‘Officer Mikras? Is everything all right? Can I help with anything? The earrings might have been picked up…’ Lily’s voice carried from the other side of the wall.

  He didn’t have much time. Placing the torch between his teeth, he pushed his hands into the undergrowth, wincing as his thumb caught something sharp.

  ‘Sergeant Mikras?’

  He continued to dig, focusing only on the movement of his hands, until he felt something hard and inorganic. He nodded. This made perfect sense. It explained the concrete. Built into the external side of the wall were numerous, powerful-looking speakers, facing out towards the village. Cables had been wedged beneath the tree roots, causing them to grow at odd angles. There was no doubt that this sound system had been set up to make a lot of noise… projecting away from the hotel.

  ‘Sergeant Mikras!’

  Michail took a quick photo of the speakers and covered them up as quietly as possible, before creeping into the darkness along the side of the hotel.

  The new accommodation was a nice break from the aching luxury of Saturn House. The house was on the edge of Aegina town, overlooking the roadside beach that would be lined with parasols in the daytime. A balcony stretched along the front of the building, adjoining Katerina and Michail’s rooms. At night, the view of the sea was a smoky fusion of blues and greys. The moon’s reflection seemed to shatter in long shards across the water.

  Katerina looked back at Michail, whose head was bowed in deep concentration over Alek’s phone. ‘You’re sure there’s nothing? Not even a meetup message?’

  ‘I am afraid not.’ Michail continued to scroll. ‘There is no evidence whatsoever of a pre-existing connection between Alek and Teddy. There are not even many messages between Domenico and Alek – just what you’d expect: instructions about what to post about the Saturnalia party, general niceties, nothing out of the ordinary. Same with his exchanges with Innes.’

  ‘The ones from Lily aren’t exactly illuminating, either,’ Katerina said. The initial elation at hacking into the phone had begun to sink rapidly.

  ‘She certainly values his opinion,’ Michail said. ‘Most of her messages are about which type of pistachio variety he prefers. Small, yellow, green, fresh. Just research for her business.’

  Katerina let out an irritated yelp and kicked her feet into the air, throwing her body weight against the deckchair. ‘There must be something!’ she groaned. ‘There must be something, anything, that points us in the direction of why someone would want to kill him. Have you checked his drafts again? Scheduled posts?’

  ‘Like you have already noted, he has many draft posts stored across various platforms. Nothing looks particularly unusual…’ His voice trailed off into a low, thoughtful hum.

  ‘What is it?’

  He didn’t reply, instead, he jumped up from his seat and paced along the length of the balcony.

  ‘Michail–’

  ‘Yes. Yes, Katerina, listen to this caption: Sometimes you need to question yourself. Question who you are, what you stand for, and, most importantly, who pulls your strings. No good being a master if you’re a master of fools. No good being healthy on the outside if there’s sickness inside. Be true to yourself. Don’t be swayed or persuaded. Live your truth. Be your truth. Reveal the secrets you hate. Otherwise, you’ll end up hating yourself. #FaceYourDemons #ComingClean #Revelations.’

  ‘More astrological, self-help mumbo-jumbo.’ Katerina sighed. ‘He created that draft the day before he was killed, didn’t he? It’s the last one?’

  ‘Correct.’ Michail nodded. ‘About both the timing of the draft and the mumbo-jumbo, as you say… but…’

  ‘But…’

  ‘It’s not necessarily clear, not yet, but suppose it means what I think it means? It throws Alek’s last draft into a new perspective completely.’

  Katerina joined him on her feet and held out her hand. ‘Let me see.’ She read the caption again, which was accompanied by a photograph of Alek in swimming trunks on a small yacht in front of a picturesque cave. ‘You’re looking at the “sickness” reference? I spotted that too, it reminded me of what I heard Innes saying, but he’s just talking about, well, it’s just a ridiculous self-improvement mantra.’

  ‘Unless, of course, that’s not what it is at all.’ Michail’s face almost trembled with anticipation. ‘We have assumed that, like the rest of his posts, this draft was intended for Alek’s social media followers, correct?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘But what if it wasn’t? What if, just like the sound system in Saturn House’s walls, it was intended for someone else?’

  Katerina studied the caption again. Her eyes stung with tiredness, but she forced herself to try and understand what Michail was getting at. ‘Sickness… the sickness inside. Innes said, “He’s sick”. It’s the same terminology. It’s weird.’ Her eyes flew to meet Michail’s as the thought entered her mind. ‘The symbol of Saturn–’

  ‘Is a sickle,’ Michail interrupted. ‘I believe that neither Innes nor Alek were referring to an illness at all; I think that the term “sick” is a reference to Saturn’s sickle, the symbol on Teddy’s necklace and the namesake of the hotel. When Innes was speaking to Domenico, I’d be willing to guess that she was telling him that someone, most likely Teddy, was “sick”, to put it another way: he was in the sickle group, the group that is appearing increasingly to have ties to Saturn House.’

  ‘So what does this have to do with Alek’s murder?’

  ‘Inconclusive, yet again.’ Michail shook his head, seeming visibly irritated. ‘Although, the draft refers to some sort of a revelation or telling of the truth.’

  ‘You think he was killed because he was threatening to reveal a secret about Saturn House?’ It was the most solid theory that they’d reached so far. ‘We should tell Sofia straight away. She’ll be questioning Innes right now.’

  He promptly typed a message on his phone, awaited Sofia’s response, then slumped back onto his chair.

  They sat listening to the restless chorus of the night for a while. Darkness sounded so different here than it did in the city. Over the past year, Katerina had spent what seemed like countless sleepless nights on her mama’s balcony, wishing that with each car backfiring, each hacking of phlegm, each bottle breaking, each alarm shrieking that she would be cut out of the soundscape, flattened, made irrelevant. She had imagined, gripping her long-turned-cold cup of coffee, that if she sat on that narrow balcony for long enough, night after night, then the city and its voices would submerge her, beginning at her feet, bathing her calves, then her knees, lap at her waist, and rise to her neck until she could breathe a final relieved sigh and disappear into nothingness.

  It seemed impossible that she was now on another balcony with Michail, the city’s fitful outbursts replaced by the gentle stirring of insects. She heard a preparatory intake of breath and waited for Michail to make a comment, most likely about their tasks for tomorrow morning, however, he let his chest fall without a word. A memory, febrile and sudden, of the sensation of his body beneath hers, his hands around her waist, his lips close and warm, flickered behind her eyelids. She clenched her fists, willing herself to push it from her mind. Whatever spark or affection they might have had for each other had died when he discovered who she was, what she had done. She had broken whatever might have been. She sighed and realised that her eyes were wet. She covered her face, pretending that she was feeling her stitches and stood to leave. ‘It’s late. I’ll… head to bed.’

  ‘How does your head feel? Are you sure that you are not experiencing concussion? The doctor said to remain vigilant.’

  Stupidly, she shook her head in response, and winced, a sharp hiss escaping from her mouth. ‘I’m fine–’

  Michail jumped up from his chair and turned her towards him, placing a hand on each side of her arm. ‘We should check your pupils.’

  She noticed his eyes widened as her tears fell, although he didn’t say anything as he shone his torch into each eye. ‘Michail, honestly, I’m fine.’

  He gave her a quick nod and lowered the torch, his other hand dropping, it seemed without much thought, to the curve of her hip. She couldn’t bring herself to tear her eyes away from his. An old sensation of reassurance and comfort seeped through her tired limbs. It was as if, for a moment, they pretended that nothing had changed. That nothing had broken. She wasn’t thinking – she was sure about that – as she leant forwards towards his face, feeling the soft caress of his breath.

  He drew himself away from her, almost flinching.

  ‘Oh… I…’ Her thoughts seemed to implode, flipping this way and that, rising and falling in gushing waves of embarrassment. ‘Michail, I’m sorry.’

  He backed away from her and frantically began tidying up his things.

  Her mouth hung open, groping for some words that might help her explain herself. ‘I… Michail, look, I should never–’

  ‘No.’ He snapped his laptop closed with such force that his hands shook. His face was flushed and tense. He looked to his feet, his shoulders rising to his ears and falling. ‘No, you shouldn’t.’

  ‘I just… it’s so difficult. Being here, alone with you. There are so many feelings, memories spinning about in my head, then you were there, and I thought…’

  He held himself very still and spoke to his feet, his hands clenched, as if he was in pain. ‘Your thoughts were incorrect.’

  She would have taken being shoved against a brick wall ten times over this. She didn’t bother to wipe the tears away from her cheeks. ‘Incorrect?’

  ‘I am sorry, Katerina, but I do not think that you can possibly understand. You were my friend, perhaps more. But none of it was real. And now, it is more difficult than you can imagine.’

  ‘I get it.’ Her voice was very small beneath the weight of her tears. ‘I do. You didn’t need to pretend that everything was okay, Michail. You don’t need to spare my feelings. Nothing anyone says could make me feel less awful, believe me–’

  For a moment, his face softened, but then, as if remembering himself, he nodded, his expression hardening. ‘There’s no requirement for me to consider your feelings; understood.’

  ‘Okay then.’ She turned so that he couldn’t see her face and hurried into her bedroom, closing the door gently behind her. Only then did she allow the torrent that had been building in her chest to release. The force of emotion brought her to a foetal position as she lowered herself onto her bed, biting down on a clenched fist to muffle the sound of her tears.

  Vi

  Sleep evaded Michail. He had closed his eyes in defiance to the noise of his brain for a restless number of hours, before creeping downstairs to the kitchen, Aegina books in hand, to make some coffee. He fingered an intricately painted cup as he waited for the coffee to simmer. It was a scene of the harbour, brought to life with innocent blues and pinks and whites: a tourist’s rose-tinted dream. He stirred the liquid in rapid, regular beats, his thoughts turning to Maria. She had suggested a meeting early that evening at the entrance to the archaeology museum. Assuming that he and Katerina succeeded in completing their workload for the day, and no unexpected events occurred, he was confident that he would make it. He took a swift gulp of his drink, feeling heat rush to his face as he relived, yet again, what had happened on the balcony last night. It was true that he – they had both – been sleep-deprived, as well as mentally drained. That was the logical explanation of how they had found themselves so close. He shut his eyes and shook his head, attempting to blur the memory of it. The curve of her hip, the soft brush of her hair as she leaned forward. Unacceptable. The possibility could never be entertained again. He had done the right thing, he was certain, by being clear with Katerina about his feelings. Although, he hadn’t experienced the same relief as he had when syphoning his other wax-feelings. Instead, once the words had spilled from his mouth, he had only felt empty, and awkward, and very alone. Obviously, these were not the desired outcomes.

  Beyond the small square kitchen window, the sun’s early hues began to ripple along the sea. A cat trotted along the empty road, its tail high and alert, meowing a greeting to the new day. The creature made him long for Athens, the sounds of it, the habits of it. He missed the comforting ways of the city, its organic timetable that slid easily, yet reliably, day to day.

  The beach was empty apart from a solitary figure in the middle distance. Suddenly, the prospect of fresh sea air upon his face seemed extremely appealing. He refilled his cup and slipped out of the house, crossed the road, and settled his toes into the cool sand. It wasn’t quite the same as the peace that architecture brought him: human achievements, the culmination of rationality and imagination that stood the test of time, steeped in history and story and logic, would forever soothe him; however, as he stepped closer to the edge of the water, his eyes set on the horizon as it glowed in technicolour, he conceded that the natural world had something to offer. The glimmering expanse was untouched, uncultivated. It was a restive canvas upon which humans had built ideas and machines, myths and ships. It was the beginning.

  ‘It is the right house, then.’

  The voice was familiar, although he couldn’t place it. He turned to face its source. ‘You’re from the protest? The right house?’

  The woman to whom he had spoken grinned, apparently pleased with herself, and gestured to the space next to him, as if asking permission to stand next to him on the sand. He nodded. ‘This beach is still public.’

  She chuckled and moved to watch the remainder of the dawn with him. ‘The boy who clears the beach beds away said he’d seen police cars outside this house. I’m glad it was you.’

  ‘You were looking for me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You could have gone to the police station. They would have either helped you themselves or, if necessary, put you in touch with me.’

  She grumbled something indistinguishable and puckered her lips, sending shoots of deep wrinkles to sprout along the side of her face. ‘You’re not from here, which means you’re not afraid.’

  ‘Afraid?’

  She shrugged and hugged her arms around her front, her chin drooping slightly as if weighed down by thought. ‘Rich, powerful people often line their path with fear, don’t you think?’

  Unsure how to reply to this, he gave a sharp nod. ‘More often than not, I suspect.’

  She sighed; a deep, volcanic sound. ‘The police are good, good people, good at their jobs. I know most of them personally. That’s how I know they’re scared. They don’t think we should protest; they say it’s dangerous.’

  ‘Do you know what they’re scared of?’ Michail watched her as she nodded in a slow movement, like she had thought about this moment for a long while.

  ‘You’re used to violence, aren’t you? The shooting at the harbour, it wouldn’t have come as a surprise to you?’

  Michail opened his mouth to contradict, but then corrected himself. She was right: he hadn’t been as appalled as he would have been a year ago.

  ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘But it shattered most people here. We’re not accustomed to things like that. It’s all anyone can talk about… the man on the beach too.’

  ‘Any community would find these things difficult,’ Michail replied. ‘But I’m not sure I understand why you think that the police are scared–’

  ‘It’s not the first time that…’ she said. ‘Things have happened before.’

  Michail felt his face tense with confusion. ‘What things?’

  She waved a hand in the air and gave a low laugh. ‘Do you mind?’ Without waiting for him to reply, she produced a packet of cigarettes from a pocket in her skirt and lit one. She blew a long and heavy puff of smoke towards the sea and then turned her eyes to him.

  ‘Nothing as bad as the shooting,’ she said. ‘Nothing criminal, I suppose… well…’

  ‘It would be helpful if you could be as clear as possible,’ pressed Michail, wishing that he’d brought his notebook outside.

  Her eyes moved from side to side as if she was calculating a tricky sum. ‘The hotel’s been here for about ten years,’ she said. ‘Nobody particularly liked it – Aegina’s not a luxury resort destination – but, you know, no one made a fuss. They bought the land, fair’s fair. There weren’t any problems at the beginning, everything seemed fine. Then, a girl in her late teens got… er… spotted by one of the guests.’

  ‘Spotted? Could you be specific about what you mean by that?’

  She blew another smoke-cloud before she continued, closing her eyes as the last of the whitish-grey vapour left her lips. ‘Spotted… uh, scouted? She was beautiful, you know? She was told that she’d do some modelling, perhaps be introduced to movie producers. She was excited.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So, she went on these trips. I heard that she always came back with some expensive watch, or money, or a designer handbag. Other girls started to idolise her, you see, on social media. She was living the high life, a dream life to some, I suppose. The girls here – the younger ones, still at school – they followed her on social media. She was always posting pictures of herself on yachts, private jets, in fancy restaurants. I think they hoped that the same might happen to them, they’d be swept off their feet for their good looks in the same way… but then she stopped posting. We haven’t heard from her since.’

  ‘Apologies, Ms…’ Michail realised that he hadn’t asked the woman her name.

  ‘Virginia Tzamargias.’ She gazed at him unblinkingly, then held out her hand. ‘Vi.’

  ‘Ms Tzamargias,’ he repeated, shaking her hand. ‘Do you mean to say that she’s missing? Was there a report filed?’

  ‘Oh, no, no.’ Vi shook her head, dropping the cigarette and stamping it over with sand. ‘No, no. Her mother insists that she’s alive and well. She said that she had spoken to her, that she had decided to live abroad, in Los Angeles, I think.’