Hand of God

33

Anna Loverdos crossed her bare tanned legs and handed me her business card. Like her it was Greek on one side and English on the other. But the legs were shapely and certainly more interesting than what was printed on the card. When they’re crossed a good pair of legs can distract a man from almost everything.

‘My mum is from Liverpool,’ she explained. ‘She met my dad on holiday in Corfu. It’s very Shirley Valentine. I was born here and then went to a girls’ boarding school in England.’

Anna was in her thirties; attractive and well-spoken, she wore a wrap-effect pink satin skirt, a white silk blouse, and leather wedge sandals. The glass of champagne in her hand was the same colour as her hair.

‘Then I came back here. That was before the economy went pear-shaped, of course. I had a business entertainment company. Events management for multinationals, that kind of thing. Then I worked in PR for the Investment Bank of Greece. And now I’m running the International Relations Committee of the Hellenic Football Federation. Which is a lot more fun.’

‘I can imagine. So, what team do you support, Anna?’

‘I don’t. In my job it’s best to avoid any possibility of partisanship. Greeks take the matter of what team you support very seriously.’

‘So I’ve noticed. It’s like entering a war zone.’

‘Because my mum is from Liverpool I always say I’m an Everton fan. Which is always the right team to support in Greece because it’s not Greek and they’re never in the Champions League. Better safe than sorry in this country. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about that.’ She shook her head. ‘Some of what’s been said in the local press about you and your team has been awful, Mr Manson. Especially in view of what happened to Bekim Develi. This used to be a kinder country. But lately the rhetoric in football has become rather more poisonous in a way I’ve not seen before. These days Greeks tend to think all sport is venal and corrupt, like everything else.’ She smiled. ‘But you don’t want to hear about that. My job is to make sure the remainder of your stay in Greece is as pleasant as possible. Yours can’t be an easy job, right now. Let’s face it, even at the best of times it’s not easy keeping discipline among so many young and eligible men.’

I grinned. ‘I’ve already had to fetch them out of a strip club on Syngrou Avenue called Alcatraz. Footballers and strippers. Footballers and escort girls. They’re all tabloid stories just waiting to happen. You don’t know the half of it.’

She laughed and drained her glass.

‘Then again,’ I added, ‘perhaps you do.’

‘No, but I can guess,’ she said.

‘I’d say you can probably do a lot more than guess, Anna.’

‘All right, perhaps you’re right,’ she said, sheepishly. ‘As a matter of fact I did go to Alcatraz once.’

‘I thought so. Did you know Bekim Develi very well?’

‘Reasonably well, poor man.’

‘And was it you who introduced him to Valentina?’

‘Who?’

‘Oddly enough, that’s what Hristos Trikoupis said, when I asked him. No, don’t say anything yet. You know the old lawyer’s principle that you should never ask a question to which you don’t know the answer? That’s the kind of question I just asked you, Anna. Only I’m not a lawyer. And you’re not on trial. Hold up, no one is accusing you of anything. But there’s no point in denying you know her.’

‘What’s all this about?’ she asked.

‘Just answer the question, please, Anna.’

She slouched back in the armchair as if someone had loosened her brassiere; her eyes looked down uncertainly at the table. I realised she was looking at her own business card.

‘All right. But to be quite accurate it was Bekim Develi who introduced Valentina to me.’

I breathed a sigh of relief which wasn’t entirely for dramatic effect. At last I felt like I was getting somewhere.

‘But what of it? I get introduced to lots of people.’ She picked up the business card and handed it to me a second time. ‘That’s what it says on the card, okay? “International Relations.” Generally speaking that requires a little more than an exchange of emails.’

‘Have another drink. You look as though you need it.’

I waved the waiter over and ordered two glasses of champagne.

‘Look, all I want is to get my team back to London. I don’t want to hurt anyone or cause them to lose their job. Least of all you. I can see you’re a nice girl, but I need to know what you know. So. Tell me about it. Tell me everything you know and then you’ll never hear about this again.’

‘I want to know why you’re asking.’

‘All right. If it makes you feel any better. I figure Valentina introduced Bekim to the escort girl now lying in the chiller cabinet at the Laiko General Hospital. She and Bekim had a little party in his room at the Astir Palace Hotel on the night before he died. As yet that girl remains unidentified. And I’m assuming Valentina can name her.’ I paused. ‘Look, you can talk to me or you can talk to the police. It’s your choice. Just remember, I don’t bite like they do.’

She sighed, wearily.

‘What you’ve got to understand,’ she said, ‘is that it’s not unusual for FIFA and UEFA officials to solicit the company of girls in Athens. I just do what I’m told, right? As it was explained to me — and I won’t say by who — the important thing is to look after our VIP guests and to keep them out of trouble. Looking after our VIP guests means shepherding them away from the hookers on Omonia Square. Frankly, it’s dangerous down there. There are lots of drug addicts and homeless people. The police have been cracking down. In Sofokleous Street there are over three hundred brothels and many of the girls have HIV. A decision was taken to steer our more important sporting guests away from these places and to introduce them to high-quality girls. I decided to recruit one girl to handle everything for me: Valentina. She was perfect for the role. Whenever there’s a FIFA official or a top footballer in town, I have her contact him. If it’s a FIFA official we pay her. If it’s a footballer, then we let her negotiate her own fee. Sometimes she looks after the VIP herself but just as often she recruits someone else to take care of them. I suppose it was Valentina who provided Bekim with a girl. I know she liked him, and normally she looked after him herself, but on this occasion she must have been busy so she found someone else for him. I don’t know who that was. But Valentina’s real name is Svetlana Yaroshinskaya and originally she is from Odessa, in the Ukraine. I think she was originally an art student. She’s got a flat somewhere in Athens; I don’t know where. I used to Skype her when I wanted to speak to her. Her Skype address is SvetYaro99. But she hasn’t been online of late. And she hasn’t returned any of my calls. Which is unusual.’

The waiter came back with the champagne. I wrote down the Skype address and had Anna check it.

‘Was she — was Svetlana the only girl you had any dealings with?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re sure about that?’

I took out my iPhone, tapped the Photos app, and called up the pictures of the dead girl’s tattoo I’d taken at Laiko General Hospital.

‘What about this tattoo? It’s not quite Lisbeth Salander’s dragon, I know, but it’s still quite distinctive, I think. No?’

‘No. Look,’ she said nervously, ‘you’re not going to mention my name, are you? No one cares about the police very much. But I’d rather my name didn’t appear in the newspapers. Especially the ones back home. My mum lives back in Liverpool these days.’

‘FIFA officials accepting free sex from high-class call girls?’ I shook my head. ‘Where’s the story there? I should think most people think that happens all the time.’ I swiped the screen to the next photograph, a picture of the dead girl’s face. ‘Have you seen her? It’s not a good likeness, but under the circumstances...’

‘No, I’ve never seen her,’ said Anna.

‘Take another look.’

‘I don’t know her. What’s up with her anyway? She looks like she’s asleep.’

‘Didn’t I say? She’s dead. That’s what’s up with her. This is the girl who was found drowned in Marina Zea. The one who screwed Bekim Develi.’

Anna’s jaw dropped and her eyes filled with tears.

I drank some of the champagne, stood up and tossed a fifty onto the table in front of her.

‘That’s for the drinks.’ I peeled off another twenty. ‘And there’s a little something for your time, Anna.’

‘You fucking bastard.’

I grinned. ‘We’ll make a real football fan out of you yet, love.’