‘Whoever the owner is needs to do some serious repairs.’ Katerina choked softly.

  They pushed open the door to room three and entered an identical-looking bedroom. Katerina made straight for the window and peered out of the dusty glass. She nodded to Michail. ‘It’s about right, I think. We should give forensics a call. They should sweep the place again and the room next door.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Michail trailed his eyes along the floorboards, attempting to picture the killer stalking their way silently through the shadows, their footsteps light, their knees bent and soft, positioning themselves by the window, watching the decking from above. The thought made him nauseous. ‘These rooms are easily broken into; anyone could have accessed them.’

  ‘I suppose it’s unlikely anyone professional enough to use a sniper would leave any clues for us to find.’ Katerina smiled, heading past him for the door.

  At first, the sound didn’t make any sense at all. It was a panicked pounding, growing louder and louder from nowhere in particular. Michail hadn’t yet worked out what was happening when Katerina was flung through the air, her limbs suddenly loose and lifeless, her head snapping back like something had driven into her. Every breath, every minute sound swelled, slow and impossible, in Michail’s ears. The crack as Katerina hit the wall, the papery exhale as she slid to the floor. The sound, again, this time moving away from them. Pummelling. Escaping.

  ‘Stop!’ The word came from his mouth as if independent of thought. ‘Police! Stop!’

  He charged forwards towards the corridor, reflex setting his legs into motion. Then he registered Katerina crumpled in the corner, blood pouring down her face, eyes closed. He heard a clatter of footsteps above him – someone was on the terrace. The noises grew louder between his ears. The footsteps. The creak of the floorboards. The insects in the walls. The drip of Katerina’s blood as it fell through the cracks. The slowing of her breath. The damp, shallow contraction of her lungs. The decision was clear: he could not leave her. Keeping his eye on the door, he threw himself next to her, wrapping her head in his jacket.

  ‘Katerina! Katerina?’

  The dusty air seemed to freeze, hardened by his cries. She didn’t move. He couldn’t identify the rise of her chest. Impossible. The thought was as clear as anything he had ever thought. Impossible. ‘Katerina!’

  The air shifted. Her eyes opened. ‘Michail, go…’

  He seemed rooted to the spot, unable to make any sort of a decision. ‘Go,’ she repeated. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  He blinked at her for a couple of seconds, before tearing himself away. Bolting up the next set of stairs towards the light, he hurled himself through the narrow doorway when he spotted the figure – dressed from head to toe in black – on the far side of the roof. ‘Stop where you are!’

  For a moment, it looked like the figure might surrender. They held their hands above their head and appeared to stand very still, as if giving themselves up. Then, as if stepping off a kerb, they strode forwards into the thin air and disappeared.

  ‘No!’ Michail lurched forwards, knowing that he would be too late. His momentum took him to the building’s edge, and he held his breath, bracing himself for the sight below. He blinked. Then again. The yawning sensation of stupidity rising at the back of his neck. A fire escape ran down the back of the building into the winding streets of the old town: the figure had merely jumped over the wall. Grabbing his radio, he scanned the area, trying desperately to see the direction in which they’d run. ‘Officer down! Officer down and injured at the harbourside. The attacker is heading south-east towards the centre of the old town, possibly still wearing all black – backup required. Backup required!’

  As he tore back down the stairs to Katerina, his brain seemed to implode into a thousand images, all of Katerina, flickering: smiling, crying, screaming, bleeding. His throat grew thick and his chest tight. She was where he had left her, limp and unmoving. He knelt at her side and cupped her head onto his lap, applying more pressure on her head wound. He wanted to speak to her, to reassure her in hushed tones, to speak to that element of the subconscious that knows – always knows – when things are going well or not. However, the words, as he suspected they would, failed him.

  ‘She’ll be fine. It’s just a couple of stitches.’ Sofia pushed the glass of water she’d ordered for Michail across the plastic tabletop. She looked over his shoulder at forensics going in and out of the building: hopefully they’d come up with something. Michail hadn’t yet spoken short of a detailed, detached breakdown about what had happened inside. ‘You should have some water,’ she said. ‘It’s hot.’

  He slowly brought the glass to his lips and took a determined sip. She leaned back in her chair and rolled her shoulders backwards, releasing the tension in her spine. ‘You did the right thing,’ she offered. ‘You had to follow them.’

  ‘I didn’t catch them, though.’

  She nodded, pressing her lips together; there was no denying that this was a huge disappointment. ‘How is it now? With Katerina? Are you… are you working things out?’

  He looked at the rim of his glass and tilted his head to one side. The expression he wore reminded her of a child’s: lost and helpless, yet with that innocent resolution, determination. She took a quick, long sip of her coffee.

  ‘She is working very diligently,’ he said without looking up. ‘She is better at investigating now than before.’

  ‘I’ve noticed that.’ Sofia folded her arms and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘It’s obvious she’s putting the effort in. That’s something.’

  Michail tapped the side of his glass as if deep in thought, then pushed it carefully to one side. He raised his eyes nervously to meet hers. ‘Did you know?’

  Sofia raised an eyebrow at him. She should have been ready for the question – he was always going to have asked her. Integrity and honesty were values that he held deep, possibly deeper than anyone else she knew. He would want the truth. She slid her chair back and stood, walking to the edge of the deck. It was as if these restaurants were made for conversations like these; the hot breeze, the open sea, impatient yet still – the landscape was prepared for weighty words. Shaking her head, she slipped her stilettos off and sat on the edge of the deck, dipping her feet into the sea. She let a relieved groan escape her throat. Looking back at Michail, she chuckled at the expression on his face. ‘If you want to do this now, then I’m afraid you’ll need to take me shoeless.’

  After what looked like a short internal battle, he followed her lead, folding his trousers to his knees in neat, regular folds. He settled next to her and lowered his own feet into the water. She let him luxuriate for a while, feel the enormity of the sea at his feet. Keeping her eyes on the horizon, she began, ‘We can only do what we think at the time, Michail. It isn’t always a question of what’s right and wrong.’ She felt him tense next to her. ‘Really, it isn’t. Sometimes it’s about what’s better or worse, what’s kind and cruel,’ she exhaled, ‘what’s understanding and what’s not.’

  ‘The Hellenic Police Force is built on trust and honesty. We fought the corruption, we put things right. How can I live with it if I… if I am no longer honest? I lied, Sofia. You knew it. You expected it, didn’t you?’

  Tiny silver fish appeared beneath their feet, twisting and darting in their tight-knit mass. ‘You see that shoal of fish? They’re moving together, aren’t they? They’re swimming as one, protecting each other, moving in the same direction, just like they’ve learned.’

  ‘Yes. This is a school, though, not a shoal. They are all the same species, you see,’ Michail pointed out.

  ‘I see. But they are moving in the same direction?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘But look, are they turning in precisely the same way? See the ones in the front, they need to twist more, at a greater angle than those at the back? And the ones in the middle, well, they need to keep the group together, they barely need to change direction at all.’

  ‘You are referring to relative motion–’

  ‘Yes, yes I am, Michail. My point is there are lots of ways to work towards the right direction, to work towards good. Sometimes, you just need to twist a little more than you think.’

  ‘A satisfactory metaphor,’ Michail said. She glanced at him out of her peripheral vision and spotted the corner of his mouth twitch.

  ‘And you didn’t lie,’ she continued. ‘You twisted the truth, ever so slightly. Katerina was manipulated; she was physically and mentally abused. Her mistake was choosing the wrong man. You said what you needed to keep her out of prison and keep a good officer in the force. She didn’t have anything to do with The Awakening. That was all Theo. She was a victim and she proved herself on that very night, like I said at the time.’

  ‘You… you think that I did the right thing?’

  ‘I think that if this conversation is ever repeated to anyone, then I’ll deny every word of it. But, yes, here and now, I think you made the right call. If you’d said anything else, then there is absolutely no chance that she’d be back with us. And, between you and me, I quite like her.’

  He drew soft circles with his feet in the water, watching the fish dart away into the depths. ‘I’ve lied about another thing.’

  ‘Oh?’ Sofia drew her knees to her chest, enjoying the cooling effect of the droplets drying in the breeze.

  ‘Yes. I have told Katerina that everything is fine between us, but it is not. I’ve done what you said. I’ve pretended to be her friend again. I have pretended that everything is fine. The problem is that I am afraid it’s a lie. Even though I’ve successfully buried all my unhelpful feelings, I realised… when I thought that she was… I realised that perhaps I should have addressed them with her. And I thought for a moment that I wouldn’t ever get the chance. That the syphon would be blocked forever. Without opening it, I am not sure that I’ll ever know whether I can… whether we can be what we were.’

  Sofia pushed herself up to standing. ‘I’m afraid that I’m not the best person to give personal advice. When it comes to matters of the heart, I’m somewhat lacking myself. I suppose all I can say is that time heals, although not always as much as we might hope.’ She folded her arms. ‘But I didn’t tell you to pretend or block anything. I’m not sure where you got that from.’

  ‘I distinctly remember you ordering me to ensure the harmonious working relationship–’

  She sighed. ‘Not at the expense of yourself, Michail. I was just trying to help. Clearly, you must take things at your own pace.’

  He looked like his thoughts had subsumed him, which was a relief: she had run out of life advice. Before she suggested heading back to the hotel, a forensic worker called her name.

  ‘Yes? Please tell me you’ve got something?’

  The woman grinned as she approached. ‘We’ve got something, Major.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Great call about ordering a second look. Despite the state of it in there, it’s swept up; clearly a professional job, so we’re unlikely to find DNA. However.’ She held up an evidence bag. ‘We found this under a gap in the flooring. It would’ve been easy to miss in a clean-up–’

  Sofia peered at the bag. ‘An English tenner?’

  ‘Yes, but also–’ The woman held out another evidence bag, this time with a receipt in it. ‘Wrapped around the note, so it could easily have fallen out whenever whoever was in there pulled something out of their pocket.’

  Sofia grabbed the bag and studied the small piece of paper. ‘A Post-it?’ She twisted the bag in front of her face. ‘Wait, it’s embossed with the Balcombe House logo – Mia cara, La vita svelata è la via migliore, come sempre – anyone speak Italian?’

  Michail was already on his phone finding the translation. ‘My darling, the unveiled life is the best way, like always.’

  She shook her head; it was a small leap, although not an entirely ridiculous one. ‘That word, unveiled, when I spoke to Domenico earlier today, he said something similar: people unveil themselves. I thought it was an odd turn of phrase.’

  ‘Obviously, it’s his hotel group. I conducted a thorough search of the reception and administrative offices at Saturn House – there is no supply of Post-its with this letterhead. I think it safe to assume, coupled with the English money, that this has come from Balcombe House itself, in London.’

  She looked at Michail. ‘What’s a note from Balcombe House from Domenico Bonarelli, doing here?’ She stamped her foot without remembering that she didn’t have her heels on. This was a brilliant, yet frustrating find. ‘And who the hell is “my darling”? This isn’t anywhere near enough to call him in, you know. It’s circumstantial: anyone could have stayed at Balcombe House – they’re not responsible for every guest’s action.’ She swore loudly, causing the rest of the forensic team to look up. Speaking mainly to herself, she fingered the note. ‘We need to find a way to meet with him. I can’t put this down to coincidence.’

  ‘Excellent decision,’ replied Michail, already running to the edge of the decking to retrieve his shoes.

  Unveiled

  Katerina resisted the urge to finger the stitches that pulled taut across her forehead, despite how much they itched. All three of them stared at Alek’s phone which sat, quietly tormenting them, on the table on Michail’s terrace. Michail paced in front of the board, pen in one hand, the other tapping gently at the side of his thigh. She’d noticed him avoiding eye contact with her since she’d got back from the hospital. Perhaps he was disappointed that she’d allowed herself to be pushed over, letting the mystery assailant escape the Hotel Plaza? She hadn’t seen the force coming until it was too late, until her head had slammed against the wall. She remembered how she’d insisted that Michail leave her. It was like the words had been ready-made, hiding beneath her tongue, waiting to float out and surrender. Leave me. I’m not worth it. Not worth anything. And he had listened to her; he’d left her in a pool of blood. She’d been glad.

  Clearing her throat, she winced as she accidentally moved her eyebrows – the painkillers were wearing off. The music that Sofia had insisted they play to drown out their low voices engulfed her skull with an unbearable, rhythmic friction.

  ‘Two weeks? How can it take so long?’ Fatigue made her voice sound tinny, as if she was listening to someone else speak. She was glad that they’d been forced to hold the meeting outside. The air, although muggy, was keeping her awake.

  ‘Something to do with new regulations about data protection. They say they’re moving as fast as they can, but I think it’s safe to assume that we’re not at the top of any social media platform’s priority list,’ Sofia whispered. ‘They’re co-operating in the eyes of the law. The fastest way to see Alek’s private messages is to guess his password.’

  Michail placed his hands on his hips and scrunched up his face, deep in thought. ‘I’ve studied his public videos and I can’t think of anything that gives us any clues. Innes is sure that she doesn’t know?’

  Sofia shrugged. ‘Apparently not. She’s not giving much away, although she has agreed to stay put for a few days. I’d like to rule her out of being the owner of the note before she leaves the country. She’s the only person who has a personal relationship with Domenico that we know of, plus her bank records prove she’s been in London on numerous occasions – staying at Balcombe House – over the last year. We’re waiting on a call for the prints – if hers match, then we’ll arrest her.’

  ‘Let’s not forget Lily Woodstow.’ Michail tapped his pen against the name on the board. ‘She has a relationship with Domenico.’

  ‘In a professional capacity,’ Sofia replied. ‘And she hasn’t left Aegina, let alone Greece, for over two years. She’s annoying as they come, but I’m not sure she’s dangerous.’

  Michail glanced around the terrace, his shoulders tense, and beckoned them to move even closer to him. Dutifully, they huddled around, and he began, ‘I think it unwise for us to remain here any longer, Major Sampson. With Domenico and Innes as unofficial suspects, this is a compromising location from which to conduct our investigation.’

  Katerina nodded. ‘He’s right. Anyone could be listening and we don’t know what they’ve got rigged in our rooms.’ The thought of being monitored made her shudder, even in the warm night.

  ‘We’re sweeping the rooms regularly and we have people on patrol,’ Sofia said reassuringly.

  ‘But I agree the time has come to move – we have somewhere ready. Remember, we don’t know who’s watching, what they know and what they don’t. I suggest we make it known that we need more space for our work – I don’t want anyone here thinking we suspect them. We must act naturally, but pack tonight.’

  The song of the tzitzikas seemed to rise to a crescendo as the three of them stood in silence on the terrace. Unable to shake the feeling that they were huddling, helpless, in the centre of a lions’ pit, Katerina walked to the balcony and rested her weight on her hands, letting her head roll backwards to look at the sky. ‘81726,’ she muttered, to nobody in particular.

  ‘What was that?’ Sofia asked; Katerina could hear the concern in her voice: they’d been watching her like she was going mad. She exhaled, forcing herself to string her thoughts together clearly.

  ‘Innes’s password to her phone: 81726. We didn’t ask her about it – not that she’d have given us a straight answer – but doesn’t it seem odd to you?’

  ‘How so?’ Sofia motioned to Michail to write the numbers on the board.

  ‘Well, first of all, people usually have a four-digit password, because they use the same number combination for their bank cards–’

  ‘An extremely insecure approach,’ Michail added. ‘But it’s true, the majority of people favour a four-digit code.’