Hand of God

29

Back at the Grande Bretagne Hotel I spent an uncomfortable hour with Chief Inspector Varouxis. He and a Russian-speaking woman sat in the royal suite’s capacious dining room examining Bekim’s laptop and iPhone at one end of the table while, like their unwilling chaperon, I sat at the other end reading my newspaper on my iPad and enjoying a medium-sweet Greek coffee. It was probably the only thing I’d enjoyed so far that day. Some people call it Turkish coffee but don’t expect anyone to bring you a Turkish coffee in Greece, or the other way around. Between two countries that hate each other even coffee has its politics.

Occasionally Varouxis called me over to explain something in the laptop’s mailbox, and I would find myself in uncomfortable proximity with his breath. After the last explanation, I breathed in the flower arrangement on the mahogany sideboard to get the smell of his breath out of my head.

‘Did you find anything useful?’ I asked after the translator had left.

‘No. You were right. However this girl contacted him, it wasn’t by email or cell phone. At least not on this computer or phone.’

‘Any leads yet on who she was?’

‘We think she must have been working at the expensive end of the escort business. Her dress was by Alexander McQueen and retails at about two thousand euros. Her brassiere was Stella McCartney. About a hundred and fifty euros. Both were made for Net-a-Porter so we’re hoping we can connect a garment number to a name. But these things take time. With any luck your reward will turn something up before then. There are signs all over Piraeus offering a reward for information so your lawyer, Dr Christodoulakis, will have her hands full. I expect there are a lot of people who would like to get their hands on ten thousand euros. Me, included.’

He probably knew that this was also the daily rate for the royal suite because he glanced around for a moment and then nodded. ‘Everything is all right for you? Here in Athens?’

‘It wouldn’t seem right to complain,’ I said. ‘Not in this suite.’

‘Perhaps not.’

‘I’m just borrowing it. The club owner, Mr Sokolnikov, has taken it, to use as the team’s base here in Athens.’

‘You know, Mr Sokolnikov is worth almost twenty billion dollars. About a hundredth of the Greek government debt. It doesn’t seem right that one man has so much when everyone else has so little. What do you think, Mr Manson?’

‘So steal the soap if it makes you feel any better.’

‘I was only making an observation.’

I shrugged. ‘It’s been my own observation that I’m being followed.’

‘For your protection, it was thought best that some officers from the EKAM be assigned to you, Mr Manson.’

‘But why me in particular?’

‘Mr Sokolnikov already has several bodyguards, as you know. And your team stay safely out of trouble in their hotel on the peninsula at Vouliagmeni. It’s only you who are in circulation, so to speak. And of course you were on television the other night.’

‘It’s not because you suspect me of murder?’

Varouxis tugged at the little beard he wore under his bottom lip; it reminded me of the tuft of pubic hair I’d seen on the dead girl’s pussy earlier.

‘I’m a policeman, Mr Manson. I have a suspicious mind. But no, as it happens, I don’t suspect you of murder. One gets a feel for these things, the way you do about a player, perhaps. You’re a hard man, I think, but not a murderer. However, I do wonder if you might perhaps be trying to do here in Greece what the newspapers said you did in London, with João Zarco. If you’re planning to play detective again.’

‘Why would you think that?’

‘Because you are here in Athens and not back at the hotel with your team. Because you are almost certainly frustrated by the pace of this investigation; and if you’re not, then Mr Sokolnikov will be: Russian oligarchs aren’t known for their patience. And you are half German, so you probably think all Greeks are feckless and lazy, that we couldn’t investigate our own arseholes. But in this case, I would strongly advise you to leave things to us, Mr Manson. Athens is a very different city from London. It’s full of unexpected hazards.’

‘Thanks, Chief Inspector, I’ll bear that in mind. But right now, I’m planning to be a spy, not a detective.’

Varouxis frowned.

‘I thought I’d take a drive over to the Rentis Training Centre,’ I explained, ‘to see what the opposition are up to, ahead of our return match next week.’

‘They won’t let you in,’ said Varouxis. ‘And there’s a screen to stop nosy parkers. Besides, I happen to know that Olympiacos finish training at one on a Friday, after which Trikoupis always goes to the same restaurant for lunch with his wife, Melina.’

‘Oh well, thanks for the tip.’ I looked at my watch. ‘Perhaps I’ll go and have some lunch myself. What’s the name of this place Trikoupis goes to, so I can avoid it?’

‘It’s an old family place called Dourambeis. But don’t avoid it altogether. It’s probably the best fish restaurant in the city.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

He wasn’t a bad guy, I decided, and I already regretted suggesting he steal the soap.

‘What are you doing tomorrow afternoon, Chief Inspector? Only I have some spare tickets for the match. Panathinaikos versus OFI. Whoever they are.’

‘Heraklion. A good team. This will be an excellent match. And I’d really love to go. But I regret I cannot. If my general found out I was going to a football match instead of investigating this murder he would be angry, I think.’

‘Well, if you change your mind, give me a call. Most of my team are going to the game. You never know. One of them might say something useful. You know that’s why football was invented, don’t you? So men could talk to each other? Women had to invent book groups to do that. Talk, I mean.’