“Frankly, Andreas, I don’t understand your negative attitude. I don’t want you involved in any of this. The only thing I want from you is your opinion on the local cops. Do you think this is something they can handle or not?”

At times Andreas wondered if he and his boss shared the same planet. As Andreas saw it, the bottom line to Spiros’ little temper tantrum was one less mess for Andreas to worry about. But, for Spiros, he’d gone so far out on a limb with the media that absent extraordinary luck his career would be toast.

“Odysseus is a good man. He knows his job.”

“Good, then I’m leaving this in his hands.”

By the late afternoon the facts, or rather the lack thereof, started rolling in. No identifiable footprints or other signs were found in the area, the van had been stolen that night from the port without a clue as to who did it, and forensics could not identify either victim. Neither the curious present at the scene or snitches had anything to tell. There was not a lead to be found anywhere.

With Spiros having nothing left to feed the press, the media followed its natural instincts and began clamoring for his head.

Spiros’ had no idea what to do next. His limb seemed about sawed clear through and his career toasted to just this side of charcoal when two days later relatives of the victims stepped forward and identified the bodies: tsigani — known in other languages as gypsies or roma.

And with that the story seemed to fall off the face of the earth.

Lucky bastard, thought Andreas.

Chapter Two

Athens General Police Headquarters, better known as GADA, was across the street from the stadium of one of Greece’s two most popular soccer teams, down the block from Greece’s Supreme Court, and next to a major hospital.