Read Online The Green Lady by Paul Johnston - Free Book Online

Poulos’s wife, isn’t she? Except she looks a lot more worn down on the box. Who’s the girl with her?’
    Mavros had a decision to make. He could either gather up the material in a cold fury and stomp upstairs, or let his friend in on the case. The fact was, he could do with someone to talk things over with and, unlike Lambis Bitsos, the Fat Man was trustworthy – decades of operating underground for the Party had made him highly circumspect. On the other hand, Yiorgos had a habit of putting himself in places that Mavros would avoid like dengue fever. Then again, there was the issue of him staying rent-free in the bugger’s house. Although the Fat Man didn’t necessarily expect payment in non-monetary terms, he would be overjoyed to be a part of the investigation.
    â€˜You tell them, Tati,’ his friend said, his focus on the television again.
    Mavros glanced at the TV. The MP, Tatiana Roubani, was respected across the political spectrum for her outspoken honesty. ‘All right, you’re in.’
    The Fat Man turned to him and smiled broadly. ‘Yes!’ he shouted, punching the air. ‘Ow, that hurt.’
    Mavros shook his head, then started picking up the contents of the package. There was a handwritten note from Angie Poulou, her signature an almost illegible scrawl:
    Here are more photos and lists of Lia’s friends and contacts. Please be careful if you follow any of them, not that I can think of any reason they would be involved in her disappearance. I’m sure she never had a boyfriend – she would have told me – but I’ve attached a list of the sons of relatives and friends who she knows. Again, I think it’s very unlikely they’ll give you any leads, but you know your job. Last night I tried to find out from Paschos what’s going on with the police investigation. He told me they were following up some new evidence, but he wouldn’t say what that is – apparently it’s too early to be sure if it’s relevant. I don’t know. I feel so lost.
    Mavros sat down and waited for his friend to reappear with coffee and pastries. The names on Angie’s lists included the scions of some of Greece’s richest and most influential families. Setting up surveillance on them would be close to impossible, as they were hyper-careful about security and hired private guards. And he couldn’t ring the bell outside their high-walled domains, saying he was investigating the disappearance of Lia Poulou. He thought about the gloves. There were private labs who would run DNA tests, for a large fee, but when did she think he would require that kind of input? After he found a mangled body and kept it hidden from the cops while he confirmed, or at least excluded, its identity? That would be several steps too far, even for him. Then he slid his fingers into the tight gloves and felt a jolt of affinity with the missing girl. Suddenly he wanted desperately to find her.
    â€˜So,’ Yiorgos said, setting down a tray of coffee, water and great chunks of fresh
galaktoboureko
, ‘what’s it all about, Sherlock?’
    After drinking, eating and drinking again, Mavros gave him a rundown. His friend looked at the lists, shaking his head in disgust at notorious enemies of the people, then frowned.
    â€˜I don’t get this, Alex. You can’t talk to the thief Poulos, you can’t interview any of these people, and the cops are out of bounds too. How are we going to find the girl?’
    Mavros let the first person plural pass. If the Fat Man wanted to play Dr Watson, good luck to him. At least he was smarter than Holmes’s sidekick, if substantially more cynical and less handy with a revolver.
    â€˜Did you see anything on the news about a body in a burned farmhouse in Viotia?’ he asked, recalling the heads-up Bitsos had given him.
    â€˜Yes. The cops’ spokesman said it was probably an accident. You know what old