Katerina turned her back to the body and forced herself to remain composed. They were too late. They hadn’t seen this coming, hadn’t seen the danger. Had they let this slip through the cracks? Had they been too focused on what now seemed like childish petulant issues? And this was the price. A woman dead. She hung her head. ‘I’ll call it in.’

  With that, she scooped up the cat and returned to the car. Holding its furry panicked body on her lap, she looked straight ahead at the dusty road and blinked as one, then two, then more tears trailed uselessly down her cheeks.

  Michail waited for Yiorgos at the harbour, breathing deeply in and then releasing the air in a manner that should have brought him a sense of calm. Instead, with every inhalation, a new manifestation of Irene Kanatas, left to rot for the flies, loomed large in his mind. He blinked as he remembered Katerina’s rage; his head tilted to one side as if her voice had left a bitter residual upon his skin.

  Stroking the cat’s head, keeping her voice low, she had spoken to the windscreen. ‘We haven’t been concentrating, Michail. Whatever this is between us – trust, lust, hate, I don’t know – we need to work it out. This, this is on us. We’ve been so busy focusing on our working relationship. I’ve been so busy trying to prove myself to you, instead… instead of…’

  ‘Instead of solving the case. Instead of saving people. Saving Irene.’ The realisation had come like a churning torrent, the weight of it physically forcing his head backwards onto the headrest. He felt his hands tremble. She was right; he had been remiss. He had been unfocused and entitled. He had been so busy worrying about himself that he had missed something. Something that would have led them to Irene. Something that would have prevented this.

  ‘Maybe this won’t work.’ Katerina had spoken very clearly. ‘We’re not a team. We’re not effective. It’s dangerous.’

  ‘We are not professionally proficient.’

  ‘No. If you don’t trust me, Michail, then we can’t be. I’ll talk to Sofia in London, ask for a transfer. We’re flying this afternoon. You won’t need to put up with me for much longer.’

  Michail had wanted to reply, but his throat had grown tight and constricted. The shame of having done anything less than the best job possible, of the minutes and hours wasted thinking about Katerina and not the case, had been tightening about his chest since that morning. Her suggestion was sensible. He should feel relieved. Yet, again, he was empty; there was no wax to syphon at all, just a meaningless space filled with things he wanted to say but couldn’t.

  ‘Michail.’ Yiorgos approached him having disembarked from the ferry; his face sterner than usual. ‘Another body, Jesus, this island’s turning into a bloodbath.’

  ‘There are similarities between the first victim and this one.’ Michail gestured to where their car was parked. ‘The most salient, of course, being the severed wrists.’

  ‘We’re assuming it’s the same killer?’ Yiorgos asked, pulling out a cigarette. ‘That would make sense, given the nature of the mutilations.’

  ‘It would seem that way, although like everything in this case, things aren’t always what they appear, just like the archaic smile.’

  Yiorgos squinted at him over the car roof before getting in. ‘In plain speech if you can manage it, Michail.’

  ‘Teddy’s cause of death was drowning; his wrists were cut after he died. It’s been confirmed that Irene died from blood loss. The wrist wounds killed her.’

  As they headed towards the Lykeio, Yiorgos opened his window to smoke, which rendered the air conditioning completely ineffective. Still, it was important they maintained a harmonious working relationship. As painful as he and Katerina’s reintroduction had been, he could, at least, take some learned lessons from the disaster. Therefore, he decided not to comment.

  ‘An inconsistent killer,’ Yiorgos grunted. ‘How considerate of them.’

  ‘On the contrary, I would usually consider inconsistencies as an investigator’s bane–’

  ‘I know, Michail, I–’

  ‘–however, in this case, I think you might be correct. The key differences in these murders might provide us with the answers we’re looking for.’

  ‘Answers like?’

  Michail pulled into the car park. ‘Unconfirmed for now,’ he replied. ‘However, I would like to request time after this meeting for some deep thought. There was something about Irene’s wrists–’

  ‘They were cut?’

  Michail detected an edge of sarcasm. His hands tightened around the steering wheel. ‘Yes, obviously. But there was something else. A thought nugget.’

  ‘A thought nugget?’

  ‘Correct. I require some time to think it through.’

  Yiorgos sighed and shook his head. ‘Whatever you want. Right–’ he eyed the school building, a low-set amalgamation of concrete and glass. It was the type of architecture that seemed simultaneously designed to be inconspicuous and brassy – the more you looked at it, the more it revealed: more windows, more jagged edges, ‘–I read your notes. This headmistress, do we have any reason to be suspicious of her?’

  ‘It is most efficient to be suspicious of everyone initially,’ Michail replied, inspecting his phone as it vibrated. Vi had sent him the list of names as promised. Unfortunately, it was too late for them to conduct any research before their meeting, but this would prove most useful. He scrolled down the list. ‘There are five names here.’

  ‘Five? What, you mean five young women have gone missing and nobody has thought to tell anyone?’ Yiorgos blew through his nostrils. ‘What the hell are they thinking?’

  ‘I agree that it’s unusual,’ Michail said, his eyes resting on one name in particular. ‘But remember, they’re not missing. Our source said that they’d just moved away with limited contact. Of course, that needs to be confirmed.’

  ‘Seen something interesting?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Michail replied. ‘One of the names here is Eleni Barlas, the same name as the desk manager at Saturn House. Vi’s included a note next to it: obviously, the school will have all the information. I don’t know what she’s referring to. I wonder if she’s a member of our Barlas family?’

  Yiorgos shrugged. ‘Could be. Let’s see what this woman knows, then.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Michail, wondering if Maria might know anything too, and, indeed, whether a date was the appropriate time to bring it up.

  Michail knew that he was no longer a teenager, that he was now a respected member of the Special Violent Crime Squad, and that corridors filled with children and teachers did not pose any sort of a threat. However, as he followed the secretary down the seemingly never-ending tunnel of excited chatter, elated screeches and back-hand murmurs, the noises rumbled through his bones reminding him of his own unhappy experience in the education system. He breathed in through his nose and out again, as his counsellor had prescribed him to do in these sorts of situations, but it didn’t work. The smell of school corridors, it seemed, were untouched by time and place: it was as if he was seventeen all over again. There could be little worse.

  ‘Michail?’ Yiorgos turned to face him, a deep frown etched across his face.

  ‘Right behind you–’

  Yiorgos slowed to walk next to him. ‘All okay? You’re humming loudly.’

  ‘There is nothing to be concerned about, Yiorgos. It is merely a coping mechanism as I am sure I have explained to you before, often occurring when I am placed in situations of high stress.’ He didn’t mention that the compulsion had all but disappeared until a few days ago.

  Yiorgos looked up and down the corridor. ‘High stress?’

  ‘Correct. My schooling was not the happy time that people often look back on fondly.’

  ‘Ah,’ Yiorgos said. ‘I can imagine.’

  Michail opened his mouth to explain that he highly suspected that Yiorgos could not imagine, when the secretary stopped outside a large white door punctuated by a long strip of glass.

  ‘Mrs Gimosoulis is expecting you both–’ She knocked, five sharp raps, then nodded, smiling through the glass, before disappearing back down the corridor. The door opened to reveal a small, wiry woman who, at first, conveyed the demeanour of a chirpy, frightened sparrow.

  ‘Officers, please come in.’ Lena Gimosoulis stood to one side, shaking their hands one by one. Her handshake, in contrast to her appearance, was firm, almost forceful. ‘And take a seat. I’m afraid we only have fifteen minutes or so – I have a few meetings in the diary.’

  ‘I am sure that we will be efficient,’ Michail replied. Lena nodded and took her place behind the desk. ‘We are here to ask about some students who would have attended your institution about seven years ago.’

  ‘Oh?’ Her hand flitted to her face and removed her glasses. Then, in stark contrast to the way her hands fluttered on the desktop, she stared unflinchingly into Michail’s eyes. ‘I had assumed you were here about the murders?’

  ‘We are investigating several lines of inquiry,’ he replied, before placing his phone on the table so that she could read the names. ‘I was hoping that you would tell us whether these names mean anything significant to you?’

  She brought the screen very close to her nose, replacing her glasses with the same jittery movement, and peered at the screen, her lips pursed. ‘They were students, like you say.’ With one hand, she typed a few quick words onto her keyboard. ‘2017, all of them. I remember them well, of course.’

  ‘They were friends with each other?’

  Her eyes ran up and down the list of names. ‘The group of them, yes, they were friends.’

  She handed Michail the phone, her thin lips pressing into a mound that resembled a small sharp beak. ‘I’m not sure what they have to do with anything,’ she said, barely moving her mouth. ‘Did you have specific questions?’

  ‘Are you still in touch with any of these students?’ Michail asked, watching her face very carefully. He didn’t have the impression she was lying. However, the way she formed her words suggested she was taking great care over them.

  ‘In touch?’

  ‘It’s a small place.’ Yiorgos folded his arms, drawing her gaze to him. ‘Did any of these students end up settling or maybe working locally?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, a little too vehemently. ‘No. They… well, they all left Aegina. It’s not uncommon, of course, we’re so close to Athens, people come and go. Others move away entirely. But this whole group left. I don’t hear much about them, if anything.’

  ‘Is that commonplace?’ Yiorgos pressed. ‘For a whole group of friends to leave their hometown? Where I’m from, some of us moved to the city, others abroad, but there are always a couple who stay put, at home.’

  Lena observed Yiorgos for a second, and, again, her wide eyes seemed avian to Michail, as if she were watching a squirming worm in the ground. The muscles in her neck shuddered in a tiny convulsion before she responded. ‘May I ask how this is relevant to your investigation?’

  ‘Can you think of anything unusual about this group?’ Yiorgos leant back in his chair, unfolding his arms. ‘Anything that sticks in your mind from their time at school?’

  She exhaled through taut lips and placed her hands gently on the top of the desk. Her eyes flicked between the two of them as she spoke. ‘Plenty. It’s an occupational hazard, educating children. You remember the wins, the good things – they’re sweet, sit on the tongue easily.’ She scanned the group of names again and gave an affirmative nod. ‘They were diligent girls, all of them. Studious, yes, but also outgoing. Most of them were ambitious–’

  ‘Would you describe them as popular?’ Yiorgos asked.

  She acted as if the question had caught her off-guard, her eyebrows flying to the top of her forehead. That was strange. It wasn’t an unreasonable line of inquiry, given what they were discussing. Eventually, Lena nodded, although it was as if she was pressing her neck through treacle. ‘Yes. They were popular. You mean with boys?’

  ‘Not particularly.’ Michail noticed that Yiorgos’s voice thickened; he must have been pleased with how this was going. Indeed, he had deftly led Lena to the topic whilst making it seem she had willingly offered the information. ‘Why? Do you remember anything strange about their romantic lives?’

  Lena pushed the keyboard away from her as if it was some incriminating object. Her eyes seemed beady, alert – she no longer resembled a sparrow, Michail surmised, but an eagle. An inner beating stealth seemed to emanate from her every tiny movement. She surveyed them, her head very still apart from a wisp of hair blown wayward by the air conditioning. ‘They were young – younger than they imagined. It’s always the case, at that age, isn’t it? You’re almost done with your schooling, on the brink of adulthood, so mature and in charge of your own decisions… at least that’s how you feel. I often think it’s the most vulnerable age. So secretive, so sure of themselves and yet, well, they’re still children, really. Intellectually, no, but emotionally, tactically, they are still young.’

  Michail was unable to take his eyes off Lena. As she spoke, it seemed like a dark memory wavered across her face in a series of involuntary, almost imperceptible twitches. Intentional or not, he suspected her mind’s eye had seized an uneasy image. ‘You said that this group of young women were secretive. What makes you say that?’

  She stared at Michail, and, for a moment, he was convinced that she was about to scold him for asking the question. However, she instead tutted, a soft guttural sound, and turned her screen to face him. At first, he thought he was looking at a photograph of Maria. The girl in the photograph had the same heart-shaped face, the same slightly pinched lips, the deepened groove between her top lip and her nose. However, the girl in the photograph had a longer, narrower nose and her face was arranged in an expression he couldn’t imagine Maria wearing. She was pouting, her eyes almost mocking the camera, her cheeks pushed into sharp angles. ‘Eleni Barlas,’ Michail said, now certain that this must be Maria’s sister.

  ‘Yes.’ Lena appeared to gulp before continuing. ‘She had a presence, a shining one. It’s unusual for students to be so popular yet also genuine. She wasn’t mean. She wasn’t a bully. She was just…’ Her mouth convulsed as she searched for the word. ‘Just a nice girl. That’s all.’

  There was something odd about the way she spoke about Eleni. Michail had heard people speak in the same tone before; the slight drop in volume, the small tightening of the throat which placed a mournful strain upon the vocal cords. ‘You’re speaking like she is dead.’

  Lena started at the word, retreating into the fold of her chair. ‘Yes. Yes. I’m sorry, I assumed–’

  ‘Eleni Barlas died?’ He wondered why Maria hadn’t mentioned this, then realised that there would have been no logical reason for her to. Neither he nor anyone else had thought to ask about the wider Barlas family.

  ‘Why, yes. I thought… I thought that’s why you were asking me about all this. It was the saddest thing that’s ever happened in my entire career. I’ll never forget. The screams…’ Her jittery behaviour was beginning to make sense.

  ‘Apologies for interrupting you, but she died here at school?’

  Lena pressed her hands to her lips and closed her eyes, as if banishing unwanted images from her mind. Then, her eyelids twitched before fluttering open, revealing a newly steeled focus. ‘Yes. In the toilets. Her friends found her–’ She turned the computer screen to face her and recounted the names, each syllable seeming to solidify around her lips until they were pressed together with what looked like a painful force. ‘Evia, Dimitra, Georgia, Konstandina. They shouldn’t have seen what they did. No one should, but at that age…’

  Michail flipped open his notepad without taking his eyes off Lena's face. ‘It would be most useful if you could recount what happened, to the best of your memory.’

  Lena blinked at him, her eyes losing their focus. ‘I already told the police everything at the time. I don’t see how this relates to the deaths on the island. This was years ago–’

  ‘You might be correct. The events could, of course, be unrelated. However, as I said, it’s useful for us to follow every thread – sometimes things reveal themselves in the most unexpected of ways.’

  Lena folded her arms delicately as if cradling a broken wing. ‘I remember thinking that the skies looked so angry that morning. The drive to work felt unsettled, the whole way. There was a persistent breeze, the clouds rolled. I often think, well, blue skies lift the spirits, don’t they? Perhaps if…’ She shook her head, as if annoyed at herself. ‘It was before lessons began. Students often turn up early to catch up with their friends, hang around. They caught the bus together most days, all of them. I was in reception when I heard the… the screams.’

  She raised her eyebrows in a sad sort of way. ‘I’d never heard this kind of sound before. I say scream, but it was more of a cry, a wail. Almost inhuman, like some terrible visitation. Four voices, lifting and thrashing through the corridor.’

  ‘Eleni’s friends?’ Michail confirmed. ‘That’s who you heard?’

  ‘Everyone heard, it was impossible not to. I ran, along with other staff, to where the voices were coming from. The bathrooms… Georgia was holding the door ajar… and… inside… they were there. I saw the blood on the floor, spilling out from under the cubicle. It was on their shoes, smeared up their legs. I…’ She shook her head and turned away from them. ‘I thought at first that someone must have been giving birth. Stupid, isn’t it? That’s where my mind went.’