“Sounds like you’ve got some more interesting questions to ask.”
“There’s no one in the Mani who’s going to admit to turning on my uncle. It would be suicide.”
“Start with the photograph.”
“Like I said, Chief, who’s going to admit to taking it?”
“If you find who took it, my guess is you’ll get an answer to why Babis killed your uncle.”
“The only ones who knew about my uncle and Stella were his morning coffee buddy Panos and the chief of Gytheio’s port police. And at the moment they’re both dead ends, motive-wise.”
“What about someone at the hotel?”
“Possible. I’ll see what I can find out, but how would a chambermaid or porter know what to do with the photograph unless someone put them up to taking it? My uncle and Stella weren’t exactly a paparazzi quality couple.”
“Since it ended up in Babis’ hands, likely via Pirgos, it had to be someone who knew she was Babis’ girlfriend and of Babis’ past link to the Pirgos mob.”
“How are we ever going to get a lead on that?” said Kouros.
“Start at the end. The three guys from Pirgos would know who gave them the photo.”
“Can’t imagine how we’ll ever get them to talk.”
“Let’s begin with their names and see where that takes us.”
“Don’t have any. Just descriptions. A bear, a skunk, and a mole.”
“Come again?”
“‘A bear, a skunk, and a mole.’”
“I’ll pass it along to Tassos to see what he can do with it. He’d said that without something more specific than what Orestes called ‘local guys,’ his friend wouldn’t be volunteering names, but maybe, with Stella’s description, we’ll get lucky and find ourselves an arms dealer among them. To me, though, they sound more like something out of Winnie-the-Pooh.”
“I see you’ve been watching television with Tassaki.”
Andreas looked back at the television screen. “It beats real life.”
Chapter Eighteen
Kouros’ afternoon of asking questions at Panos’ hotel yielded nothing. No one had seen his uncle at the hotel with any woman other than his daughter Calliope for lunch. If nothing else, Uncle knew how to be discreet. Or Panos’ employees knew how to keep their mouths shut.
Kouros sat alone at a seaside table in Gerolimenas, sipping coffee and staring out across the harbor toward Panos’ hotel. No way to take that picture of Uncle and Stella from here. He looked north at the high cliff face running out to sea. A goatherd’s shed at the base of the cliff offered a clear sight line to the front door of the hotel room in the photo. But you had to know how to get out there, and you’d be visible to anyone looking in your direction for practically the entire time.
Maybe someone took it from inside the hotel complex? Without some fix on at least the approximate date of the photo, from the number of camera-armed tourists passing through Gerolimenas each season, potential photographers numbered in the tens of thousands.
The lanky priest he’d been thinking about the other day kept pacing the thirty-foot stretch of pavement between Kouros’ table and the taverna across the road. Long, dark, unwashed hair, a dark scruffy beard, dusty cowboy boots, and a priest’s black cassock loosely buttoned at the top and bottom over a faded, red plaid shirt and worn blue jeans served as his form of priestly dress. Then again, this was the Mani.
Every few seconds the priest stole a quick glance at Kouros without breaking stride.
Kouros decided to end the priest’s curiosity and waved for him to join him.
“Me?” said the priest pointing at his chest without slowing his pace.
Kouros nodded. “Yes.”
The priest stopped and turned his hands palms up in a pleading gesture. “Why?”
“I need the company of a holy man.”
He nodded and walked quickly toward Kouros. The passing waiter muttered loud enough for Kouros to hear, “I see he’s caught another one.”
The priest dropped into the chair across from Kouros, flashed a quick nervous smile, and said, “My name is Father Carlos. How can I be of service, my son?”
“What would you like to drink?” said Kouros.
“That’s most kind of you, but I never drink coffee. It is a stimulant born out of the labor of oppressed workers.”
“Tea?”
“Even worse.”
Kouros smiled. “Orange juice.”
“Only in the mornings.”
Without being asked, the waiter came by and set a half-full bottle of bar scotch on the table together with a single glass. “He doesn’t believe in sharing, just in not paying,” he stage-whispered to Kouros before walking away.
Carlos ignored the waiter’s words, twisted off the bottle top, and poured four fingers of scotch. He lifted the glass. “To your health, most kind stranger.”
Kouros tipped his coffee cup against Carlos’ glass. “Yia sas.” He watched him drain a third of the glass before putting it down.
“Bless you, my son.”
“Why were you looking at me?”
“What do you mean?” said Carlos.
“Like I said, why were you looking at me?”
“I thought I recognized you.”
“From where?”
“Your uncle’s funeral.”
“So you know who I am?”
Carlos nodded and took a more measured gulp from his glass. “You’re the nephew from Athens, the one who became a cop.”
“Since you have the advantage on me, who are you?”
“Just a humble man serving God.”
“Yeah, but God’s not paying for your drinks, and neither am I if you don’t start giving me answers.”
“I have served my Lord in many ways, official and otherwise. At present I am between ecclesiastical engagements and so I returned home to the place of my roots.”
“You’re from the Mani?”
“From this very village.” He pointed at Panos’ hotel across the harbor. “My grandfather and great grandfather both worked there when it was a place of trade. Now it is a place of sin. Where the unwed run to cohabitate. Where sodomites practice their evil ways. Where-”
“I get the picture,” interrupted Kouros. “Anybody I know among those sinners?”
Carlos shrugged. “My vows forbid me from disclosing their names anywhere but in my prayers for their forgiveness and redemption.”
“Do you ever pray aloud?” Kouros struggled to maintain a straight face.
“When in the right state of mind.”
“And how far away from that are you at the moment?”
Carlos picked up the bottle. “About another liter and a half.”
Kouros picked up the bottle, used it to catch the waiter’s eye, and said, “Another one.”
The waiter rolled his eyes and crossed the street to the taverna.
“So, start praying,” said Kouros.
Carlos took another drink. “The one you’re interested in was your uncle?”
“Why do you think I’m interested in him?”
“If not, who?”
“Tell me about my uncle.”
“I live here,” he pointed at the taverna, “above that notable establishment. The property belongs to my dear mother, may she live another thousand years.”
“And?” said Kouros.
“Your uncle often came here with women. I’d see them driving by. No one ever notices me. They think of me as part of the place. You didn’t notice me at the funeral did you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“But I wasn’t dressed like this. Mother said I could not wear my cassock since I wasn’t officiating at the service.”
“Did you recognize any of my uncle’s women?”
Carlos picked up his glass and smiled. “I assume you mean with him here, not at his funeral.”
Kouros simply stared.
“Just trying to lighten the moment.”
Kouros kept staring.
Carlos averted his eyes. “Most were the kind of women whose company one pays for.”
“Mostly?”
“A few divorced locals.”
“Ones with jealous boyfriends or ex-husbands?”
“Not that I knew of.”
“Are you sure?”