Deadline in Athens by Petros Márkaris Page A

him I'll be along shortly."
    "Do you want me for anything else, or can I go home?" he said, significantly.
    "You can stay here," I told him severely. "You can go and find the security guard who was on duty around eleven at the entrance and tell him to wait for me, because I want to talk to him."
    "Yes, sir," he said and went off sulking. I could have taken care of it over the phone from Delopoulos's office, but it didn't seem right to me for a subordinate to be at home snoring in his bed while his superior was slaving away into the small hours. These new officers were all milksops. They wanted to do nothing but lounge about all day at their desks wittering on about their Hyundai Excel or their Toyota Starlet. If there was a way to do it, they'd issue a memo demanding that crimes take place only between nine and five, not including Sundays and federal holidays.

     

CHAPTER 11
Delopoulos's office was a three-roomed penthouse suite, seventy meters square, with a lounge, dining area, bedroom, hall, and bathroom, all open plan, except for the bathroom. He was sitting behind a desk that was a basketball court compared to Ghikas's Ping-Pong table. On the south-facing side of the suite, there was a huge oblong table with ten high-backed chairs around it. The chair at the head of the table had a higher back and arms, whereas the others were armless. Across from Delopoulos's desk was a TV screen, five times bigger than the normal ones. It was off and the screen reflected his face and mine.
    I wondered whether I should play the TV soap policeman who yelled all the time, given that I was in a TV studio, but that dickhead only shouted at women and small fries, whereas I had to deal with Delopoulos.
    He was a tall, lanky man, balding, and with a sour expression. Right now his expression was a picture of grief, but given his face, this too appeared sour.
    "I am completely shocked, Inspector Haritos," and he repeated it so as to leave me in no doubt. "Completely shocked. Yanna Karayoryi was an exceptional woman and a talented reporter. Her colleagues called her the sleuth. I regarded that as a mark of honor, one she had most justly earned." He paused, looked at me, and added, stressing each word, "And apart from being a colleague here at the channel, she was also a personal friend."
    I had to stop myself from wondering aloud if she was also his bit on the side, because the way that Karayoryi did as she pleased meant that she had someone high up watching over her.

    "Do you have any clues? Any information to give me? Is there anyone you suspect?"
    "It's too early to say, Mr. Delopoulos. We do know, at least, the time of the murder and that the murderer was someone she knew because, before he killed her, they were chatting together in makeup."
    "Then it must be someone she'd exposed, someone who had been damaged by her revelations and was looking for revenge. That's where you should begin your investigations."
    Now he was telling me where I should start looking. I'd got another Ghikas on my hands. "Mr. Sperantzas told me that Karayoryi had asked to appear on the late-night news because she had a bombshell to deliver."
    "That's what Sperantzas told me too, but I knew nothing. And I didn't need to know what it was; I had total confidence in her."
    "Do you know what she was investigating in particular of late?"
    "No, but even if there was something in particular, I wouldn't have known. Karayoryi never disclosed what she was working on, or the information she had unearthed. She never got it wrong, and I'd given instructions that she be left alone to get on with her work." He stopped, leaned toward me, and said, "Come what may, you will have as much help as you need from us. Tomorrow morning, I will put two of my reporters on the case. They will be in constant contact with you."
    "Let them search, of course. Any help is welcome;" I said with an excessive willingness, which seemed to please him. "But let's not make any bets as to who finds