Ten minutes later, Georgios Lato was standing in Spyros Lambrou’s office. He had never been inside before, and the opulence overwhelmed him.
“Well, young man. I’m sorry to hear your mother is dying. Perhaps a small bonus would…”
“Thank you, sir. But that’s not really why I’m here.”
Lambrou frowned at him. “I don’t understand.”
“Mr. Lambrou, I have some important information that I think might be valuable to you.”
He could see the skepticism on Lambrou’s face. “Oh, really? I’m afraid I’m rather busy, so if you’ll…”
“It’s about Constantin Demiris.” The words tumbled out. “I have a good friend who’s a priest. He heard a confession from a man who was killed right afterward in a car accident, and what the man told him is about Constantin Demiris. Mr. Demiris did an awful thing. Really awful. He could go to prison for it. But if you’re not interested…”
Spyros Lambrou suddenly found himself very interested. “Sit down…what’s your name?”
“Lato, sir. Georgios Lato.”
“All right, Lato. Suppose you start at the beginning…”
The marriage of Constantin Demiris and Melina had been disintegrating for years, but there had never been any physical violence until recently.
It had started in the middle of a heated argument over an affair Constantin Demiris was having with Melina’s closest friend.
“You turn every woman into a whore,” she screamed. “Everything you touch turns to dirt.”
“Skaseh! Shut your fucking mouth.”
“You can’t make me,” Melina said defiantly. “I’m going to tell the whole world what a pousti you are. My brother was right. You’re a monster.”
Demiris raised his arm and slapped Melina hard across the face. She ran from the room.
The following week they had another argument, and Constantin struck her again. Melina packed her bags and took a plane to Atticos, the private island owned by her brother. She stayed there for a week, miserable and lonely. She missed her husband, and she began to make excuses for what he had done.
It was my fault, Melina thought. I shouldn’t have antagonized Costa. And: He didn’t mean to hit me. He just lost his temper and didn’t know what he was doing. And: If Costa didn’t care so much about me, he wouldn’t have hit me, would he?
But in the end, Melina knew they were simply excuses because she could not bear to dissolve her marriage. The following Sunday she returned home.
Demiris was in the library.
He looked up as Melina entered. “So you decided to come back.”
“This is my home, Costa. You’re my husband, and I love you. But I want to tell you something. If you ever touch me again, I will kill you.”
And he looked into her eyes and knew that she meant it.
In an odd way, their marriage seemed to improve after that episode. For a long time after that, Constantin was careful never to lose his temper with Melina. He continued to have his affairs, and Melina was too proud to plead with him to stop. One day he’ll get tired of all his whores, Melina thought, and he’ll realize that he needs only me.
On a Saturday evening, Constantin Demiris was putting on a dinner jacket, preparing to go out. Melina came into the room.
“Where are you going?”
“I have an engagement.”
“Have you forgotten? We’re having dinner at Spyros’s tonight.”
“I haven’t forgotten. Something more important has come up.”
Melina stood there watching him, furious. “And I know what it is—your poulaki! And you’re going to one of your whores to satisfy it.”
“You should watch your tongue. You’re becoming a fishwife, Melina.” Demiris examined himself in the mirror.
“I won’t let you do this!” What he was doing to her was bad enough, but to insult her brother deliberately on top of everything that had gone before was too much. She had to find a way to hurt him, and there was only one way she knew. “We both really should stay home tonight,” Melina said.
“Oh, really?” he asked indifferently. “And why is that?”
“Don’t you know what today is?” she taunted him.
“No.”
“It’s the anniversary of the day I killed your son, Costa. I had an abortion.”