Kouros nodded. “Menidi.”
“Ouch.”
Menidi was an area about three miles west of the center of Athens just south of Mount Parnitha, and perhaps the most dangerous neighborhood in all of greater Athens. Here was where those who gave tsigani a bad name threw babies in front of out-of-place expensive cars in the hope of getting a settlement for “the accident,” where the poorest of the poor found a place to live, and drug lords and human traffickers ruled. It was a no man’s land for cops. But tsigani weren’t the only bad guys in Menidi. They shared the criminal turf with the ians — Russians, Romanians, Ukrainians, Albanians and other eastern Europeans-and the is- Afghanis, Pakistanis, Iraqis, etcetera.
“If this involves ians or is out for revenge I can definitely see the two tsigani being fried alive,” said Andreas.
“Yeah, but they’d have been wide-awake when it happened,” said Kouros.
“I’m not sure what we have here. But it definitely doesn’t look like ‘ tsigani fighting tsigani.’”
“As long as it’s what our minister considers non-Greek bad guys killing other non-Greek bad guys he won’t give a damn about their ethnicity. He’s broadminded that way.” Kouros smiled.
“Spoken like our good friend Tassos. Which reminds me. Maggie, come in here. I need you for a minute. Please.”
Maggie popped her head through the doorway. “You’re the boss.”
Yeah, right. Andreas and everyone else at GADA knew Maggie’s mastery of GADA’s bureaucratic ways made her more important than any chief inspector.
“Could you find Tassos for me?”
“He’s at home.”
“On Syros?”
“No, my place.”
Tassos was a widower, and Andreas’ chance mention of him to Maggie, not knowing of their long ago romantic past, had helped put them back together.
“Do you think you could get him to come in here this afternoon? I need his help.”
Maggie smiled. “Don’t we all.” She closed the door.
Kouros said, “You can’t be serious about asking Tassos to sign off on this case.”
“I’m not. But the minister said he wants everything ‘wrapped up,’ and I intend to do just that. Which means I need Tassos’ help. No one knows the Cyclades better than he does. I want to know if bad guys are killing bad guys and, if so, who and why. And if it’s something else…” Andreas waved his hand in the air. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“And no doubt burn it to ashes in the process.”
Chapter Three
Tassos was in Andreas’ office by four and up to speed by five. That was when Maggie swung in with coffee, a meze selection of food, and a quick apologetic, “Sorry to interrupt, but I must keep up my men’s strength.”
“Stick around,” said Tassos. Kouros and Tassos were sitting on chairs next to Andreas’ desk. “We’re about to start guessing at what has our fearless minister so hot to close an investigation into two murders.”
“Which ones? Things are happening so quickly these days that I’m losing count,” said Maggie.
“The ones on Tinos while we were at your grandniece’s baptism in Thessaloniki. You’re probably better qualified than we are at guessing what’s on a bureaucrat’s mind.”
Maggie set the tray on the desk in front of Tassos. “Make that on any man’s mind.” She dropped onto the couch.
“Okay, let’s start with what’s on yours,” said Andreas nodding at Tassos.
Tassos picked up a spanakopita. “Your friend, the police chief, has been on Tinos for only a little over a year, but he got the interviews right. Tsigani don’t take revenge that way.” Tassos pointed the tiny spinach pie at his chest. “I know the tsigani very well and they know me, but I wouldn’t have gotten any more out of those interviews than Odysseus did. The two were killed to deliver a very specific message. Any response had to come from the one who received it. No other tsigani would dare make that decision. Certainly not by talking to cops. Besides, tsigani know from experience that cops don’t give a shit about what happens to them.”
“Some of us do,” said Andreas.
“We know that, they don’t.” Tassos popped the spanakopita into his mouth.
“So, what do you suggest we do?” said Kouros.
Tassos finished chewing. “Find a tsigani who can get us answers. My money’s on this not being tsigani revenge killings, but since the victims were tsigani that’s where I’d start.”
“Have anyone particular in mind?” said Andreas.
“A few. Even the tsigani king owes me some favors. He shows up on Tinos every year a few days before August 15th to join in the celebration of the Assumption of the Virgin. Makes quite an entrance.”
“I bet,” said Andreas.
“What does our minister have to do with all of this?” said Maggie.
“He implied the Prime Minister is all over him to close the case,” said Andreas.
“Do you believe him or is it just more of that name-dropping bullshit he thinks gets us to do what he wants?” said Tassos.
Andreas shrugged. “I reached Odysseus on vacation. He said everything he knows about it is in the file and that if we want to call it closed, ‘be my guest.’ But he told Spiros he wouldn’t be the one to do it.”
“I always liked Odysseus,” said Tassos. He looked at Andreas. “If it’s not the Prime Minister pushing him, why do you think Spiros is so anxious to end the investigation?”
“I hope it’s not because he’s trying to protect someone,” said Kouros.
Maggie shook her head. “Spiros isn’t an idiot. He just treats everyone like he thinks they are. No way he’d be dumb enough to bring you guys into this if he wanted to pull off a cover-up.”
“I don’t know,” said Kouros. “Our politicians are so arrogant these days at all they’ve gotten away with that I think they believe they can do just about anything they damn well please.”
“What do you think has Spiros so anxious, Chief?” said Maggie.
“I think he’s honestly afraid that something might turn up along the lines of tsigani being victims of a hate crime. And he knows if that happens at least he, if not the whole country, will be back in hot water with the press.”
“I can see his point,” nodded Maggie. “Remember how fired up the international media was when the crazy French started deporting tsigani? Just imagine how they’d tear us apart, the E.U.’s bad-boy, if they could run a story that has Greece addressing its immigration problems by declaring open season on tsigani.”
“I’d rather not,” said Andreas.
“Me either,” said Tassos. “We don’t deserve it.” He stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, folks, I have a tsigani to find.”
“Happy hunting,” said Kouros.
Andreas stared at Kouros. “At times your sense of humor is worse than his.”
“Then buy me a beer. I’ll try to be funnier.”
“Deal.”
Beer was a big seller in Greece. Ouzo and retsina surely were too, and plainly the romanticized choice of tourists, but beer was the day-to-day staple. Andreas and Kouros were in plainclothes alone at a table in the back of a rundown taverna in a graffiti-covered, 19th Century, two-story neoclassical building. It was tucked away on one of the narrow commercial streets at the western end of Alexandras Avenue by the Victoria metro station. As shabby as the place was it had a certain old-world charm definitely not present in any of its late 20th Century, anonymous concrete neighbors.
“How the hell did you find this place?” said Andreas.
“A buddy brought me here a couple weeks ago. Said his father used to take him here. There aren’t many places like this left in Athens, what with all the old neighborhoods changing. I thought you might like it. Besides, it’s even cheaper than the ones across from headquarters. I figured that since you’re paying I’d help save you some money for the wedding.”