The chief of Athens Special Crimes Division had just asked the parents of a murdered boy if their son's death was a message to their family, and neither asked what the hell he was talking about. Shock or no shock, Andreas knew their silence definitely was not normal. They were sitting in their car in front of the Kostopoulos home. 'So, what do you think?' It was the second time Andreas asked that question in the three minutes since they'd left the house.

Kouros' first answer to the question was a summary of what the boy's parents and the household staff told them: Sotiris was almost seventeen, into girls not guys, and well-liked. He'd been playing backgammon at home with two male classmates until eleven when all three were picked up by a taxi for some late-night clubbing. He hadn't been expected home until late Sunday afternoon, at the earliest. Those weren't unusual hours for him or for his friends on weekends, and, yes, they were underage for the clubs, but so were a lot of kids from fancy neighborhoods who hung out there. They got in because they could afford it or some family celebrity-status made them attractive customers. Some, like Sotiris, got in for both reasons.

This time Kouros' answer was, 'About what?'

'Mr and Mrs K.'

Kouros shrugged. 'They were pretty much out of it. Especially her. Until that doctor got there with a sedative, I thought she was going to lose it big-time.'

'Me, too.' Andreas stared at the gate. 'Something's not right about this. They couldn't name one person with a possible grudge against their son or them. All they needed to do was open a newspaper, any newspaper, and find Linardos spelled in capital letters. But they didn't even mention the name. It was as if that family didn't exist.'

'He had to be thinking the same thing we were. The most obvious suspect was someone tied into the Linardos family.'