‘So, Oskar,’ Mavros said to the kneeling man, in English. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’

‘Please, I don’t know anything about what they did to you.’

Mavros brought the Colt’s muzzle up to the German’s forehead. ‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Well. . well, I heard someone was going to teach you a lesson, but I wasn’t involved.’

‘Uh-huh. And who was that someone?’

‘The person Petros named.’

‘Tryfon Roufos the antiquities dealer?’

Mesner was shaking. ‘I. . I know who he is, but I’ve never met him.’

‘You haven’t talked to him about your grandfather’s coin collection on the telephone, by any chance?’

‘I. . yes, I have.’

‘When?’

‘Last week.’

‘You know he’s on Crete?’

‘Ye. . yes.’

Mavros reckoned he was being told the truth.

‘So the thirty coins you stole weren’t anything to do with your grandfather’s actions, but a taster for Roufos?’

Mesner scowled. ‘You screwed that up.’

‘Had a visit from Inspector Margaritis yet?’

‘What?’

‘There’s a chance your grandfather was murdered. Where were you this afternoon?’

Oskar Mesner shook his head violently. ‘I. . I didn’t do it. I was in Rethymno.’

‘Hope you’ve got some witnesses.’

‘Yes, yes, I have. I was with some of the German boys.’

Mavros laughed. ‘They’ll be convincing.’

‘But I thought my grandfather killed himself.’

‘I don’t think so, though having a grandson like you could have driven him to it. Three more questions. Do you know David Waggoner?’

‘Of course not. I read one of his books. That man hates Germans.’

Mavros believed him. ‘How about Maria Kondos?’

‘From the film crew? I saw a missing person sign about her.’

Again, Mavros didn’t catch any hint of a lie. ‘And, last but not least, have you ever been to Kornaria?’

‘The drug-growing village? No. I heard they’re all madmen up there.’

Mavros nodded. ‘Miki,’ he called, ‘give this shithead his spade back.’

‘No, please,’ Mesner stammered. ‘There’s something else I can tell you. The film director, Luke Jannet. A friend of mine buys dope from a guy from Kornaria. He told him that Jannet’s family was originally from the village.’

Mavros took a step back and lowered the pistol. That wasa surprise. Could it be that the director’s interest in Maria Kondos was more complicated than he had assumed? After all, he had come to Athens in person to hire him.

‘Can we stop now?’ Lagoudhakis asked, breathing heavily. He was up to his thighs in the hole.

‘Tape up their hands,’ Mavros said to Mikis, then gave the skinhead a tight smile. ‘And that asshole’s mouth. I want their mobiles as well.’

Mikis came back with the spades and phones.

‘How long will it take them to get back to civilization?’ Mavros asked as the Jeep was turned round.

‘If they follow us, an hour or so.’

‘Maybe we should have tied them to a tree.’

‘Showing mercy often has its own rewards,’ the Cretan said. ‘That’s what my grandfather said.’

‘The shepherd?’

‘No, the one on my mother’s side, but I don’t think he followed his own advice very often — he was an andartis.’

Mavros shrank down in his seat as the adrenaline ebbed away. He wasn’t a violent man, but Crete seemed to be turning him into one. Where would it end?

He decided to spend the night in Nondas’s place in Chania. Although he didn’t have his laptop with him, there was a desktop computer in the flat.

‘You want me to stay with you?’ Mikis asked, as he pulled up at the end of the street.

‘Haven’t you got a woman waiting?’

The Cretan smiled. ‘Possibly.’

‘All right, so go and do your thing. I’ll call you in the morning.’

‘Don’t open the door to any strange people. Sure you don’t want to take the Colt?’

‘Definitely not. There’s a decent selection of kitchen knives up there. Goodnight — and thanks for your help.’

‘A pleasure. Pity we didn’t bury those scumbags though.’ Mikis waited until Mavros opened the street door and then waved as he drove off.

Logging on, Mavros reflected on how lucky he had been to find Mikis — he had local knowledge and connections, as well as the local propensity for strong arm tactics. He’d have to make sure he was suitably recompensed when it was all over. Not that he was at all clear where the latest information was going to lead.

He found numerous sites with information about Luke Jannet — his films, his brief affairs with actresses, his ranch in northern California, but nothing about a Greek family background. He thought about the surname. There was no single letter corresponding to the ‘j’ sound in Greek — it was formed by the pairing of ‘t’ and ‘z’. He tried to think of names beginning ‘Tzannet’ and one immediately came to mind: there had been a politician who briefly served as prime minister in the late 80s called Tzanis Tzannetakis, although he hadn’t been a Cretan. The ‘-akis’ suffix was, however, a standard one on the island.

He typed the surname into a search engine, ignoring all the references to the politician, who had been imprisoned by the Junta and was not the standard money-and-headline-grabbing piece of shit. There was nothing relevant in the first ten pages, after which more random information started to appear. He added the first name ‘Luke’ to the surname and immediately got a hit — as well as a frisson that ran all the way up his spine.

The site was that of the Sons of Daedalus, Florida Division, a registered charity run by Americans of Cretan origin. On the page recording events in 1991, there was a photograph of major benefactors, the Tzannetakis family — father Eugene — ‘owner of a well-known automobile parts supply chain’ — mother Koula, son Luke — ‘an up-and-coming film director’ — and daughter Rosa. Luke Jannet was a younger version of his current self, his hair in a ponytail even then. It was Rosa who drew his attention most. Although her face was less hard and her body less fleshy, there was no question that she was the woman who was now known as Rosie Yellenberg. Another search revealed that she had married a Hollywood producer called Pete and that the marriage had ended in divorce four years ago; there had been no children.

Mavros sat back in his chair. So Luke and his producer were siblings. Was that significant? It was certainly suggestive that they hadn’t made their family status clear to him, though maybe some of the film crew knew — as it was that they hadn’t declared their Cretan background, though it was quite possible they didn’t speak the language and had no particular interest in their heritage. Then again, they had chosen to make a film on the island.

He typed in Eugene Tzannetakis and hit the motherlode on the first page. According to the Florida Sun-Times, the car parts dealer had been arrested in 1998 on suspicion of using his chain of stores to facilitate the trafficking of drugs. His family was said to be from a mountain village in Crete called Kornaria, and Michael ‘the Bat’ Kondoyannis was cited as one of his associates. The lawyers had fought hard, citing his charitable work and donations, and he was sentenced to only eight years, partly because the FBI had mishandled some of the evidence.

So what exactly was going on here? Luke Jannet and his sister were descended from a Kornaria family and their father was a jailed drug trafficker. Maria Kondos’s father, who was also from Kornaria, had been a full-on mobster based in Florida before being convicted of involvement in the drugs trade. Why had Maria been in the village and what had happened to her? And where was she now?

Mavros called the Fat Man.

‘What time do you call this, demi-Scot?’

‘Time for you to tell me what you found out about Kondoyannis.’

‘Oh, that,’ Yiorgos said, dismissively. ‘I sent you an email. Remember those?’

Mavros kicked himself for not having checked. Now the Fat Man was one up on him. He went to his inbox.