A Deadly Twist, Jeffrey Siger [top business books of all time TXT] 📗

“No ID yet, but we know his physical description.” Dimitri described him.

“That’s it?”

“No signs of foul play, no drugs or alcohol in his system.”

“Then what the hell was he doing out there in the middle of the night?”

“That’s what half the island wants to know, and the other half doesn’t care because it’s already convinced he was murdered.”

“I can see you’re feeling the pressure. Any leads?”

“That would be too much to expect. A lot of accusations are being lobbed back and forth between rival interest groups, and of course, a rash of conspiracy theories abound. All, at least so far, unsupported by evidence.”

“In other words, business as usual.”

“Yes, but I’ve compiled a list of everyone preaching me theories.” Dimitri handed Yianni an envelope. “Take it for what it’s worth. It just might give you a place to start.”

“And give your harassers the sense that you took their opinions seriously enough to pass them on to me.” Yianni smiled.

Dimitri grinned. “One must keep one’s public happy.”

They fell back to talking about old times and how much the world had changed in so few years.

Yianni paid little attention to the neighborhoods they passed through on the two-lane road into Chora. To him, the modern areas that developed around the outskirts of virtually every town of sizable population, be it an island or mainland town, looked the same. The perennial favorite choice of construction remained two- and three-story buildings thrown up for the rents they generated, from street-level commercial space to residential apartments above. Gas stations, hardware stores, and electronics shops mixed in among supermarkets, pharmacies, bakeries, butchers, and banks. Doctors, lawyers, and accountants worked in offices next to fast-food shops, nail salons, hairdressers, and lotto sellers, plus the ubiquitous kafenia and tavernas.

Dimitri wove though Chora’s maze of one-way streets to a tiny parking area wedged between the edge of a cliff and the hotel.

“Here we are. I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for the security guy to be here for you to interview. He’s our only witness to whatever happened. I figured you’d like to speak to him first.”

Yianni followed Dimitri into a reception area decorated in pale grays and whites. Walls of glass enclosed two sides of the adjoining bar and restaurant area, affording sweeping views of the Aegean, Portara, and Chora.

Dimitri introduced Yianni to the hotel’s owner, a tall, slim man with the practiced, welcoming smile of a hotelier. He showed the two cops into his office. A squat, swarthy man wearing blue jeans, a Grateful Dead T-shirt, and a scruffy, Jerry Garcia–style gray beard, slouched in one of two taverna chairs in front of a simple wooden desk.

“Anargyros, these are the policemen who want to speak with you,” said the owner. He pointed to the upholstered office chair behind the desk. “Please, Detective, feel free to take my chair.”

“Thank you, but Dimitri can sit there. I’ll take this one.” Yianni sat in the chair next to Anargyros and turned his head to face the hotel owner. “You’ve been most kind. We’ll let you know as soon as we’re finished with the interview.”

The hotel owner looked disappointed at being subtly told to leave but nodded and left the office, shutting the door behind him.

Yianni smiled at Anargyros. “First of all, thank you for seeing us at a time when I assume you’re normally asleep. My name is Detective Yianni Kouros, and I have some questions that you may have already been asked by others.”

Anargyros shrugged.

“I’d like you to tell us everything that happened last night conceivably having anything to do with Nikoletta Elia.”

Anargyros shut his eyes and rocked his head from side to side. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“No.”

Anargyros reached into his jeans, pulled out a small sack of tobacco and rolling papers, and began making himself a cigarette.

Yianni shot a where-the-hell-is-this-headed look at Dimitri.

“Anargyros,” said Dimitri, “this isn’t one of your group therapy, addiction support sessions. We need answers now.”

Anargyros stared at Dimitri and kept quietly rolling his cigarette.

“Do you want to keep this job or not? Just answer the detective’s questions and you can be on your way. Otherwise…”

Yianni jumped in as the good cop. “We really don’t want to take up any more of your time than necessary, but we do need your cooperation.”

“Or else I’ll drag your ass down to the station and keep you there until you answer his questions,” added Dimitri.

Anargyros finished rolling his cigarette, pulled a plastic lighter from another pocket, lit the cigarette, and drew in a puff. “She came into reception at about three a.m.” He exhaled. “Pretty close to shitfaced when she did.”

“Did she say anything to you?” asked Yianni.

“Just took her room key and said good night.” He took another draw on the cigarette. “About an hour later she burst into reception, wearing blue jeans and a gray sweatshirt and asking if someone was looking for her. I said no, and she went running off into the breakfast room and bar area.”

“What did you do?” said Yianni.

Exhaling a cloud of pungent smoke, he said, “I got up from behind the reception desk to see what she was doing. Considering how drunk she’d been an hour before, I didn’t want her grabbing anything from behind the bar. My job would be on the line if I’d let her.”

“What was she doing in there?”

“I never got to see—she came out before I had the chance. She seemed panicked. Then she asked if anyone had been in reception since she’d come back to the hotel at three. I said no. I also suggested she calm down and go back to bed.”

“What did she say to that?”

“She never answered, just pointed to one of the windows looking out toward the bluff and yelled, ‘There he is.’”

“Did you see who she was pointing at?”

“It was so dark I couldn’t see if a tall, short, thin, or fat he, she, or it was out there. Whoever it was stood beyond the hotel’s lights.”

“Then how do you know someone was out there?”

He took another drag.