A Deadly Twist Jeffrey Siger (book recommendations txt) 📖

“If you’re guilty of what I have in mind, you’d better believe it is.”

“Would you mind telling me what you’re talking about?”

“Let’s start with that notebook you neglected to tell me about.”

“What notebook?”

Andreas said nothing.

“I said what note—Wait, are you talking about the one Nikoletta sent me a couple of days before she disappeared?”

“Brilliant. Amazing how you figured that out all on your own.”

“Just hold on a minute. It never entered my mind that it might be relevant to her disappearance.”

“Bullshit.”

“Like hell it is.”

“Then convince me why you didn’t think it relevant.”

“Fine!” he yelled. “When Nikoletta’s interview story broke, I wanted her back in Athens to work on our planned follow-up series, but she insisted she needed more time to finish her tourism piece. I told her to forget about it and get her ass back to Athens. Frankly, I thought she was looking for a way to extend her stay on Naxos at the paper’s expense. Underpaid reporters have been known to do that sort of thing.”

“You’re not convincing me.”

“I agreed to give her more time, but then my publisher started busting my balls to get her back in the office at work on the series. He’d never liked the tourism piece, said death and disaster sold newspapers. I told her the only way she could stay on Naxos was if she gave me something to convince our publisher that her time spent there was worthwhile. She said she couldn’t divulge her sources on the tourism piece but that she’d come across something that might just do the trick. She learned about a local character who has a hand in just about every hustle on the island. He’s a small-time grifter, and his story wasn’t part of her tourism piece, but it’s the sort of roguish tale people like to read. I thought it might appeal to our publisher. I told her to get me what she had right away, and she promised to send her notes to me by courier.”

Andreas had a pretty good idea of the answer to his next question. “And the rogue’s name is?”

“Unknown. She just called him Honeyman.”

“How could you possibly have thought none of this might be relevant to her disappearance?”

“If I had, I’d have told you.”

“Did she send you her notebook, then?”

“I received a package from her late that afternoon, just as I was heading off to a dinner party with my wife.”

“Did you read her notes?”

“No, I forwarded them on to my publisher. I wasn’t about to get in the middle of a brouhaha between him and Nikoletta. I’d let him make the call.”

“What did he say after he read them?”

“I don’t know if he ever did read them. She disappeared and all we’ve focused upon since then is finding her, not her stories.”

“Do you have a copy of the notebook?”

“No, like I said, it was late and I was running out of the office so I just routed it on to my publisher.”

“Do you have his number?”

“Of course, but why do you want to contact him?”

“To find out what he did with the notebook—and to read it.”

“Good luck with that.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s big on protecting journalists’ sources, and if Nikoletta’s notebook could possibly expose her sources, he’s not going to agree to turn it over without her consent.”

“A rather interesting dilemma, isn’t it? She may die because he wants her consent to turn over what could possibly save her. And you guys complain about how fucked-up the government is.” Andreas struggled to control the outrage in his voice.

Andreas heard Pappas breathe in and exhale. “You can try, and I hope you convince him.” He gave Andreas the number. “Good luck.”

Andreas hung up without saying goodbye. He looked at Tassos sitting next to him in the police car. “Did you hear that bullshit?”

“Somebody is either very stupid or thinks we’re very stupid.” Tassos shook his head. “Pappas harangues you to find his allegedly kidnapped reporter, yet never bothers to tell you that two days before she disappeared he received a notebook from her containing her notes on a story involving a rogue from the same island on which she’s gone missing.”

“Hard to believe what he said is true. So hard, in fact, that it could get one to thinking it must be true.”

“I consider the part about his publisher busting his balls to be a particularly novel way of attempting to justify withholding evidence.”

“Let’s see what his publisher has to say.” Andreas dialed the number Pappas had given him. The call went into voicemail. Andreas identified himself and asked that he please call him back immediately, as it concerned his missing reporter.

“When do you think you’ll hear back from him?”

“That depends on whether Pappas gets to him first. Curiosity should have him calling me right back, but in this instance, maybe not.”

“What do you think the chances are that this whole thing’s been staged to sell newspapers?”

“But for the attempted hit on Yianni and Popi, I’d have seriously considered that possibility. I don’t see that now.”

“So, what’s next?”

“We wait”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”

* * *

Andreas drove down to Chora’s harbor and, after searching unsuccessfully for a legal parking space, parked in a spot marked NO PARKING ANYTIME.

“Ah, the advantage of driving a blue-and-white,” said Tassos.

“Why not? We’re on official business waiting for the telephone call that could break our case wide open.”

“This place looks good,” said Tassos, steering him into a taverna close by the harborside piazza.

They sat where they could watch the children at play in the square, darting every which way on their bikes, scooters, and skateboards.

“Watching kids play always makes me miss my own.”

“You’ll be back with them soon enough,” said Tassos.

“Doesn’t it amaze you how when children get to play on their own, away from grownups, it looks like sheer chaos, yet they somehow manage to adhere to an overriding pattern of order that keeps their play from ending in disaster? What do you think it is? Some instinctive thing, like birds knowing how to fly in