Che Committed Suicide Read Online Free PDF Page A

unaccommodating fifty-year-old who came over and took my order with a curt ‘So what’s it to be?’ I ordered a sweet Greek coffee, which was met with a scowl tantamount to a stream of abuse, evidently because the Greek coffee downgraded the coffee bar back to a corner café.
    All the newspapers had Favieros’s suicide as their front-page story. Only the headlines differed. ‘Tragic Suicide By Jason Favieros’ and ‘Mystery Suicide On Camera’ were the headlines in the more serious newspapers. From then on, it was all downhill: from ‘ Favieros ’s Spectacular Suicide’ and ‘Suicide Exclusive On Camera’ to ‘Big Brother Live’. All the papers had a photograph in the middle of the page, showing the same downhill direction. The most serious had a neutral photograph of Favieros shaking the Prime Minister’s hand. Two more showed Favieros with the pistol in his mouth. One of the tabloids preferred a photograph of Favieros after his suicide with the blood-splattered aquarium.
    I sipped the coffee, which was like water, and read the reports one by one. They were full of questions and conjectures, which meant that no one knew anything and they were all fishing for the answers. One claimed that Favieros had major financial problems and was on the brink of bankruptcy. Another that he had some incurable illness and had chosen to put an end to his life in this spectacular way. One leftist newspaper successively analysed the acute mental problems that Favieros had been left with following his torture at the hands of the Junta’s Military Police. It actually presented an interview with a psychiatrist who always features in similar cases with erudite psychological portraits of the victim or perpetrator that leave you wondering why he’s not with the FBI. The newspaper with the headline ‘Big Brother Live’ came up with the idea that, because of some incurable illness, Favieros had struck a deal with the TV channel to publicly commit suicide in exchange for a huge sum that he would leave to his family. Finally, another gutter-press rag, full of colour photos, insinuated that Favieros was gay, was being blackmailed, and preferred public suicide to public scandal.
    They knew as much as I did, I thought to myself. In other words, nothing. I glanced at my watch. I had been engrossed in the papers for a full two hours and it was long past lunchtime in my private clinic. I left the two and a half euros they charged for the thimbleful of coffee on the table and headed back home. I was halfway down Aroni Street when it suddenly crossed my mind to call Sotiropoulos, a reporter who for years had been a thorn in my side and with whom I had a love-hate relationship, with the emphasis on hate. I bought a phone card from the kiosk and called directory enquiries to get the number of the channel where Sotiropoulos worked.
    ‘Haritos, what a surprise!’ The title ‘Inspector’ had been dispensed with long ago. ‘So, you’re fully recovered?’
    ‘More or less. It’s all a matter of time.’
    ‘When will you be back with us?’
    ‘I’ve another two months’ sick leave.’
    ‘You’ll be the end of me!’ he exclaimed disappointedly. ‘That Yanoutsos who replaced you is driving us crazy. Getting information from him is like trying to get blood out of a stone.’
    I chuckled with glee. ‘Serves you right. You used to accuse me of keeping you all in the dark.’
    ‘No, it’s not that he doesn’t want to reveal his cards; it’s that he’s unable to put two words together. He writes his statements in a notepad and reads them out as though there were no full stops or commas.’
    I almost dropped the phone. ‘You mean Ghikas lets Yanoutsos make statements to the press?’ I asked flabbergasted. Ghikas, Head of Security, guarded press statements like he did his wallet; he gave them to no one. He had me write them for him and he learned them by heart for the reporters. And now he was handing over his wallet to that blockhead