guillotine.
"Don't go away. I want to see you."
The way I said it, vaguely and unspecifically, I might have meant that I wanted to question them, or that I was going to make a statement. Because they didn't want to miss the chance of the latter, they were willing to risk the former. I left them wondering and made for the elevator. It must have intuited the state I was in and taken pity on me, because it came immediately.
Koula had been waiting for me in the chief's outer office and launched straight in. "What a thing to happen to Karayoryi. I heard about it this morning."
That gave me a boost without her knowing it. I reflected that Sperantzas's supposed bombshell had turned out in the end to be a damp squid, because most people at that time of night are getting ready for bed and are in no mood for hearing about murders, rapes, famines, earthquakes, and deluges.
"A crime of passion, you mark my words," Koula rattled on confidently.
"What makes you think that?"
"Listen to me, I had her figured out. She knew how to drive men crazy. She didn't give a damn about them, and she had them all running after her like little puppies. In the end, one of them must have flipped and killed her. But doesn't it seem strange to you that they ran her through with a metal rod?"
"No, why?"
"It symbolizes the penis," she said triumphantly.
"Is he in?" I asked quickly, before she began analyzing me too.
"Yes, and he's expecting you."
As I closed the door, Ghikas raised his head, leaned back into his chair, and folded his arms. His expression beckoned me to approach his desk, the better that he could give me a roasting. Before I'd got halfway there, he launched his attack.
"I said I wanted you in my office at nine o'clock. I've been calling you all morning."
I said nothing. I stood there with the file under my arm and stared at him.
"We have a star reporter, the leading name in crime reporting, murdered. Newspapers, radio stations, TV channels are all going to descend on us. In cases like this, the FBI works on a twentyfour-hour basis."
"I work on a twenty-hour basis. I need four hours to get myself back on form," I said calmly. "I left the channel at five in the morning, slept for less than three hours, and at nine o'clock I was at Karayoryi's house."
"What were you doing at Karayoryi's. That's records' job. I want you here."
Without a word, I put the file in front of him and opened it. I'd put the photographs on top.
"Who's that?" he said, gesturing at the defaced photograph.
"I don't know yet."
"Why have you brought it to me. It's not carnival time, is it?"
I left him wondering. It was dawning on him that the case was not one to be solved telegrammatically, in five lines, so he decided to read the letters. "Right," he mumbled when he'd finished. "Someone called N was threatening Karayoryi. It's a clue, agreed. But where are you going to find him? It means sifting half the male population of Greece."
"Unless N is the man scrawled over in the photographs."
"It's a possibility. Look into it!" he said, certain that he'd opened my eyes to something I myself would never have thought of. "Any other evidence? And don't tell me about the murder because I know how it happened. Sotiris told me."
"Her Filofax is missing. It was most likely taken by the murderer."
"Any connection with the Albanians?"
I'd been waiting for him to ask that. It would have suited him if she'd been bumped off by an Albanian. The newspapers would have made it front-page news with huge headlines as black as a mourning veil; the TV channels would have organized roundtable discussions on imported crime and would have been wallowing in commercials. Three days later the mourning would have been over, and Karayoryi's time would have lapsed.
"So far we've found nothing, but there is still her computer. Something might turn up there."
"I want you to keep me informed on a daily basis. And when I say informed, I mean that you tell me everything. Not write half in
"Don't go away. I want to see you."
The way I said it, vaguely and unspecifically, I might have meant that I wanted to question them, or that I was going to make a statement. Because they didn't want to miss the chance of the latter, they were willing to risk the former. I left them wondering and made for the elevator. It must have intuited the state I was in and taken pity on me, because it came immediately.
Koula had been waiting for me in the chief's outer office and launched straight in. "What a thing to happen to Karayoryi. I heard about it this morning."
That gave me a boost without her knowing it. I reflected that Sperantzas's supposed bombshell had turned out in the end to be a damp squid, because most people at that time of night are getting ready for bed and are in no mood for hearing about murders, rapes, famines, earthquakes, and deluges.
"A crime of passion, you mark my words," Koula rattled on confidently.
"What makes you think that?"
"Listen to me, I had her figured out. She knew how to drive men crazy. She didn't give a damn about them, and she had them all running after her like little puppies. In the end, one of them must have flipped and killed her. But doesn't it seem strange to you that they ran her through with a metal rod?"
"No, why?"
"It symbolizes the penis," she said triumphantly.
"Is he in?" I asked quickly, before she began analyzing me too.
"Yes, and he's expecting you."
As I closed the door, Ghikas raised his head, leaned back into his chair, and folded his arms. His expression beckoned me to approach his desk, the better that he could give me a roasting. Before I'd got halfway there, he launched his attack.
"I said I wanted you in my office at nine o'clock. I've been calling you all morning."
I said nothing. I stood there with the file under my arm and stared at him.
"We have a star reporter, the leading name in crime reporting, murdered. Newspapers, radio stations, TV channels are all going to descend on us. In cases like this, the FBI works on a twentyfour-hour basis."
"I work on a twenty-hour basis. I need four hours to get myself back on form," I said calmly. "I left the channel at five in the morning, slept for less than three hours, and at nine o'clock I was at Karayoryi's house."
"What were you doing at Karayoryi's. That's records' job. I want you here."
Without a word, I put the file in front of him and opened it. I'd put the photographs on top.
"Who's that?" he said, gesturing at the defaced photograph.
"I don't know yet."
"Why have you brought it to me. It's not carnival time, is it?"
I left him wondering. It was dawning on him that the case was not one to be solved telegrammatically, in five lines, so he decided to read the letters. "Right," he mumbled when he'd finished. "Someone called N was threatening Karayoryi. It's a clue, agreed. But where are you going to find him? It means sifting half the male population of Greece."
"Unless N is the man scrawled over in the photographs."
"It's a possibility. Look into it!" he said, certain that he'd opened my eyes to something I myself would never have thought of. "Any other evidence? And don't tell me about the murder because I know how it happened. Sotiris told me."
"Her Filofax is missing. It was most likely taken by the murderer."
"Any connection with the Albanians?"
I'd been waiting for him to ask that. It would have suited him if she'd been bumped off by an Albanian. The newspapers would have made it front-page news with huge headlines as black as a mourning veil; the TV channels would have organized roundtable discussions on imported crime and would have been wallowing in commercials. Three days later the mourning would have been over, and Karayoryi's time would have lapsed.
"So far we've found nothing, but there is still her computer. Something might turn up there."
"I want you to keep me informed on a daily basis. And when I say informed, I mean that you tell me everything. Not write half in
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