“Yes.”
“Try the port police in Gytheio. That office covers your uncle’s part of the Mani and they deal with immigration all the time. Maybe they know something about her or who might have come looking for her in the taverna. After all, the story about him being run off by your uncle is funny. It’s the kind cops like to repeat.”
“Not when it’s about themselves. If I were that guy, I’d never breathe a word of it to anyone.”
“What the hell, you’re already there.”
“Already there? Gytheio’s all the way over on the Mani’s east coast.”
“Stop complaining. It’s only a half-hour drive and think of all that beautiful mountain scenery you’ll get to see.”
“Fine, but the gas is going on my expense report.”
“Good luck with that. Let me know what happens. Got to run.” The line went dead.
Kouros shut off his phone, ate his souvlaki, and walked back to his car. It seemed a long shot, but Andreas was right about the drive. Gytheio lay across the mountains, a picture perfect harbor town nestled up against the Laconian Gulf in the northeast corner of the Mani. It was the largest town in the Mani, the municipal seat of East Mani, the seaport of ancient Sparta, and a thriving export center during Roman times. A massive earthquake had leveled the place in the fourth century, and it remained a small village until the early nineteenth century when refugees escaping from Greece’s War of Independence got the population growing again. Gytheio returned to glory in the 1960s with its new port.
But Kouros wasn’t going on holiday. He somehow had to find the guy run off by his uncle. As a general rule the best chance at getting dicey information from another service was to put the request on a cop-to-cop, off-the-record basis. Then again, from his experience with cops in this part of the country, he suspected he’d get a warmer reception introducing himself as his uncle’s nephew.
Chapter Twelve
Port police headquarters in Gytheio sat almost directly across from the causeway entrance to the tiny island of Kranae on which mythology had Paris spending his first night with the abducted Helen before spiriting her off to Troy. Kouros pulled into a spot marked RESERVED FOR HCG VEHICLES. A port policeman dressed in a black t-shirt, black military fatigues, and matching baseball cap told him to move along. Kouros showed him his badge and said he was there to see his boss, the Coast Guard harbormaster. In peacetime Greece, the Hellenic Coast Guard also served as its port police.
The man pointed at a two-story, ochre with Greek-blue trim building behind him. “Top floor, second door on the left.”
A second-floor balcony enclosed by a blue metal railing ran across the front of the building. But no one seemed to be taking advantage of the sea view, for dark brown shutters tightly covered every window.
Kouros found the harbormaster’s door open but knocked on it anyway.
A man about Kouros’ age, with close-cropped, jet-black hair and a deep suntan looked up from behind a cluttered desk. “May I help you?”
“I’m Detective Yianni Kouros of GADA. I’m hoping you might be able to help me with a matter I’m looking into in your jurisdiction.”
The man stood and extended his hand. “The name’s Pavlos. Please, sit and tell me how I may help you.”
Taller than Andreas, slim, and wearing a starched white uniform with gold trim, Pavlos looked like a proverbial movie star. Kouros couldn’t help but think it was no wonder these port police guys get all the girls.
They shook hands and Kouros sat down across from Pavlos.
“It’s a delicate matter, and somewhat personal, so I hope I can trust your discretion.”
Pavlos nodded and flashed a George Clooney smile. “You sure do know how to capture my interest.”
Kouros smiled back. “It’s about my uncle.”
Pavlos nodded.
Kouros said his uncle’s name.
Pavlos blinked twice. “He’s your uncle?”
Kouros nodded, “Yes, my name’s been shortened a bit from his.”
Pavlos’ lips went taut.
“As I’m certain you know, my uncle died a few days ago, and at my family’s request I’m making sure nothing’s been missed.”
“Missed?”
“Yes. My uncle’s past left a lot of, shall we say, ‘unsettled grudges’ and the family just wants to make sure none of that played any part in his passing.”
“Which side are you on?” said Pavlos.
“What do you mean?”
“The side that anticipates a new war on the Mani or the side that doesn’t.”
“Let me rephrase my question,” said Kouros. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
The harbormaster shrugged. “You know the routine. We gather intelligence on what’s happening in our port from locals. Dockworkers, fishermen, taverna owners, marine suppliers. They know better than anyone what’s going on. And once in a while we pick up information from someone we arrest. A couple weeks back we picked up a rumor from a guy trying to make a deal to stay out of prison.”
“What sort of rumor?”
“He called it a ‘big project’ involving your uncle that had ‘people up north’ seriously concerned a ‘war’ might break out ‘down in the Mani.’” Pavlos emphasized the words with finger quotes.
“Over a hotel project?”
Pavlos shrugged. “I don’t know what kind of project. All I heard was that it involved your uncle.”
“Who are the ‘people up north’?”
“Don’t know. It came from a smuggler trying to trade what he said was ‘hard’ information against jail time. Turned out all he knew was that there was something big ‘out there’ involving your uncle and that he’d rather go to jail than name the guys up north.” Pavlos smiled. “And so he did.”
“Drug smugglers would lie to God on their deathbeds.”
Pavlos nodded. “But this guy wasn’t a drug smuggler. His deal was arms. We caught him on a freighter bound for North Africa.”
“So ‘north’ to him meant what?’”
“We took it to be the Balkans. The freighter was out of the Balkans and most arms smuggling into that part of Africa runs through the Balkans or the Ukraine.”
“Have you heard of anyone else with an interest in going after my uncle?”
“No. He was pretty much retired as far as I could tell. That’s why I took the smuggler’s talk for the bullshit it was.”
Kouros paused. “There’s one other matter you might be able to help me with. It involves a girl who works in a taverna just south of Vathia. Her name is Stella-”
Before Kouros could say her last name, Pavlos burst out laughing. “Please don’t tell me you’ve heard that story, too.”
“From the way you’re laughing, I think I have.”
“Your uncle was quite a character, God bless his soul. Especially where women were concerned.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“About six months ago he showed up in my office and asked me to help a girl working at a taverna he owned-”
“That ‘he owned’?”
“Yes. At least that’s what he said. He wanted to get her a residency card. I asked why he was going through me, and he said it was delicate. It had to be done without her knowing.”
“How did you manage that?”
“I didn’t. He said everything had been arranged except for her personal interview with the police. He wanted me to sign off on it.”
“What did you say?”
“That I couldn’t possibly do that without meeting her.”
“And?”
“He said that was fine as long as I didn’t tell her the true purpose of my meeting her or of his involvement.” Pavlos burst out laughing again.
“I loved your uncle’s style. He told me to come into the taverna any morning he was there to satisfy myself that the girl actually existed and spoke Greek.” Pavlos shook his head and smiled. “Then he added that he’d really appreciate it if I made him look ‘good’ in the girl’s eyes.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. He sat right there in the same chair you’re in and told me how to play it. I took it to mean he wanted to screw her.” Pavlos shrugged. “I decided what the hell, someday maybe I’d need the same sort of help with a woman.”