“Why does Fotis have the icon?” Alex asked at last. “What happened with the museum?”
“The seller changed her mind. The Greek church approached her about the work, and she decided that they should have it.”
“How does that involve him?”
“They approached Fotis also, to try and influence the deal, I guess. He knows the estate lawyer. And to help arrange transport, so he got to hold on to the icon for a little while.”
“To what purpose?”
“For him? So that he could pray before it. It’s a very holy icon. It’s supposed to have miraculous curative powers.”
“The old bastard. Does he think he’s found a way to live forever?” Alex seemed halfway between rage and laughter.
“He’ll only have it a week or two, then it goes to the church.”
“How did you end up in the middle of this? You were supposed to be appraising the work for the museum.”
“I did. I really thought that would be the end of it. But Ana, Ana Kessler, the seller, she wanted me to advise her.”
“And Fotis encouraged this?”
“Yes.”
“So you talked her into the deal.”
“No, it’s what she wanted to do. I didn’t talk her out of it, though. I didn’t tell her about Fotis’ involvement.”
“You didn’t influence her at all?”
“If I did, it’s because I thought it was right, not because of him.”
“Are you sleeping with this girl?”
Matthew only sighed and leaned back in the seat. The air in the car was cooling, and the house suddenly beckoned.
“I see,” Alekos nodded. “He’s teaching you well.”
Matthew slammed the dashboard with his fists, startling both of them.
“Do you really think so little of me? That I don’t have any ideas of my own, that I don’t believe in anything of my own? Are you so consumed by this hate for them that you need to reduce everything to that level?”
Alex shook his head slowly, but he seemed more distressed at having upset his son than bruised by his words, making Matthew feel impotent in his anger.
“You shouldn’t take it personally. They’re masters. They’ve done it to me my whole life. If you can take a lesson from this, you can avoid some future pain.”
“What in God’s name do you think they’ve done to you?”
A figure appeared in the kitchen window, blocking most of the light.
“They’ve orchestrated my life. I’m a chemical engineer because my father wanted me to be. I live in America because he sent me here. Even marrying your mother…”
“What?”
“I shouldn’t speak to you about this.”
“You knew she was Fotis’ niece, that’s how you met her.”
“I knew she was his niece, but I didn’t yet understand who he was. He even pretended to disapprove, just to tempt me, knowing she and I would fight him.”
“And why exactly did he do that?”
“Who knows? Maybe he thought it was a way to steal me from his old pal Andreas, turn me into the son he never had. God knows he tried, but I saw through him soon enough.”
“This is bullshit.”
“You don’t know, you weren’t around.”
“I don’t need to have been around. I don’t even have to be your son to see through this, because either you loved her, so nothing he did mattered, and it was right. Or you didn’t, and it was wrong. Either way it’s on you, nobody else. So don’t try to feed me this garbage. And by the way, I know we’re having this heart-to-heart, but I don’t want to know the answer to that, OK? She’s my mother, so keep it to yourself.”
The figure had vanished from the window, and the rain increased. Matthew breathed deeply in an effort to calm himself. He could not have imagined, even minutes before, being so angry with his father. Yet it was a pure, righteous, cleansing anger, and he could not wish it away, even knowing the guilt he would feel later.
“Of course, that’s true.” Alex seemed deflated, yet his face still had a warm flush of color, unseen there for weeks. “I’m sorry I spoke of this. Please don’t ignore everything I’ve said. Please take warning.”
“Let’s go inside, you must be getting cold.”
“No. I don’t feel anything.”
Ioannes was sitting quietly at the kitchen table in the bishop’s small but ornate guesthouse when Jimmy entered without so much as a knock.
“Good morning, Father.”
“And to you, my son.”
“So, Tomas is gone. Vanished.”
“It would appear.”
“Left a whole congregation sitting in their pews last night, waiting on the word of God.” The little man paced the room restlessly, checking his pockets, pulling out a small pistol to caress it.
“Poor bastards.”
“Father Makarios told me.”
“Did he also tell you that half a million dollars of church funds disappeared with him?”
“I didn’t know the amount, but it was clear there had been a major embezzlement.”
“He’s the one you should be looking for.”
“I assumed that you and Makarios were doing that. Unless you are depending upon the police.”
“Hah. Makarios can’t even bring himself to tell the police, thinks the little devil will repent, show up with a good explanation. They hate a scandal. Anyway, I’ve got some people looking.”
“I suspect he took that money for himself, to go underground.” Ioannes spoke slowly, measuring his words. “I don’t believe he has the icon. He was fronting for a buyer. A donor, he called him, in his communications, who was supposed to give the work to the church.”
“But you never found out who the donor was.”
“He didn’t tell us.”
“He could have invented the donor.”
“Yes, he could have.”
“So who is this man you’re going to visit? Andreas Spyridis?”
Ioannes sighed. There were clearly no secrets within these walls.
“Someone who came here from Greece around the same time all this business started. Who has a history with the icon.”
“Not from the church?”
“No, a government man. Retired, but he still checks in, or they check on him, or maybe the Americans do. Anyway, we were able to locate him. I don’t know that he’s involved, but it’s a fair guess. I wish you would put that gun away.”
“You say government. You mean intelligence, state security, something like that?”
“Yes, but he’s old. Even older than me.”
“Old or not, we may need this,” Jimmy said, brandishing the pistol. “I’m not going unarmed.”
“I’m not asking you to go at all.”
“I think you will find that Father Makarios insists upon my involvement.”
“Yes.” Ioannes looked more closely at the younger man’s eyes and nose, the shape of his head. “You know, you look like him. The bishop. Don’t tell me you’re related.”
The little man did not like being identified.
“I’m his nephew. That’s not important.”
“And you are some sort of civilian detective?”
“Private investigator, we call it. But I work mostly for the church.”
“Ah, a knight of Christ. How unfortunate that they have enough work to keep you busy.”
“Why don’t we go see this man right now?”
“Because he’s not there. He left the city for a few days.”
“So we sit?”
“I’m sure there are other things you could be investigating. Do not let me hold you.”
“You know more than you’re telling. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”