“What did he say?”
“His best guess was that the local boys somehow found out about his interest in the Mani and thought if they took out Mangas’ father, the project would die with him.”
“But how did they get the taverna owner to kill him?”
“The Ukrainian had no idea. But he doubted it was a coincidence.”
Funny how cops and crooks so often think alike, thought Andreas. “Okay, which locals?”
“He didn’t say, and I don’t know.”
“For your sake, you’d better not be holding out on me.”
“No reason to. I’m too busy to take on this project anyway. The Ukrainian will just have to find someone else to assist him or drop it.”
“Hope he’s not disappointed.”
“Not as disappointed as when he finds out that the reason his deal is dead is because the girlfriend who spent the night sitting on his lap spent the morning talking to cops.” His lip had curled into a snarl.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The Ukrainian will.”
“Big mistake.”
“Why? Are you protecting hookers now, too?”
“No, except it wasn’t his girlfriend who talked.” Andreas winked, stood, and walked toward the door. “It was yours.”
***
Andreas didn’t bother to say good-bye to the receptionist. Nor did he wait for the elevator. He double-timed it down four flights of stairs out to the street, and jumped into the front passenger seat of a marked blue-and-white police car parked with all but its driver side wheels on the sidewalk.
“How’d it go?” said Kouros.
Andreas reached for his mobile, and hit a speed dial number. “Like charming a snake. Just drive. I’ll tell you after I speak to-Maggie, get Petro to call me ASAP in the car. It’s urgent.”
Andreas put down the phone and waited until Kouros had edged into the Formula One-style traffic on Vassilis Sofias, one of Athens’ busiest roads. “That bastard threatened to tell the Ukrainian that the girl on his lap was working with us.”
“How’d he figure that out?”
“He’s smart. But he’d do something like that even if he knew it wasn’t true, just to make us squirm.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That it wasn’t she; it was Alexander.”
“Jesus, I promised him we wouldn’t name him.”
“Yeah, I know, but Alexander can protect himself, the girl can’t. Besides, I didn’t exactly name Alexander, and that might make Orestes think twice about blaming him.”
“What did you say?”
“That it was Orestes’ ‘girlfriend’ who talked.”
“You really do like pouring gasoline on the flames, don’t you?”
“He deserves it. Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if Orestes and Alexander had balled each other.”
“Some hard-on you have for that guy.”
Andreas turned his head and studied a smiling Kouros. “I’ll let that one pass. Orestes said the Ukrainian’s best guess was that local arms smugglers had your uncle killed. They’d figure murdering your uncle would kill the deal, too, and keep the competition from moving in.”
“Ever think that maybe Orestes told you that story in hopes it would get back to my cousins and they’d wipe out the Ukrainian’s competition?”
Andreas looked out the windshield. “That’s possible, but a very risky play by Orestes. And the Ukrainian. Pointing a finger means three others on the same hand point back at you.”
“So, which locals are involved?”
“No idea. Tassos might have one, but it’s way outside his stomping grounds, or maybe he can get his arms-dealing buddy to give us some names once he hears he’s not being asked to cross the Ukrainian.”
“Any idea on how they got Babis to kill my uncle?”
“Nope. We’ll just have to keep following the string. Sooner or later it will end somewhere.”
“Hopefully not back at the Minotaur.”
Andreas looked again at Kouros. “My literate friend, you’ve just given me an idea.”
“What kind of idea?”
“Theseus had his Ariadne to save him when all seemed bleakest. And you have your Stella.”
“The taverna owner’s girlfriend?”
“Yep. If anyone is likely to know what drove him to kill your uncle and then himself, it’s the girlfriend. Before we go anywhere else with this I want you to find out everything she knows, even things she doesn’t know that she knows. We have to make sure Orestes isn’t running us instead of the other way around.”
“You’re just pissed about what I said about your having-how shall I say it this time? — an uncommon interest in giving Orestes agita.”
“I like that better, but my thinking’s the same. I want you down in the Mani first thing tomorrow morning. And don’t come back until you’re sure who was running her boyfriend.”
The car’s speaker squawked their car number.
Andreas reached for the handset. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to dispatch another brave knight to save a fair damsel.”
“Yeah, but all he has to do is spend five minutes warning her to be careful and lay low for a while. I could end up spending a month with Stella and still not know any more than we already do.”
“Care for a suggestion?” Andreas smiled. “Bring flowers.”
Chapter Seventeen
Kouros remembered once hearing a Navy psychiatrist say that for most of us getting through life each day was pretty much like flying a plane: takeoffs and landings presented the greatest challenges, the rest generally involved hours of routine separated by moments of sheer panic; though for some, panic might be no more than “Where’s my phone?”
If that shrink was right, Stella probably felt her plane had just been hijacked by Martian terrorists. Her man was dead, and despite the price she paid for his company, he’d provided her with food, shelter, and work. Gone, too, was the other man in her life, the one who protected her from deportation. She was back to being a stranger in a strange land.
Kouros pulled up in front of the taverna just before noon. The only other vehicle in sight was a beat-up motorbike by the door to the kitchen. She must be scared shitless, he thought. What do I say to her? I’m never good at talking to girls I like. Like? What am I thinking? She could be involved in two murders.
A handwritten sign on the front door to the taverna said CLOSED. Hardly a surprise. He tried the doorknob but it didn’t budge. He walked over to the kitchen door and knocked. No answer. He turned the doorknob and as he did the door pulled away from him.
“Hi,” said Stella with a brilliant smile. “I heard someone at the front door, but by the time I got there you were gone. Then I heard a knock at this door. You’re the impatient sort, aren’t you?”
“Uh, sorry, I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”
“Then I’m happy I am.” Another smile.
Kouros fought off the urge to blush.
She wore cutoff jeans and one of those t-shirts that looked as if it had been ripped from the jaws of a Rottweiler. No shoes, no makeup.
Kouros didn’t know where to look. He decided to aim for her eyes. Those deep, dark, brown ones.
She cocked her head slightly to the side and fixed her gaze on him. “Nothing to say?” She paused. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the shy sort. Come, I’ll make us some coffee.” She stepped back and waved him inside.
“I thought the place was closed.”
“It is. But I remember how to make coffee. And your uncle’s friends still show up every morning like clockwork. They bring their own pastries. I make the coffee.”
He followed her through the kitchen out to the small dining room.
“Sit wherever you want. I’ll be right back.”
He wanted to go with her, but did as she said. Everything was neat and clean. Nothing out of place. He saw a bucket and mop over by the door leading to the larger dining room. A pair of sandals at the entrance.
He yelled, “You were mopping the big room when I tried the front door?”