife's with the Commercial Bank, his mother-in-law's with the Credit Bank, and his son's with Citibank. I've already submitted a request to the public prosecutors'. Once we have the okay from the Magistrates' Council, we'll open them up."
"Get on with it, because I'm in a hurry."
I didn't take the Mirafiori. I went in the SAF van. We parked it one street away, on Soutsou Street, so as not to attract attention. While the SAF boys surrounded the block, I went to number 34 and looked at the doorbells. There were about fifteen flats. Most of them family homes. The exceptions were a dentist's, a commercial firm, and one bell rather vaguely labeled THE FOXES.
"Let's start with this one," I said to the two SAF men who had come with me.
I rang the bell of the commercial firm and they opened the front door. We went through the floors one by one. The Foxes' flat was on the third floor. The SAF men took up positions on either side of the door and I rang the bell.
"Who's there?" asked a woman's voice. From those two words alone, I knew she was foreign.
"Open up! Police!"
I got no answer and the door didn't open. All I heard was footsteps scampering away.
"Should we break down the door?" one of the SAF men asked me. "One kick and we're in."
"Wait. They might still open it."
"It's wrong for us to wait," said the other one, giving me a lesson. "If they're armed, they'll have time to organize themselves."
With all the noise, the doors of the other flats opened. In one doorway an obviously retired couple appeared and in the other a woman holding a little boy.
"Get back inside and lock your doors!" the SAF man shouted at them.
The woman pulled the boy inside and slammed the door, while the old woman cried out in real fear: "Don't! There are children inside!"
We've startled a hare, I thought to myself, while from inside the flat another voice, not foreign this time, said: "Who is it?"
"Come on, woman, get a move on. Police, open up!" I said.
"Who is it you want?"
"Will you open the door or do you want us to break it down?" said one of the SAF men, who was just looking for an excuse to play the tough TV detective.
The door opened and a tall, thin woman of around forty-five was standing there. Her hair was graying at the temples, and she wasn't wearing any makeup. She didn't seem to be startled by the SAF men and their automatic weapons.
"Who is it you want?"
I pushed her aside, without answering. The two SAF men followed behind me and closed the door. We found ourselves in a small, square hallway, facing a closed sliding glass door.
"Who gave you permission to barge into my home? I demand an explanation!" The tone of her voice had become severe, but her manner was still calm and composed.