And Elena's mother, his daughter, moved into Sarantis' home with her other children until 'you end it with this horrible man, father;' utterly panicked over what else might happen to the children.

Sarantis had lived long enough to understand that people did what they must to survive; but never, not even in war fighting to rid his beloved Greece of Germans and later communists, had he faced an enemy so single-mindedly obsessed with destroying his family as Zanni Kostopoulos.

That's when he knew it was time to turn to his friends. Let them attempt to reason with this butcher. He wanted no further harm to befall his family; certainly no more to the children. He only hoped it wasn't too late. Andreas' office was on the fourth floor of the building and faced east, away from the heart of Athens. It had two long windows but not much of a view. That was fine with Andreas; he had more than enough to look at on his desk and on the chart of active cases fastened to the wall behind it. He was in his chair, staring at the chart, and wondering where to squeeze in the dumpster case when his secretary came through the door at the far end of his office.

'Here are the photos the lab downloaded from your camera.'

'Thanks, Maggie.' She preferred that to the Greek Margarita.

Andreas placed the half-dozen eight-by-tens on his desk. The crime scene unit had a lot more photographs to study, but he wanted to check for anything that might be helpful in the few he took. He picked up one of the boy's face. Nice-looking kid, he thought. Damn shame.

Maggie was standing on the other side of the desk, staring down at the photos. She'd worked as a police secretary for longer than Andreas had been alive and ages ago forgot her official lowly status in the bureaucratic food chain. 'May I take a look at the one you're holding, Chief?' She reached out and took it without waiting for him to answer.