Текст книги "The Silver Stain"

Автор книги: Paul Johnston

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

TWENTY-ONE

Mavros parked the Jeep as close as he could to the harbour and led the women down a narrow street.

‘Nice,’ Niki said. ‘I wish Athens was so quiet.’

Mavros glanced at her. She seemed to be genuinely enjoying the surroundings – old walls, balconies, flourishing plants cascading to the paving stones. A kid on a bike came past like a rocket, honking his horn. Even that only raised a smile from her. For the umpteenth time, he was amazed how quickly her mood could swing.

They came out on the restaurant-lined front with the dome at the eastern end and Cara drew her cap down lower. There weren’t many people around in the early evening, the sun sinking slowly and casting its reddening light on the island of Ayii Theodhori.

‘That’s the bastion of St Nicholas,’ the actress said, pointing to the low fortification on the long jetty that almost enclosed the harbour. The lighthouse that was a well-known local feature was at its end. ‘Venetian, but much of the other building work was carried out during the Ottoman Empire.’

Niki looked at Cara in surprise. ‘You’ve been reading up on the city.’

The actress laughed and stuck her chest out. ‘Not just a pretty pair of peaks.’

Mavros had to bite his tongue. ‘Erm, right. Why don’t you two go to that cafe while I talk to Roufos?’

‘No,’ they said, laughing at their unintentionally perfect timing.

‘Forget it, Alex,’ Niki said. ‘I’ve come all the way to Athens to see you. Besides, we can guarantee your safety.’

‘Exactly,’ Cara agreed. ‘He’s hardly going to hold a Hollywood star at gunpoint, is he?’

‘Probably not,’ Mavros admitted, though he didn’t discount that Roufos might have other scumbags on hand to do his dirty work. ‘All right. But at the first sign of trouble, you do exactly what I say.’

The women looked at him dubiously and then nodded.

Mavros led them to the five-star Kydhonia Palace hotel at the far end of the front. It had been formed by knocking together several Venetian buildings that had escaped the German bombing and had a distinct look of opulence. The sunshade stands were painted gold and the chairs were several leagues above the arse-racking furniture of a kafeneion.

A young woman in a figure-hugging dress that was someone’s idea of a Minoan priestess – without the breasts entirely bare – gave them a wide smile.

‘We’re here to see Mr Tryfon Roufos,’ Mavros said, carefully keeping his eyes level with her face, as Niki was right behind him.

‘Certainly, I’ll let him know, Mr. .?’

Mavros gave what he hoped was a complicity-inducing smile. ‘The thing is, these ladies are a surprise for his birthday. Do you think you could send us up unannounced?’

The receptionist gave Cara and Niki the once-over and then turned back to Mavros. ‘I understand. Mr Roufos often has. . lady friends.’ She gave a moue of distaste. ‘It’s suite 513 on the top floor.’

Mavros nodded his thanks and headed for the stairs.

‘Excuse me,’ Niki said. ‘Some of us have been up since dawn. I’m taking the lift.’

‘See you up there,’ Cara said, setting off rapidly.

In the lift, Niki gave Mavros a soft smile. ‘I like her. I even believe you haven’t laid a finger on her.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ He gave her a weak smile. ‘She’s way out of your, I mean, my league.’

That earned him a kick on the shin, but he’d had worse.

‘Listen, Niki, it really isn’t a good idea, your being here. This could turn nasty any minute.’

‘All the more reason for me to protect my man,’ she said, taking his arm.

‘With what?’ he demanded. ‘Have you got an Uzi in your bag?’

‘Bastard.’ Her eyes filled with tears.

‘Oh, shit,’ he said, putting his arm around her. ‘I’m sorry.’ The previous year, they had been sprayed with machine-pistol fire by Athenian gangsters and Niki had ended up in hospital.

There was a loud ping and the doors slid apart.

Cara was leaning against the wall, her breath under control. ‘Sweet,’ she said, then noticed Niki’s eyes. ‘Hey, what’s up, hon?’ She gave Mavros a fierce look. ‘What have you done?’

‘Nothing,’ he said hastily, leading Niki out of the lift.

After a moment, she came back to herself and smiled at Cara. ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine.’ It was clear that she appreciated the support. ‘Let’s go and sort this old pervert out.’

Cara nodded, pulling down the zip of her top. Niki laughed and undid several of her buttons.

Mavros stood, shaking his head. ‘Shall I undo my flies? The story is that Roufos will screw anything, though he prefers underage bodies.’

‘That’s all right,’ Cara said, stepping down the corridor. ‘I can do teen.’

They got to 513 and Mavros knocked on the door, letting Cara stand in front of the spyhole. The chain rattled and then the door opened.

‘Oh, gross,’ the actress said, sidestepping Tryfon Roufos. She went into the room, found the TV handset and turned off the porn movie that was playing.

The antiquities dealer was wearing nothing but a pair of sagging underpants. His thighs were skinny and his chest covered in thick white hair. He stared at Mavros after running a lascivious eye over the women.

‘Alex Mavro,’ he said, focussing on the dressing on his neck. ‘What are you doing here?’

The punch to the belly wasn’t particularly hard, but it doubled Roufos up and left him gasping. Mavros grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him over to a newspaper-strewn sofa.

‘What I’m doing is paying you back for what your goons did to me. Not that I’ve finished. But I’d also like the answers to some questions.’

‘Fuck. . off,’ Roufos said, arms cradling his belly. ‘It’ll only take one phone call for me to finish you for good.’

‘Careful,’ Mavros said. ‘There are witnesses.’

Cara had taken off her cap. It was clear that the antiquities dealer recognized her. ‘You gonna have me finished too, tough guy?’ she asked, giving him a look that Bette Davis would have been proud of.

‘And me?’ Niki demanded, taking her hand out of her bag. She had slipped a key from her ring between each finger, the longest being that to her flat. It could easily put an eye out.

Mavros was taken aback, both by the women’s lack of surprise at his resort to violence and by their apparent willingness to indulge in the same. It seemed Crete really did get to people, even within hours of their arrival. He went over and put the chain and double lock on the door, then looked around the suite. He didn’t find any weapons, but he did gather up three mobile phones, as well as a cardboard folder from a worn briefcase.

‘All right, you piece of shit,’ he said, sitting down beside Roufos. ‘Start talking, first about Rudolf Kersten’s coin collection.’

‘What about it?’

Mavros slapped him on the cheek. He didn’t usually treat people like that, but he’d had dealings with the antiquities dealer in the past and he knew how devious he was.

‘You’ve been trying to steal it.’

‘You can’t prove that,’ Roufos muttered, head down to avoid more blows.

Mavros laughed. ‘I don’t have to. I just have to go on hitting you till you come clean. Toss over those keys, will you, Niki?’ He caught them and threaded them through his fingers, then ran the metallic tips along the dealer’s balding head. ‘You sent Oskar Mesner to steal some coins in order to scare the Kerstens, after getting David Waggoner to case the building.’

‘I don’t know any Oskar Mesner,’ Roufos said sullenly.

‘Liar,’ Mavros said, pressing the keys harder into his skull.

‘All right, I admit I used him,’ the dealer said. ‘What of it? You and your heavy took the coins back.’

‘So then you got in touch with Kersten and got him to agree to sell you half the collection.’

Tryfon Roufos raised his head and stared at Mavros. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Never mind.’ He opened the folder and started flicking through papers. ‘Oh, what’s this? A draft bill of sale for two-hundred-and-sixty coins, description as per addendum “A”, price four hundred thousand euros. Interesting. What are they really worth?’

‘What? I don’t know. It depends on specific market considerations and-’

‘Bullshit. You must have a sum in mind, a calculating snake like you.’ He drew the key points towards Roufos’s left eye.

‘I. . oh, all right. . at least a million.’ The dealer’s chin fell to his chest again.

‘A decent profit even in your dirty line. Then again, you could have the whole collection, couldn’t you?’

The dealer stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Mrs Kersten is all on her own. No doubt you could bribe the security staff.’ Mavros wasn’t worried about putting Hildegard in danger because he trusted Renzo Capaldi to look after her. Telling Roufos that the collection had been removed would have guaranteed her safety, but he wanted to see how the dealer responded to the temptation.

‘Or you could use Oskar Mesner to slither his way in and sweet talk his grandmother.’

Roufos was clearly trying to work out where Mavros was trying to go with this angle of attack, but he wasn’t allowed any more time.

‘David Waggoner. What’s the nature of your business with him?’

‘Waggoner?’ the dealer asked, making more of a mess of pronouncing the name than was necessary. ‘Who’s he?’

‘I saw you with him the other night in Tou Philippou, you lying shit.’ Mavros edged the longest key closer to Roufos’s eye. With a rapid movement, he dug the point into the side of his forehead. He heard Cara’s intake of breath, though Niki didn’t seem to be disturbed. ‘Last time. What are you scheming with Waggoner about?’

‘I. . we. . we have some interests in. . in Kornaria.’

Mavros laughed. ‘What a surprise! They wouldn’t by any chance be illegal interests, would they? I seem to remember you deal in Byzantine icons. They wouldn’t be being packed up with drugs shipments to the US, would they?’

Roufos’s failure to answer confirmed Mavros had hit the spot.

‘And Minoan remains?’ he added. ‘There aren’t so many at this end of Crete.’

‘A. . a few,’ the dealer confirmed.

‘Chania is built over a Minoan city called Kydhonia,’ Cara said, prompting a raised eyebrow from Niki.

‘Quite,’ said Mavros. ‘So you reckoned that scaring me off would give you a free run to infinite riches.’ He leaned closer. ‘Big mistake.’

‘You won’t leave the Great Island alive,’ Roufos said, closing his eyes as the keys moved closer. ‘The Kornariates have already beaten your driver into a coma. It’s only a matter of time till they catch up with you.’

‘Now that’s helpful,’ Mavros said. ‘You’ve moved the conversation on to my next topic. Why was Maria Kondos kidnapped?’

‘Maria who?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I mean Maria Kondoyanni. Daughter of Michael “the Bat”, that well known Florida mobster who I’m sure you’ve had dealings with.’

‘Haven’t,’ Roufos whispered.

‘Now I come to think of it, you’ve probably had dealings with Eugene Tzannetakis too.’

‘Who?’ The antiquities dealer’s voice was almost inaudible.

‘You heard. As it happens, he’s the father of Luke Tzannetakis, also known as Luke Jannet, director of Cara here’s movie.’ Mavros moved the key up to Roufos’s right eye and pressed it against the closed lid.

‘All right!’ the dealer squealed. ‘I’ve sent shipments to them both in containers, along with the drugs.’

There was a loud knock at the door.

Cara was up quickly and on her way to look through the spyhole. She stepped back with a wide smile on her face. ‘Speak of the devil,’ she said, in a loud whisper.

‘Jannet?’ Mavros returned. ‘Is he on his own?’

‘Looks like it.’

‘Let him in.’

Cara undid the chain and lock, then pulled the door open. As Jannet entered, a slack smile on his face, she kneed him hard in the groin. He went down on one knee, then gradually hauled himself up.

‘What the fuck was that for, bitch?’ he asked, pulling a pistol from above his backside and pointing it in her face.

‘Behind the sofa!’ Mavros yelled at Niki, heaving Roufos up and using him as a shield.

Stalemate.

David Waggoner stood on the terrace of his house to the west of Kornaria and watched the last of the sun ebb away from the mountainsides into the distant sea. He had seen the same sight in his twenties, when his group of andartescame down from the high caves to stock up on supplies. There was always a glendi, a feast with sheep being killed and roasted, and barrels of wine broached. Scouts were posted on the almost impassable tracks, but the Germans knew better than to send patrols up there, especially at night. He took a sip of the rakithat had been distilled from the stems of his own vines and tried to set what was left of his life in order.

The former SOE man knew that he’d made several mistakes recently. The first of those was trusting Tryfon Roufos. Contacts in Athens had told him that the antiquities dealer was a snake with only his own interests at heart, but the temptation to prise Rudolf Kersten’s precious coins from him was overwhelming. And the truth was that the coins should have been sent to Egypt by submarine and never fallen into the German’s hands after the war. He thought about the lies he had written in his memoirs. Why had he accused the EAM man known as Kanellos of betraying them? With hindsight, the reason didn’t make him proud, but he had always been headstrong. The idea of admitting in public that one of his own men had been a traitor was abhorrent, even though he had personally put a bullet in the bastard’s head and made sure his wife and children were driven from the village. He was an uncle of the Kondoyannis who was now in jail in Florida.

Waggoner shook his head to dislodge those images. His second mistake had been to underestimate Alex Mavros. The same Athenian contacts had told him to be careful – the investigator had a reputation for doggedness. That was why he had approached the long-haired, unshaven man in Kersten’s hotel and told him not to trust the German. That scheme had backfired spectacularly. Now Mavros was trying to find out what happened to Kersten, even though the local authorities had been bribed to declare his death suicide. The reach of Kornaria was long and well established.

‘You are worried, my friend.’

The Englishman looked down and saw the mayor, Dhrakakis, standing beneath the terrace. ‘Good evening to you, Vasili,’ he replied. ‘Worried, no. Concerned, of course.’

When the black-clad figure had come up the steps, he handed him a glass of the spirit.

‘To our health,’ the mayor said. ‘Ours and Kornaria’s.’

Waggoner led him to the table, where his housekeeper had laid out an array of mezedhes– small plates of cucumber, tomato, cheese and cured pork. Dhrakakis speared a piece of the latter with a toothpick and drained his glass.

‘You have been greedy,’ the Englishman said. ‘Establishing links with the Kondoyannis family in Florida was a bad move.’

The mayor raised his heavy shoulders. ‘We made a lot of money. And what else were we to do with our products? They were far too much for the Greek market.’

‘Michael Kondoyannis has no self control,’ Waggoner countered. ‘You saw that when he came here. That poor girl almost died.’

‘Her family was paid well.’

‘But now they want to do worse to “the Bat’s” daughter, Maria. How do you think he will react to that, especially if he finds out you tricked her to come up here and then had her kidnapped? He still runs his business from prison, you know.’

Dhrakakis laughed harshly. ‘He may think he does, but he has serious competition.’

‘You mean the Tzannetakis family? How can they control a drugs operation across the American South when they’re holding down high-profile jobs in Hollywood?’

‘Ach, Lambi,’ the mayor said, using the Englishman’s old cover name, ‘you forget that Greek families raise many children. Luke and Rosa have three younger brothers and they all learned the business from their father.’

‘So you intend to switch to them?’

Dhrakakis stared at him. ‘Do not forget that you are a guest here, Lambi. You have no say in how we make our living. You used to facilitate our dealings with the bureaucrats on the coast and with the Germans, but those days are over.’

Despite the burning of the spirit, Waggoner felt a chill run through his body. What the mayor said was true. His wartime heroics meant nothing any more. He was an old man who had connived at the villagers’ illegal drug production and trading for years, and now there was nothing he could do about it.

‘Do not do anything that could endanger us,’ Dhrakakis said, the soles of his boots clicking across tiles. ‘Good evening.’

David Waggoner watched him strut down the path that led to Kornaria. The mayor was too young to have experienced the fight against the Germans, but he had survived many vendettas and attempts to oust him. His soul was tainted by the violence that lay beneath the surface in mountain villages. The Englishman knew himself well enough to see that his character too had been blemished by the sordid reality of the war – shooting wounded prisoners, driving pathetically equipped gendarmes and ordinary citizens into the fire of the paratroopers, countering the communists’ scheming with summary justice. He was ashamed of it all, but it was far too late to change the way he was.

The former SOE man went into his house and opened a wooden trunk in his study. Among the contents were things that he knew would keep Alex Mavros off his back for the rest of his life.

A sudden rush of blood to the head forced him to stagger to an armchair. Was this it, the end he had seen overtake so many comrades and enemies? The doctors had told him he had anything between a month and six months. He wanted to die in peace, as the sun rose over the east and flooded his terrace for the last time. If throwing Mavros into the pit was the only way to achieve that, he was ready.

TWENTY-TWO

Luke Jannet had one arm round Cara Parks’ neck.

‘Nice to feel your ass against my dick at last,’ he said, grunting. ‘Even if my dick is in agony. I say again, why the fuck did you knee me, Twin Peaks?’

Mavros glanced to the side, checking that Niki was completely out of sight. Roufos struggled in his grip, but with little strength.

‘Whatcha gonna do now, tough guy?’ Cara asked. ‘Cop a feel of my tits?’

‘Tempting, but I’ve got to hold this fine weapon on your friend Mavros.’ He looked over her head. ‘Hey, Scotsman, Greekman, whatever the fuck you are? This here’s a Sig Sauer P239. It’s carrying nine.357 Parabellum rounds. You think that beanpole will stop them blowing you apart?’

Mavros considered that and didn’t feel optimistic. He needed to buy some time. ‘You’re going to shoot Tryfon Roufos to get me? You came up here to see him, didn’t you?’

‘Oh yeah?’ Jannet said, tightening his grip on Cara. ‘What makes you think I wasn’t going to send him straight to hell?’

Mavros felt Roufos stiffen, but he wasn’t convinced the director had come with that in mind. The dealer had seemed to slump in relief when Jannet appeared.

‘Interesting,’ Mavros said enigmatically.

‘What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?’

‘That a drug trafficker’s also concerned with antiquities smuggling.’

Jannet glared at Roufos. ‘You been talking, you piece of snake shit?’

The dealer shook his head frantically. ‘No, Luke, no, I-’ He shut up when he saw the even fiercer look on the gunman’s face.

‘Clever,’ Jannet said, grinning at Mavros. ‘Except you’ve now signed everyone else in here’s death warrant. How do you feel about that, dick?’

Mavros smiled as credibly as he could. ‘You think we came here without protection?’ He was hoping Niki would get on her phone and search for Tsifakis’s number, then text for help.

‘Bullshit,’ the director said, squeezing Cara’s left breast. ‘If you had backup, they’d already be here.’

‘You planning on killing the star of your movie, asshole?’ Cara demanded, trying to shake him off.

‘It won’t look like that, darlin’. It’ll look like Mavros here went crazy and took all of you out before he plugged himself.’ Jannet laughed. ‘One of my better storylines. And before you get all uppity, TP, consider this – pumped-up lookers like you are ten a dollar in LA. What, you think you got the job because you can act?’

Mavros kept on with the time-gaining tactic. ‘You into silver coins, Luke?’

The director stared at him blankly. ‘Hell, no. I got enough of those. I’m interested in the really old shit – Minoan axe heads, clay figures, bull’s heads, like in the Iraklion museum. People pay serious top dollar for that.’

‘And our slimy friend here has been helping you get your hands on it.’ He pressed the key against Roufos’s forehead again. ‘He won’t be much use to you without eyes.’

Tryfon Roufos let out a petrified yelp. ‘Please,’ he gasped, ‘do something, Luke. I can get you more Minoan objects, many more.’

The pistol in Jannet’s hand moved around as he tried to lock on to Mavros’s body. ‘You so much as twitch, TP, and you’ll be next,’ he said, his other arm tightening round her neck.

The noise of the door being smashed in was deafening. The top of it caught the director on the shoulder and made him let Cara go. She fell forwards, sprawling on the floor as Mikis’s friends Yannis and Christos forced their way into the suite, the former carrying a thick metal cylinder with handles that he had obviously used as a battering ram. Luke Jannet scrambled to his feet and dived towards the corridor, the pistol still in his hand. The Pig was waiting for him and relieved him of the weapon with a sharp downward movement of his hand.

‘Agh!’ the director screamed. ‘You broke my fucking arm!’

The Cretan grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him back into the suite. This time Cara Parks landed her foot between Jannet’s legs, extracting an even higher pitched squeal.

‘Dope-dealing fucker,’ she said, leaning over him, her face suffused with joy. ‘Happy you rubbed up against my ass now?’

Christos put down the ram and pulled her back gently.

Mavros handed Roufos over to Yannis and went to Niki, who was standing behind the sofa.

‘You were on your phone long before I dropped that hint, weren’t you?’ he said, kissing her.

‘I’m not a complete idiot, Alex.’ She looked over his shoulder. ‘What next?’

‘Good question.’ Mavros looked at Yannis. ‘We need to get out of here.’

The burly young man nodded. ‘Mr Tsifakis is talking to the hotel owner.’ He sat Roufos down in the armchair as if he was a rag doll. ‘This wanker will be paying for the damages.’

‘Agreed?’ Mavros asked the antiquities dealer.

‘If you leave me alone, agreed.’

‘Oh, I’ll leave you alone – as long as you’re on the night boat to Piraeus.’

Roufos signalled his agreement with a sullen nod.

‘What about this piece of shit?’ Cara demanded, glaring at Luke Jannet.

‘Another customer for the clinic,’ Mavros replied, then switched to Greek. ‘One of you guys can keep an eye on him. I don’t trust the police, at least not till I’ve got to the bottom of his ties with Kornaria.’

They left Tryfon Roufos in his now less-than-private suite, Mavros taking the cardboard file with him. That would slow his business dealings down, though he had no doubt he’d be back to work as soon as he got back to his office in Athens. He also relived him of his mobile phones, as he did with Jannet. Holding people incommunicado was a useful way of finding which rats came out of the sewers to help them, although in the director’s case it was obvious who the first one would be – his sister, Rosie Yellenberg.

‘Where to now, Saint Peter?’ Cara asked as they walked back to the Jeep, the Cretans having headed off to their pickup with Jannet, to take him to the clinic.

‘You like early Elton John?’ Mavros said, impressed. ‘You must have been about minus five when Tumbleweed Connectioncame out.’

‘Good music is good. . what the hell?’

Mavros looked ahead and his gut performed a somersault. A crowd of skinheads was moving rapidly towards them down the narrow backstreet.

‘Don’t think that bunch of keys is going to work this time,’ Cara said.

‘Back to the harbour,’ Mavros said, taking her and Niki by the hand and running.

Before they got there another line of far-right scumbags blocked the way.

Petros Lagoudhakis, the Cretan Renaissance leader forced to dig his own grave by Mavros and Mikis, was in the centre.

‘Roufos,’ Mavros said under his breath. ‘The bastard must have called in the troops on a landline.’

Then the punches started raining down on his head. He ducked as low as he could and kept driving forward. He had no idea how long the uneven contest lasted, but suddenly he found himself round the corner, the harbour and its busy cafes only a few yards away. Cara was on one knee, her chest heaving and her hair loose.

Of Niki and their attackers, after he had cleared the blood from his eyes, there was no sign at all.

Hildegard Kersten looked through the spyhole and saw her grandson outside the apartment. She undid the chain and opened the door.

‘Hallo, Grandma,’ the young man said, embracing her. ‘I’m so sorry about Grandpa.’

Hildegard held him close, unsure how real the display of emotion was. Oskar had never been demonstrative, even as a small boy.

‘Come in, child,’ she said, pushing him gently away and closing the door. ‘Did Alex Mavros give you the message to come?’

‘Mavros?’ Mesner recoiled as if he’d been jabbed with a cattle prod. ‘Why would I have seen him?’

‘He’s looking into your grandfather’s death. It wasn’t suicide, you know.’

Oskar stared at her. ‘But the police. .’

‘The police are controlled by other interests. You’re not in Germany now.’

‘What other interests?’ he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

‘Never mind. You won’t be here for long. It doesn’t concern you.’ Hildegard busied herself with preparing coffee.

Her grandson followed her into the kitchen. ‘Who said I wouldn’t be staying? With Grandpa gone, I thought I could look after you.’

Hildegard smiled. ‘I can look after myself. It’s time you went back to work. I know about the people you spend your time with. Fortunately for you, I didn’t tell your grandfather. He had no time for Nazis and even less for their modern followers.’

‘The war made Grandpa crazy,’ Oskar said, in a low voice.

‘Wrong!’ Hildegard said shrilly, trying to convince herself as much as Oskar. ‘The war made him a true human being, one who understood the sufferings and plight of others. It is you who betrayed his values.’ She bustled through to the living room with a full tray.

Oskar sat opposite her, his head hanging. ‘I can’t find work in Germany, Grandma. I’m not cut out for the way people work today.’

‘You’re not cut out to work at all, you mean,’ she replied tartly. ‘Well, I hope you aren’t expecting anything from your grandfather’s will.’

He lifted his head, his face white. ‘What do you mean?’

‘There’s nothing apart from the coins – and they are going to museums.’

Hildegard took out the paper she’d found in her husband’s pocket. ‘Explain this to me, Oskar. “Waggoner – Oskar to dispose of with contacts. Coins value 100K”. And don’t tell me Rudi didn’t write it – I know his hand like my own.’

‘I. . will I still get the one hundred thousand euros’ worth of coins?’

‘I might consider it,’ she replied. ‘If you tell me what happened.’

Oskar suddenly looked less pale. ‘It was after I stole the thirty coins. He called me and told me he’d give me more, but I had to arrange for the Englishman to. . to have an accident.’ He smiled weakly. ‘A fatal one.’

Hildegard put her hand to her heart. It was as she had feared. Rudi had crossed the line from victim to killer as regards their long-term tormentor. She felt sick, but managed to conceal that from her grandson.

‘And how was that to be achieved?’ she asked.

‘Well, I have some pretty dangerous friends. The plan was to burst into his place in Chania and rip it up, so it looked like a burglary that had gone wrong. But we got distracted.’

‘And were you the one who was going to kill the Englishman?’

‘I. .’ He looked away. ‘No. One of my friends from Rostock has finished off more than one ni– I mean immigrant. He likes killing.’

The widow was struggling to keep her breathing regular. ‘I see. Have you ever met this man Waggoner?’

‘No. Grandpa showed me a picture of him.’

‘Ah.’ She paused. ‘How about a man called Roufos?’

Oskar kept his eyes her. ‘No. I’ve heard of him. Your friend Mavros knows him.’

‘Indeed? Did your grandfather ever say anything to you about Alex Mavros and Kornaria?’

Oskar looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Only that he thought it was a pity Mavros came back from the village in one piece. He said there were people up there who would stop his interfering permanently.’

Hildegard stood up and walked slowly over to the desk. The object she wanted was in the top drawer now. She picked it up and moved back to her grandson, who was facing away from her.

‘Get up!’ she said, firmly.

Oskar Mesner turned his head and was confronted by the gleaming blade of the Wehrmacht bayonet.

‘Out, now!’ his grandmother screamed. ‘I never want to see you again!’

Oskar stood up and edged away from her, then ran for the door, slamming it behind him.

Hildegard Kersten sank to her knees, the bayonet falling from her hand. Everything she had believed about Rudi – his determination to make reparations, his generosity to the Cretans, his essential humanity – had been completely destroyed. He had conspired with far-right thugs to kill David Waggoner; he had planned to sell half his coins to Roufos – the fact that the proceeds were apparently destined for her made her feel even worse; and he had plotted the death of the very man who was investigating his murder, using violent men from the drugs village he had always purported to despise.

To her horror, she found she couldn’t weep. It had dawned on her that Rudi had deserved to be murdered. She picked up the long blade again and held it to her chest, hoping that, wherever she went, he would not be there.

Mavros called Yannis and told him what had happened. The Cretan promised to round up as many ‘helpers’ as he could find to track down the skinheads.

‘Are you all right?’ Mavros asked Cara.

She nodded. ‘They hurt worse than I do. What about you? That eye doesn’t look too good.’ She found a tissue in her pocket and held it above his right eye. ‘Needs stitches.’

‘Forget it,’ he said, moving as quickly as he could to Roufos’s hotel.

The statuesque receptionist stared at him as they went to the lift. It took only a few seconds in his suite to establish that Roufos had left – all his clothes and personal items were gone.