“That meant he was poisoned just before leaving the taverna,” said Kouros.
“Or inside his car.”
“But that would require some way of administering the poison inside the car. A needle, gas canister, or some other device, and that sort of thing should have turned up in the examination of the car after the accident.”
“Maggie will push the techies to take a closer look for needle marks and ask them if the poison could have been administered as a gas. You better check out the car just to make sure no one missed something.”
“I hear the taverna’s pretty busy in the mornings, so anyone tampering with his car there would have been taking a hell of a risk. But if it happened inside the car, it could have been set up somewhere else and rigged to go off when he drove away from the taverna.”
“Just to be sure, you ought to verify how busy that taverna actually is in the mornings.”
“I’m beginning to become a regular there.”
“Look at it as your chance to bond with your sparring partner from this morning.”
“You mean my numero uno choice as my uncle’s killer?” Kouros told him of his afternoon conversation with Babis.
“Sure sounds like he had a reason for disliking your uncle. Just not sure it’s enough of one to murder him. And why now? From the threats your uncle received, his murder seems more likely related to his hotel project, and I don’t see anything linking Babis to that.”
“I was wondering the same thing.”
“What about the girl? She might know something. Ask around, but be careful. We don’t want your kinfolk thinking we suspect murder.”
“The one I’m worried about thinking that way is Mangas. Once he gets that into his head, there will be no stopping him.”
“Isn’t he who asked you to make sure it was an accident?”
“Yes, to get his sister off his back. That’s my explanation for why I’m asking all these questions. But he’s pressing me for my take on the autopsy report and I don’t want him thinking I’m hiding something.”
“How much longer can you stall him?”
“I told him I’d send the report on to Athens this morning but that they needed additional information from the coroner. Between that and what I assume he shares with the rest of Greeks as a universally low opinion of the work habits of our public employees, I should be able to stall him for another two days, three at most.”
“I hope we have our killer by them.”
“I don’t want to think about it if we don’t. I wish I could lie and tell him it was an accident. Not telling him what we know is as far as I’m prepared to go. After all, he is family.”
“Sounds like the priorities on your moral compass are still in working order.”
“Yeah, but I’m beginning to worry about my other parts.”
Andreas laughed. “Just be careful. Bye.”
Andreas put his feet up on his desk and stared out the window. Kouros’ cousin should lose his patience with the Greek police’s official investigation into his father’s death at just about the same time subpoenas started flying all over Crete, Orestes started flying all over Spiros, and Spiros all over Andreas. The elements of a proverbial perfect shit storm massing in Greece’s two most violent-tempered parts just waiting for the perfect moment to come together in the middle of Andreas’ desk.
Andreas decided to follow his own moral compass. He took his feet off his desk and went home to his family.
***
It started out innocently enough. Andreas returned home at a reasonable hour, something quite unreasonable for him, but he’d forgotten Lila was at a charity event with her mother. He toyed with the idea of catching a movie, souvlaki, and beer at the open-air theater in the park just across the street from their apartment but decided instead on what he thought a much better idea: a “whatever you want to do” good time with his son.
“Finger painting” was not among the answers Andreas expected, but a deal was a deal, especially with a three-year-old. So, after changing into jeans and a white t-shirt, and covering the laundry room floor-to-ceiling in plastic, Andreas plopped Tassaki amid a sea of glossy finger paint paper and surrounded him with an array of brightly colored paint jars.
Andreas looked down at his handiwork and said, “Let’s do it!”
It was a peaceful beginning. Tassaki carefully opened one jar, dipped in one finger, brought it out, and showed a blood red fingertip to his father.
“Terrific start. Now rub it on the paper to make a picture.”
Andreas watched with a smile as his son carefully selected and began rubbing his finger on one particular piece of paper.
Tassaki looked at his father and held up his finger. “It’s all gone.”
“That’s okay. Dip your finger into the jar to get more.”
Tassaki dipped his finger and with studied care went back to his painting. Five minutes later, Andreas smiling through every second of it, Tassaki held up the paper. It was a circle, with dots inside and out, and three relatively straight lines roughly intersecting the circle.
“It’s beautiful,” smiled Andreas.
“It’s you.”
“Me?”
Tassaki nodded.
Andreas leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you. Now, I think you should make one of Mommy.”
“But I need more colors.”
Andreas wasn’t quite sure how to take that, so he just said, “Fine,” and opened two more jars of paint.
“All of them.”
“You want all of them open?”
“Yes, it’s for Mommy.”
Andreas had started down this road, so there was no going back.
Andreas opened the remaining jars one by one and placed all ten in front of his son.
Tassaki pulled a clean sheet of paper in front of him. Very carefully he dipped a separate finger into each jar before proudly holding up ten different colored fingertips to his father.
“Now what?” smiled Andreas.
Tassaki placed his fingertips at the top edge of the paper and carefully brought each hand out, down, and around to form two five-ring, rainbow semicircles roughly joined together at the top and bottom. He finished by pulling his fingers straight down and off the paper in ten nearly parallel lines.
All Andreas could think of to say was, “Wow.”
“Mommy.”
Andreas pulled Tassaki to his chest, hugged, and kissed him. “Yes, your mommy is very beautiful.”
Tassaki pulled back and pointed at the front of Andreas’ t-shirt, now bearing the handprints of a three-year-old Picasso. “You’re shirt is dirty, Daddy.”
Andreas nodded and dipped his fingertip into a jar of blue paint. He stared at it for a moment, considering the ramifications of his intended act. “And so is your nose,” drawing a blue line straight down the center of it.
Ten minutes later Lila returned home to the sounds of giggles and laughter in her laundry room. Inside she found her husband and son rolling around on the floor in what looked to be a psychedelic Jackson Pollock painting come to life.
When the two rainbow bodies rolling around on the floor realized Lila was standing in the doorway, the room went suddenly quiet.
Lila cleared her throat. “Darling, remind me to make a point of sending a drum set to the child whose parents gave Tassaki those finger paints for his birthday.”
Chapter Eleven
By 8:45 the next morning, Kouros sat parked on the road to Cape Tenaro looking down on the taverna about a quarter-mile away. From here he had an unobstructed view of the front of the taverna and for the next hour and a half watched a seemingly endless flow of fishermen, farmers, tradesmen, retirees, and local business types flow in and out of the taverna. Just before ten-thirty he put down his binoculars and drove to the taverna. Anyone hoping to tinker unnoticed with a car parked in front of that place during its morning hours had a far better chance of winning the lottery.