“Chief inspector, Special Crimes Division, GADA.”
“Sounds impressive.”
“I think that’s why they gave it to me.” He smiled.
She didn’t. “So, what can I do for you?” She looked at her watch.
He smiled again. “May I sit down?” He wasn’t going to let her rush him out of here simply by looking at her watch. That was too old a ruse. She’ll have to be directly rude, something he doubted she’d dare with Marios behind the meeting.
She forced a smile. “Certainly,” and pointed him to a couch perpendicular to the windows. She sat in a chair across from him separated by a small table.
“I sincerely appreciate your taking the time out of your busy day to see me.” He tried sounding sincere.
She simply nodded. Now both her arms and legs were crossed. She wore a black sweat suit, white sneakers, and no makeup. He noticed the sneakers were a brand even he could afford. Maybe there really was a trainer.
“I don’t know what Marios told you—”
She cut him off. “Absolutely nothing.”
He nodded for a moment. She said nothing more, just sat arms- and legs- crossed in the chair. “Why do you think that would be?” he asked.
“Why
what
would be?”
He’d play; besides, it was her time she was wasting. He leaned forward and stared directly at her. “Why would Greece’s most famous television journalist insist that the chief inspector, Special Crimes Division, GADA, immediately drop everything he was doing to speak you about a murder getting 24/7 media attention all over Greece and not mention a single word to you about why or how he thought you could help the investigation?” That gave nothing away and might just be the kick in the ass she needed to start taking this meeting seriously.
She looked away from his stare, leaned forward a bit, then uncrossed and recrossed her legs in the opposite direction, all without uncrossing her arms. “I assume you mean Sotiris Kostopoulos?”
“Yes.”
“I really don’t know his family that well, but my family and his do have summer homes on Mykonos.”
Mykonos, I can’t seem to get away from that island
, he thought. “I don’t think that’s the reason he suggested I speak to you. I think it’s more because of what you know of their ties into Athens society.”
She laughed. “Ties into Athens society? Chief, the closest ties that family had to Athens society were the black ones Zanni Kostopoulos wore to formal, opening night affairs. I remember when he practically had to underwrite any he wanted to attend and, even then, most of old-line society wouldn’t be there. They’d wait for the third night, after what they jokingly called the ‘
nouveaux
rush’ was over.”
Andreas smiled. “Like I said, because of what you know of their ties into Athens society.”
She dropped her arms to her lap. “Well, if that’s of help to you, please, ask away. I think it’s terrible what happened to that boy. Any idea who did it?”
“Not yet, but we’re working on it.”
“In other words, you can’t tell me.”
He smiled. “Did they have any enemies?”
“Who’d kill a child?”
He shrugged. “I’m not accusing anyone. I’m just asking.”
“But I thought it was a murder that happened because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“We have to check out every possibility, and that includes determining if the family or the boy had enemies capable of doing such an act.”
“That seems quite unlikely among the people I know.” She didn’t sound offended, just factual.
“Which I assume includes the Linardos family.”
“Of course.”
“I understand, but the problem I have is that the reaction of the Kostopoulos family to all this was…uh…unusual.” He paused but she said nothing. “They’ve left Athens and put their property up for sale.”
“Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised. “And before the funeral.” It seemed more an observation than a question, so he didn’t answer. She turned her head and looked out the window. “You know, this happened before.”
He felt a chill. “What do you mean?”
“Perhaps that is why Marios suggested we meet. A year or so ago, another family experienced the unexpected death of a child and just as suddenly left Athens, selling everything. I know, because I was in the midst of arranging a very large gift from the family for the museum when it happened. Their reaction seemed very strange to me at the time, but I attributed it to grief.” She paused, still gazing out the window.
“I suffered a similar loss shortly before.” She drew in a quick breath and brought her eyes back into the room, but not to Andreas. “They simply disappeared in the midst of completing the museum’s paperwork and no one knew what to do. Through mutual family friends, I learned they were in Zurich and, when they wouldn’t take my phone calls, I flew there and went to their home.” She looked at Andreas. “I know, it wasn’t very lady-like but, after all, it was a big donation.” She shrugged and smiled.
“Anyway, you’d think I was trying to storm Parliament from the way they treated me when I arrived at their flat. Their doormen, more like hoodlums if you ask me, refused to let me in. Only when the wife heard the ruckus and saw it was I did they let me pass. But she certainly wasn’t happy to see me. I’m not even sure why she did, except to vent. It was three minutes of ‘
You Greeks
this’ and ‘
You Greeks
that.’
“I know how provincial, at times, we Greeks who never left can seem to Greeks returning from other countries—I think that family had lived in Serbia—and how hard it is for anyone new to break into the ‘establishment,’” she emphasized the word with finger-quotes in the air, “but what I couldn’t understand was her unvarnished hate for all things Greek. I mean, this was a woman I knew for years, and although we weren’t that close, I never saw even a hint of that side to her.”
Andreas tried to stay expressionless. “Do you recall anything she said to you?”
Lila bit at her lower lip. “You mean aside from her curses that took up half the time, and the part about the only money the museum will ever see from her family is that which they use to obliterate it and everything else Greek off the face of the earth?”
“Ouch.”
“Yes, it was quite a pleasant afternoon. Everyone on our museum board was as shocked as I when I told them what happened. Come to think of it, that’s probably why Marios knew to tell you to speak to me. I’m certain one of them must have told him. They’re all such gossips.” She touched her right index finger to her temple. “There was one thing I distinctly remember. Perhaps because it ended with her throwing something at me.”
Andreas looked surprised.
“It hurt, too.” She pointed at her left arm. “It was at the end of a diatribe about child-murderers, and how the small-minded and jealous of modern Greece were destroying the country in much the same way as the same sort did in the past. That’s when she yelled, ‘Soon all of Greece will have banished itself,’ and threw the thing at me. She’d been clutching it in her hand the entire time she talked, as if it were a rosary or something.”
Andreas wondered if she’d noticed his flinch at “banished.” “What did she throw?”
“It was a piece of broken pottery or something like that. If it hadn’t struck my arm I’m sure it would have shattered into a thousand pieces.”
“Did you get a look at it?”
“Not really, I picked it up but as soon as I did she started running toward me. I thought she was going to hit me. But all she did was grab it out of my hand. I assumed she was on the verge of a breakdown and just let her be. She was crying and shaking her head when I left. It was a terrible scene.”
He nodded. “Anything more you can tell me about that piece of pottery.”
“It was an ochre color, not that big, about the size of a pack of cigarettes. I’d guess it was something from her husband’s family, a potsherd probably.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because when I picked it up I noticed his family name written on it.”
Andreas jerked back on the couch as if touched by a live wire. He struggled to remember what he’d heard at the Tholos: “Ostracize is from the Greek word ostrakizein, meaning ‘to banish by voting with ostrakon.’ Each vote was cast by writing the name of the one who should be banished on an ostrakon—a piece of earthenware, a potsherd.”
Lila’s demeanor had changed; she seemed almost perky. “Chief…Kaldos, would you like some coffee?”
He nodded. “Thank you, it’s Kaldis.”
She smiled. “Sorry.”
“No problem, it’s probably easier to call me Andreas, anyway.”
Why did I say that?
he thought. He knew better than to make the relationship informal. You always keep an interview with uninvolved, responsible citizens on a formal, professional basis. That’s the best way of getting them to talk. They want to help the justice system, not the cop wasting their time asking questions.
She paused, then picked up a tiny silver bell and shook it. The same maid appeared. “Maria, would you please bring Chief Kaldis a coffee. Do you prefer American or Greek?” Her voice was back to professional.
Well, I guess that put me in my place.
“American, please.”
The maid turned to leave but Lila gestured for her to pause. “And a frappé for me.” She turned back to Andreas. “I prefer coffee chilled in the afternoon.”
What a gracious way to thaw an awkward moment
, he thought.
“I know you didn’t want to tell me before why you reacted as you did to my mention of the potsherd, but I’m sure you understand my curiosity. After all, it’s a fatal flaw of my gender.” She was smiling again.
He grinned. “And cops.” Andreas wondered how much he should tell her. Probably nothing. But she could be a real help. He’s not likely to get anywhere with this case without knowing a hell of a lot more about Athens society. He needed someone with a real grasp of it, an insider’s view. Not Maggie’s sort of tabloid expertise.
The question that bothered him was,
can I trust her to keep her mouth shut?
“What do you know about potsherds?” he asked.
“Yesterday’s mayonnaise jar is today’s artifact.”
He laughed.
“I know, I probably shouldn’t be saying that, especially since I work for a museum actively involved in trying to recover genuine ancient treasures plundered from our country, but it’s true. Generally, potsherds are simply bits and pieces of the most common sort of earthenware cookery and jars from a past civilization.”
“Why would someone write on one?”
“I don’t know why one would today, but in ancient times paper was prohibitively expensive, broken pottery was every where, and the literate used them as scrap paper. Sort of like our Post-it notes.” She smiled again.
She seemed to like to smile. He liked it when she did. “Can you think of any reason why that woman threw the potsherd at you?”
“Because it was in her hand.”
“Yes, but why was it in her hand, and why would she throw it at you? Had it been a rosary, do you think she’d have thrown it?”
She brushed some hair back over her right ear. Lila was a pretty woman. Not his type, of course, but pretty.
“I think you’re right about that. I wouldn’t throw something that was comforting me over such deep grief as the loss of a child. Perhaps I’d throw something I was dwelling on, something that represented what I was mourning.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “So, where are you trying to take me with all this, Andreas?”
Wow, Marios was right; she really is smart. And knows just when to change the pace.
He smiled. “I really can’t tell you.”
“Don’t trust me, huh?” She turned toward the door and raised her voice slightly, “Maria dear, where’s the coffee?” She looked back at him. “See, I don’t always need a bell to be heard.”
He shook his head and grinned. “That’s for sure.”
The maid came with the coffee, served it, and left. Neither spoke. They sat quietly sipping their coffees, sharing the space.
Lila broke the silence. “Well, if you won’t tell me, I guess I’m not going to be of much more help to you.”
Andreas’ heart dropped. But she was right. He put down his coffee. “I’m sorry, but you have been very helpful.” He stood up, not wanting to leave, but there was no reason to stay. He reached into his pocket, took out a card, and handed it to her. “In case you think of anything else, please call me.”
She took the card and looked at it as if about to say something, or so he imagined. “Thank you, Chief, I mean Andreas. Let me walk you to the elevator.”
He prayed the elevator wouldn’t come. But it did. She was standing in front of the elevator doors as they closed, smiling.
***
Maggie spared Andreas the misery of hours squinting over a computer screen by leaving him a pile of Internet printouts. It contained every news story she and Kouros could find on the three families. The printouts sat on top of an even larger pile of official reports on the families and the events surrounding their sudden departures from Greece. Andreas told Maggie and Kouros to go home. He wanted to read everything himself. Perhaps it wasn’t the most efficient way, but a word here, an instinct there, might pull it all together for him. Besides, he was the only one who suffered doing it his way: sitting at a desk half the night reading.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. No reports of foul play, just terrible tragedies. Each family was well off, though none as spectacularly so as the Kostopoulos family, and all had three things in common besides wealth: the head of each family had emigrated to Greece from somewhere else; each had achieved a significant level of professional, business, or social prominence in the press; and beyond a brief story on each family’s separate “tragedy” and “decision” to leave Greece, not a single, additional word ever appeared again on any of them in the Greek media. It was a perfect example of orchestrating press coverage to deliver an unmistakable message:
Leave—or this will happen to you
.
The deaths took place over a period of four years, and appeared random in time. The first was a particularly grisly accident involving two young children of the same family; the second, two years later, was the death of a wife at the hands of a never-found hit-and-run driver; and in another two years came the drowning of a teenage daughter in a boating accident. That was the one Lila knew about. All were gruesome, painful ways to go, but none likely to generate more than routine police attention.
Andreas rubbed at his eyes, leaned back, and let his elbows drop to the arms of his chair. So, why this time did they do the Kostopoulos kid in a way guaranteed to get police attention? It didn’t fit the pattern. And why was it always a wife or a child, never the father? He wondered how many other families receiving a potsherd simply packed up and left. Perhaps Lila would know.
He resisted thinking of her. One personal involvement per investigation was one too many. Besides, she wasn’t his type. That was the second time he’d thought that. Perhaps because he was certain he wasn’t
her
type, or maybe just because he’d never known a woman like her before. Whatever, time to get some sleep.
***
It was after three in the morning and Lila hadn’t been able to sleep. Something was bothering her. She was sure it wasn’t the man. How could it be? She didn’t know him at all. And he was a policeman. No, she was sure it had to do with what he was telling her—or rather not telling her. She turned onto her side and held a pillow over her head. “Sleep, please, sleep,” she murmured to herself, squeezing her eyes shut.
It wasn’t working. She kept thinking of that moment when she thought Andreas might be hitting on her. It bothered her. Why are all men like that?
Why
? She drew in a deep breath and repeated the only answer she’d ever come up with: it’s our culture, accept it or move. The phrase repeated in her mind,
accept it or move
.
Lila wasn’t sure whether the pillow or she hit the floor first. All she knew was that when the thought hit her, she bolted straight up yelling, “My god that’s it!” and tumbled off the bed. It was one of those esoteric little bits of ancient history tucked away unused since grade-school days in the back of her brain. The family’s sudden departure from Greece, the mother using the word “banished,” Andreas’ reaction to the family’s name written on the potsherd, all pointed to the ancient Athenian practice of ostracism. Accept it
and
move!
She couldn’t wait to tell Andreas that she knew what was behind his questions. She reached for the phone on her nightstand and, sitting cross-legged on the floor, called his office. She didn’t expect him to be there but let it ring until a machine picked up and his voice said, “Please leave a message.”
“Hi, Andreas, it’s Lila Vardi. I figured out what you didn’t want to tell me. And I think I can help you. Why don’t you call me in the morning?” She paused. “Or just stop by my home anytime between ten and one. I’ll be here. Thanks, goodnight.”
She hung up the phone and crawled back into bed. Why did I have to add the last part? She tossed the thought around in her mind until drifting off to sleep, finally.
***
Andreas checked his messages before leaving his office. He played Lila’s back three times, each time looking at his watch and wondering if it was too late to call her. He decided five either was too late or too early. He headed for the door mumbling, “Damn, why didn’t I check my messages sooner,” and wondering what was on her mind.