Free Deadline in Athens by Petros Márkaris Page A

would want to question you."
    "Are we regarded as suspects?"
    "I can reveal no part of the investigation to you before questioning you. That's all. Tomorrow morning, I want every one of you in my office, and that's not because I intend to make a statement. Sotiris, take all their names before you show them out."
    "Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. That's a fundamental rule of law, or perhaps they didn't teach you that in the academy."
    "That's what the lawyers say. In the eyes of the police, everyone is guilty until proven innocent." I pushed through the crowd and went out into the corridor.
    Behind me swirls of protest and indignation rose and fell, but I was content. Of course, the next day Ghikas would give me a chewing out for ruining his good relations with the media, but I'd been through far worse.

     

CHAPTER 10
Sperantzas was sitting where he sits when he reads the news, behind the oval table. He was alone because on the late-night news, he appears without any entourage. He wasn't the one with the handkerchief in the breast pocket of his jacket to wipe away the tears; he was the other one, the one who shouted the news as if he were selling watermelons in the market. He looked at me as I came in and couldn't decide whether he should lead with displeasure at being kept waiting or distress at the murder of his colleague. In the end, he settled for a deep sigh that covered both. I went and sat next to him in the seat of the girl who presents the sports news.
    "How did they all find out?" I asked, referring to the reporters in the corridor, who were making so much noise that they could be heard even from where we were.
    "They must have heard about it on the news."
    I couldn't believe my ears. "You mean you reported Karayoryi's murder on the news, before you'd even informed us?"
    "The whole of Greece was shocked," he replied passionately. "That kind of breaking news report has never happened before. The phone lines just about caught fire. I'd just begun to present the news about the new economic measures when they took me off the air and went into a commercial break. Before I'd had time to ask what was happening, Manisalis, the director, came charging in and told me that Yanna had been murdered. I shouted to them to keep on with the commercials and I sent a camera to the makeup room. When I went on the air again, I was grief-stricken. `Ladies and gentlemen,' I said, `at this moment in our own studios a tragedy has taken place. Our crime reporter, Yanna Karayoryi-the sleuth, as she was known to her colleagues-is lying dead in the next room, murdered. We don't know who the perpetrator of this heinous crime is. Sadly, the truth has many enemies. Nevertheless, Hellas Channel, the channel renowned for its exclusive reports, the leading channel for up-to-theminute news, has an obligation to inform you, its viewers, before anyone else. Ladies and gentlemen, you are hearing about the tragic end of Yanna Karayoryi at almost the same time that the fatal incident occurred, even before the police have been informed: And right on cue I showed the scene in the makeup room, with Yanna exactly as you found her. I mean, we're talking documentary art here. We have the video. You can see it if you want."

    Why didn't I chew him out? Why didn't I smack him in the face? Why didn't I set up two chairs and tie him between them, remove his socks and shoes, and subject him to an hour of bastinado? The police officer who abandons the rough stuff is like a smoker who's quit cigarettes. Even though, logically, you know you were right to give it up, inside you're dying to let fly, just like an ex-smoker who deep down longs for a drag.
    "Do you know what I should do to you?" I said to him. "I should frog-march you down to the station, lock you up in a cell with murderers, thugs, and pushers, and let them pin you down and shoot craps on your ass!" Words, shouting, empty threats. I'd given up cigarettes, and I was deceiving myself with chewing