The Green Lady by Paul Johnston

and lit a foul-smelling unfiltered cigarette. ‘We’ll see. What’s the angle?’
    Mavros stifled a groan. A frizzy-haired young man had started setting up a sound system. The last time he’d played, he sounded like Bob Dylan on laughing gas.
    â€˜Have you heard of anyone important going missing in recent months?’ he asked, with as much insouciance as he could manage.
    â€˜Well, there was that ship-owner back in June, remember? His family coughed up a couple of million and he was set free on Mount Olympos with his hands tied to his ankles. Nearly died of exposure.’
    â€˜Russians, wasn’t it?’
    â€˜Right, though I heard a rumour that one of his competitors paid for the kidnapping and was less than impressed when he reappeared alive.’
    â€˜Anyone else?’
    Bitsos stubbed out his cigarette and lit another. ‘With your fine law degree from . . . where was it again?’
    â€˜Edinburgh.’ Mavros had studied at the university there after going through the Greek primary and secondary system.
    â€˜Of course, the Athens of the North – with substantially worse weather. Anyway, you’re familiar with the term
quid pro quo
, yes?’
    Mavros considered it. On the face of it, Bitsos hadn’t heard about his case, but that didn’t mean he might not have information that would be helpful.
    â€˜A hypothesis only. Rich man. Daughter missing for some time. Kidnapping?’
    The journalist put on the gold-framed glasses which were hanging round his neck. ‘Interesting, Alex. Very interesting.’ He raised his hand and ordered more drink. ‘But I haven’t heard a thing.’
    Shit, Mavros said to himself. What now? If he set Lambis loose with the Poulos name, anything could happen. On the other hand, the hack knew people in all sorts of dubious places. Still, he needed more time to figure the pros and cons.
    The singer broke into Theodhorakis’s
Sto Periyiali to Kryfo
, mangling the Nobel winner Seferis’s poem.
    â€˜God, how can you stand it, Lambi? It’s hotter than hell and Hades is on lead vocals.’
    Bitsos laughed. ‘I never liked that old bore Seferis. Come to think of it, Theodhorakis is a wanker too, commie one moment, ultra-nationalist the next. They deserve all they get.’
    That was double sacrilege as far as Mavros was concerned, but he kept a grip on himself. ‘Tell me, have you ever heard of a rich man’s daughter going missing for several months?’
    The journalist thought about that. ‘Occasionally. They usually turn up in Brazil with their riding instructor or the like. Most of the time, the family pays the cops to put their best people on it and offers a hefty reward. One or both of those does the trick.’
    â€˜What about kidnappings that go wrong?’
    â€˜You read my reports, don’t you? If the crooks are idiots, they can’t take the strain and kill the victim to save their skins. Almost always, the body’s found and the kidnappers are nailed, either officially or by contract killers.’
    Mavros pricked up his ears. ‘Interesting. You mean the families have underworld figures on the job as well as the cops?’
    â€˜Of course. Would you trust the ELAS, even if you were paying them under the table? A bigger bunch of banana-brains has never existed.’
    It made sense. Paschos Poulos would have hired a pro to find his daughter, but he wouldn’t have told his wife in case the pressure got too much for her and she blabbed. The question was, who was that individual? Or was it more than one man? And how would he or they react if Mavros’s involvement became apparent?
    â€˜You’re looking very thoughtful, Alex.’
    â€˜What? Er, yes. Well, it’s been fun as always.’ He took out his wallet and put down a fifty-euro note.
    â€˜That’s it?’ Bitsos said, glaring. ‘You pick my brains and give me nothing in