Codename Xenophon Read online

  ‘Thank you,’ said George.

  He was not a regular smoker. He just felt like a cigarette. And the raging energy on the other side of the table needed distraction. A few seconds of silence, concentration on a physical task, something outside his head… It might calm him down enough to talk without exploding.

  Preston handed him the matches.

  ‘There’s a great deal about this case that people don’t want me to know about,’ said George. ‘Things going on in the background. Family secrets, personal secrets, business secrets. I’m getting a sense of two brothers who didn’t like each other very much. Am I right?’

  ‘Constantine doesn’t like anybody.’

  ‘He likes Rosa Corneille.’

  ‘Rosa’s different.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She’s a giver. A spiritual healer. Looks after him.’

  ‘Does he need looking after?’

  ‘Have you met his wife?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘When you do, you’ll understand.’

  ‘OK…’ George paused. ‘I’m trying to relate all this to John…’

  Bill stubbed out his cigarette. ‘OK, fuck it, I may as well tell you. John and I have a house on Mykonos. An old olive press. Did you know that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘John bought it as a ruin. I rebuilt it, at my expense. That was my contribution. It’s a lovely place. And it’s worth a lot. Seven, eight hundred, something like that. Now Constantine’s trying to get his filthy hands on it. Claims it’s his – through his brother.’

  ‘Is there any basis to that claim?’

  ‘No. It’s ours. Fifty-fifty. We agreed that.’

  ‘That’s on the title deeds?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Mistake!’

  ‘We were a couple. We shared everything.’

  ‘Constantine disputes that?’

  ‘Only the house on Mykonos. There’s a house in London, but thank God he can’t touch that.’

  ‘He may be within his rights.’

  ‘Bollocks. He’s making it up. This is Europe. Doesn’t matter if you’re gay or straight, legally married or living together. You share the lot.’

  ‘There may be some Greek variant on that.’

  ‘He says there is. He’s trying to frighten me.’

  ‘Is he going to court?’

  ‘Threatens to.’

  ‘You must get a lawyer.’

  ‘Do you have one in mind?’

  George nodded.

  ‘Would he talk to me? Tell me straight if I’ve got a case?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Expensive?’

  ‘Yes, but worth it. Won’t take it on unless he’s sure he can win.’

  ‘How do I find him?’

  ‘I’ll give you his number.’

  Bill took out a black notebook, opened it on a page covered with sketches. He turned a fresh leaf and wrote down the name and number.

  ‘Tell me about the relationship between the two brothers,’ said George.

  ‘It wasn’t healthy.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘They were totally different. John loved life. Loved art. Loved people too. Costa’s got no time for that. For him it’s money, status, and keeping up appearances.’

  ‘That’s not unusual in Greece.’

  ‘Too damn right!’

  ‘I meet plenty of people like him,’ said George. ‘They don’t care about anyone or anything outside their own tight little circle of self-interest. Then, when things go wrong, they’re surprised nobody wants to help them. So what else can you tell me?’

  Preston thought about it. ‘John was gay,’ he said, ‘Costa’s straight as a bloody broom handle. And worried to death about the family name. Half the ancient Greeks were poofs, plus half the heroes of the war against the Turks – that was a book even John was scared to write! – but Costa couldn’t handle that. A gay Petrakis! What will the neighbours think? And of course the neighbours all thought John was great. They loved him. That drove Costa crazy. He was freaked out by John, but envied what he had: friends, freedom, fame… John used to tell Costa to let go, but he couldn’t, he was afraid everything would collapse if he didn’t hold it all in his neurotic grip. Their father was the same. Couldn’t move a muscle without worrying about how it might look. That was one good reason why John left Greece.’

  ‘So John and his father didn’t get on?’

  ‘They sorted that out once he got to America. Status went up. Princeton beats gay.’

  ‘What about Yerakas?’

  ‘We never had anything to do with him.’

  ‘Even socially?’

  ‘Especially socially. John didn’t like him. Didn’t like the family generally.’

  ‘Why did Costa hire me if they got on so badly?’

  ‘Costa admired John. Maybe even loved him in his messed-up way. Always tried to get John to come back and live in Greece.’

  ‘Why would he want that?’

  ‘Keep the family together. But John wouldn’t come. He loved London.’

  ‘Did he love Greece too?’

  ‘Adored it. For what it could be if…’

  ‘If what?’

  ‘If idiots like his brother weren’t pulling all the strings.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more.’

  Preston nodded, smiled wistfully, looked away.

  ‘What about Rosa?’

  ‘I told you. She’s special.’

  ‘What’s her role in all this?’

  ‘She was a bridge between them.’

  ‘Do you get on with her?’

  ‘I’m not into this aura stuff.’

  ‘Does Yerakas see her too?’

  ‘Shouldn’t think so. Too bloody full of himself.’

  George watched Preston roll another cigarette.

  ‘Do you have any idea who might have killed John?’ he asked.

  ‘Not a clue,’ said Preston. ‘It makes no sense.’ His features were blurred by a cloud of cigarette smoke. ‘On any level. It’s just an insane, horrible thing… I wish I could help you more. Any more questions?’

  ‘Not just now.’

  ‘I need to get back to Athens.’

  George gave him a card. ‘Call if you get any ideas.’

  ‘I will.’

  Bill dug into his pocket and produced a card of his own. George examined it. William Preston. Building. Design. Maintenance. An address in south London.

  ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ said George, ‘but you seem unusually articulate and well educated for a builder.’

  ‘Blame John for that.’

  ‘How long were you together?’

  ‘Twenty-five years.’

  Preston was trying to smile, but tears flooded his eyes.

  15

  At the Café Agamemnon that evening, George met his colleague Hector Pezas. They sat in the shade, drinking beer, their voices loud among the empty tables.

  Hector had been to see Mrs Boiatzis. ‘She was pretty upset,’ he said. ‘She confronted her husband about his affair, threatened to leave him, go to the newspapers. They had a noisy row. He admitted having an affair with Mrs Kakridis, regretted it, agreed it was not the solution to their marital problems, promised to end it, and asked for forgiveness. She granted her forgiveness, or so she says, and he went off to the park. He was found dead a couple of hours later with a pistol in his hand.’

  ‘Was it his pistol?’

  ‘Apparently it was.’

  ‘Apparently?’

  ‘She thinks he owned a pistol, but she’s not sure.’

  ‘So we still don’t know if he killed himself?

  ‘Not a hundred percent.’

  ‘How did Mrs Kakridis take the news?’

  ‘I have no idea. And to be frank, I don’t care. I’m pulling out. I’ve done what I was paid to do.’

  ‘So have I,’ said George, ‘but Kakridis hasn’t paid me yet.’

  ‘Oh, big mistake! You told me to take t
he money up front,’ said Hector.

  ‘It was good advice. I should have followed it myself.’

  They began discussing other business. George told Hector his frustrations over the Aegina murder.

  ‘You’re lucky to have the work,’ said Hector.

  ‘I’m turning stuff down.’

  ‘Really? Like what?’

  ‘Those four kids who died in the bank fire. During the May demonstrations.’

  ‘I thought it was three.’

  ‘One of the girls was pregnant, so that’s four.’

  ‘OK. So what’s up?’

  ‘The family want action.’

  ‘I’ll bet they do!’

  ‘But I’m not going to do it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We’re related. Family and business…’

  ‘Pass them to me!’

  ‘Are you short of work?’

  ‘This crisis isn’t exactly good for trade,’ said Hector.

  ‘Maybe it hasn’t hit me yet.’

  ‘It will… But you know what? Something in me likes this crisis. I thought the boom years were disgusting. Ever since the Olympics the whole country’s been on a spending spree. Funded by what? Borrowing! Just one long bout of self-indulgence, with prices shooting up and nobody giving a damn. They just went on spending. Now we’re paying for it. As we should. I welcome the austerity. The country needs it. But my business doesn’t need it!’

  ‘We did well for a long time.’

  ‘Didn’t we just! All those selfish people trying to get dirt on other selfish people, with plenty of money to spend. Now they’re counting their pennies. They don’t feel the need for us any more.’

  ‘All the professions are suffering. Even doctors and lawyers.’

  ‘At least there’s that. Earn a million, declare ten thousand. Bastards.’

  ‘Do you declare everything you earn?’

  Pezas stopped in mid-flow.

  ‘Do you?’ George insisted.

  ‘No more than you do,’ said Pezas, nonplussed.

  ‘So why blame doctors and lawyers?’

  ‘It’s the amounts! The shamelessness! The pretence of being ethical professions. That’s what sticks in my throat.’

  ‘But the principle’s the same. We all cheat, but we want others to be punished.’

  Pezas laughed. ‘What do you expect? That’s the Greek way!’

  ‘It’s infantile. We have to grow up.’

  ‘Will you lead the way?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘I’m sure we all will!’

  Pezas stood up. ‘I must go. Let me know if you get any more work you can’t handle.’

  ‘I will. Actually there is something you could do for me. Half a day’s work.’

  ‘Sure. What is it?’

  ‘Research on a businessman, Simeon Yerakas.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘His family and business interests.’

  ‘Anything in particular?’

  ‘No, the whole thing. But I’d be particularly interested in any business connections with a man called Constantine Petrakis.’

  ‘You want him followed?’

  ‘No. Just the information. Half a day’s work. No more.’

  ‘Understood.’

  George climbed the stairs to his apartment. He was tired, but he had one more thing to do before he could rest.

  He picked up the telephone to Antonis Mihalopoulos, his lawyer, and recounted Bill Preston’s difficulties with Constantine Petrakis. The lawyer bristled when he heard the name.

  ‘I’d prefer not to get tangled up with that family,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They hire the best.’

  ‘I thought you were the best.’

  ‘I’m as good as the best,’ said Mihalopoulos.

  ‘That will do nicely.’

  George told him what he knew. Mihalopoulos said he would talk to Preston.

  ‘OK,’ said George. ‘One more thing. What can you tell me about Simeon Yerakas?’

  ‘He’s not involved, is he?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If he is, stay away.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just take my word for it. He’s a man to avoid.’

  ‘I met him today.’

  ‘Lucky you. Just don’t let him think you owe him a favour.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He has a way of making life impossible for his enemies.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He takes the game away from them, fills the horizon with trouble.’

  ‘You’re talking in metaphors.’

  ‘That’s all you can do. You turn up for a game of tennis against Yerakas, and you find the courts have been sold for development and you’re arrested for trespassing. Suddenly you’re dealing with the police. Are you sure Yerakas isn’t after Preston’s land?’

  ‘I don’t know. He has some joint ventures with Constantine Petrakis.’

  ‘Let’s hope this isn’t one of them. If it is, you can tell Preston it won’t be worth the fight.’

  16

  The telephone rang the next morning as George was shaving. He ignored it and finished the job, taking his time, using soap, brush and razor, running the blade carefully over the angles of jaw and throat. This was a good moment of the day, not to be hurried, although the mirror sent back a merciless account of spent years. At last the ringing stopped.

  He dried his face, pulled on a clean shirt and walked through to the kitchen to make coffee. The telephone started ringing again.

  It was Abbas. ‘I’ve got something for you,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A list of gun owners in Aegina.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘The colonel.’

  ‘How did he come by it?’

  ‘He compiled it.’

  ‘When? ‘

  ‘Eight years ago. It’s a list of his defence volunteers.’

  ‘Is it still valid?’

  ‘It’s a place to start. In fact I’ve checked the list. There are three names in the right area. If you come over, we could go and talk to them.’

  George considered this. He had only a short time left.

  ‘I can be there in a couple of hours.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ll meet you at the ship.’

  Abbas was standing on the quay as the ferry backed in. ‘You made good time,’ he said. ‘We’ll get a cab over there.’

  ‘Sorry, what’s the cab for?’

  ‘I’m going to show you the hotel.’

  ‘Which hotel?’

  ‘The Aegina Palace. So-called!’

  ‘I didn’t come to see a hotel.’

  ‘It won’t take long. And you need to see it. You may not think so, but you do.’

  George checked his watch. It was just past noon.

  ‘How long?’ he asked.

  ‘Half an hour.’

  They found a taxi and drove south along the coast, passing a series of small resorts – beach umbrellas and bars tucked in between the road and a narrow strip of sand. A few swimmers bobbed offshore, their heads black in the silvery glare.

  ‘The island’s not famed for its beaches,’ said Abbas.

  ‘So why did Yerakas build here?’

  ‘Wait till you see what he built!’

  They passed a placid bay shaded with eucalyptus trees, where half a dozen speedboats rested at anchor. A few hundred metres further on, the taxi driver pulled over, pointing straight ahead.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said.

  George peered through the windscreen at an enormous U-shaped block, six or seven storeys high, in reinforced concrete, once painted white, now a dirty grey. It looked like an abandoned prison.

  ‘That can never have been attractive,’ said George.

  ‘Correct!’

  ‘How long did it stay in business?’

  ‘Five years.’

  ‘Damn stupid thing to build there!’ />
  ‘Damn stupid thing to build anywhere! But that’s the Yerakas style. Put up something monstrous, stick it in the brochures of travel companies in northern Europe, where people sit miserably through the winter, dreaming of the Mediterranean sun, then watch the cash roll in.’

  ‘It must work or he wouldn’t do it.’

  ‘It worked in Corfu, it worked in Crete. They have airports and big sandy beaches. Aegina’s different. It’s not for the hordes. No airport, and you’ve seen the beaches. To get here those frozen northerners needed (1) a flight to Athens, (2) a bus to Piraeus, (3) a ship to Aegina, and (4) a bus to this place. That’s too much like hard work.’

  ‘He should have known that.’

  ‘He should indeed. But he was determined to do something in Aegina. Leave his sign, like a dog marking territory. A hotel in town might have worked, but the colonel stopped him.’

  ‘He and Constantine must have lost money here.’

  ‘And who did they blame? Not their own stupidity, not their greed, but an old soldier trying to protect the architectural heritage of his island.’

  ‘There must be more to it than money,’ said George.

  ‘You misjudge them,’ said Abbas. ‘They only see money. It’s the whole story to them.’

  ‘And so they try to get Varzalis condemned for murder? That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘And what in Greece does make sense?’

  Abbas’s eyes were fiery with anger.

  ‘Maybe there’s another motive,’ said George.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Maybe they know who did it.’

  ‘That needs thinking about,’ said Abbas.

  He leaned forward and told the taxi driver to go on to Perdika. Then he turned back to George.

  ‘Swim? Lunch?’

  ‘How about the list?’

  ‘I’m coming to that. You say “maybe they know who did it”. That’s an intriguing thought. But why would Constantine hire you to investigate if he knew who did it?’

  ‘He just told me – as good as told me – my job is to dig up evidence against the colonel!’

  Abbas considered this. ‘That’s a whole new category of twisted,’ he said.

  ‘It’s called revenge,’ said George.

  ‘OK, but if someone killed my brother, I’d want the right man put away!’

  ‘You would. So would I. But we’re dealing with a strange man.’

  They rode along in silence for a while. The taxi slowed down.