Santorini Caesars Read Free Page A

back to the rightful owner. They looked it up online and lo and behold, she’d actually used her real name, Penelope Sigounas.”
    â€œHow do you know it’s her real name?”
    â€œI did an Internet search and found images of her with her family.”
    â€œDo we have an address for the family?”
    â€œYes, they’re from Athens, in Papagou.”
    â€œPapagou? By the Pentagon?”
    â€œYes, her father’s in the military. As a matter of fact, he’s a Brigadier general in the Army.”
    Andreas shut his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t just say her father is a general.”
    The coroner’s mouth dropped open.
    â€œYeah, I know. It’s a headline writer’s wet dream. ‘Daughter of Greek general murdered by police at anti-government demonstration.’”
    Andreas rubbed at his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his free hand. “Pick me up. We’ve got to get to the family before the press does.”
    â€œI’ll be there in ten minutes. Bye.”
    Andreas put the phone back in his pocket, shook his head and looked at the coroner.
    â€œIn your professional opinion, Doc, just how much deeper do you think this shit can get?”
    The coroner shook his head. “Sorry to tell you, my friend, but I don’t think I have a probe that reaches that far.”
    Andreas stood up, patted the coroner on the shoulder, “Thanks, Doc,” he said, and headed toward the front door.
    â€œPenelope, you poor kid,” Andreas asked aloud, “what on earth happened to get you killed?”

Chapter Three
    The family lived three miles east of the heart of Athens in Papagou, a well-maintained neighborhood of single family homes, tasteful small apartment houses, and wide, tree-lined streets. Named after General Alexandros Papagos, who’d led the Greek Army during World War II and the Greek Civil War, and later all of Greece as its Prime Minister, Papagou was also home to Greece’s Pentagon.
    This was the part of the job that Andreas disliked most. How do you tell a father and a mother that their child is dead? It was a job for a chaplain or a priest, not a cop. Especially not a cop when the whole world was about to think her killers were cops. He knew this wouldn’t be pleasant. But he also knew, as a parent, that he’d want to know. So, here he was.
    Andreas and Yianni stood on a street corner in front of an immaculately maintained, white stucco apartment building tucked behind a high stone wall enclosing orange and palm trees. They stared up at the top-floor balcony running the length of the three-story building.
    â€œThat’s where they live?” asked Andreas. “It looks nice, but even at one apartment per floor it’s not a very big apartment.”
    Yianni nodded. “They’ve lived there for twenty years.”
    â€œYou’d think an Army general, even a one-star Brigadier, would live in a bigger place.”
    â€œThey moved in about the time their daughter was born, and from the family photos I saw they never had any other children. I guess they felt they didn’t need a bigger place and so never moved.”
    â€œAt least there’s a lift,” said Andreas, walking up to the iron gate separating the street from the building.
    â€œAnd I bet it works,” said Yianni pressing the buzzer marked 3 beneath a camera.
    â€œWho is it?” said a voice with a Filipino accent.
    â€œPolice,” said Yianni.
    â€œPlease show identification.”
    Each man held his ID in front of the camera. Seconds later the gate buzzed and Yianni pushed it open.
    They walked to the elevator and rode up to the third floor in silence.
    The first thing Andreas noticed when he stepped off the elevator was white Dionysus marble trimmed in gold inlays covering the floor. Clearly not standard issue apartment house flooring.
    â€œReady?” said Andreas.
    Yianni nodded, and Andreas knocked on the