‘Her behaviour changed.’ Michail flipped over the paper on the board. ‘She began to talk a lot about how women shouldn’t have rights, how they should be happy with their place–’

  ‘Like Alek,’ Katerina finished. ‘It’s what the sickle represents, isn’t it? Some weird misogynistic ideology. The girl I saw in London was wearing a sickle necklace too. It’s like it’s the icon to some club.’

  ‘It seems so.’ Michail nodded grimly. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of inquiry into it. Remember the term “unveiled”?’

  ‘It’s what Domenico said. You said it had something to do with that Roman Saturnalia festival.’

  ‘Correct,’ Michail said. ‘I discovered that when you search invelatus and Saturn together on the internet, the only reference seems to be, as you say, the Saturnalia.’

  ‘You said something about the priests wearing their heads uncovered?’ Sofia leaned forwards on her elbows, unusually interested in Michail’s more academic inquiries.

  Michail seemed a little taken aback by her interest too. He paused for a second, holding his pen in mid-air, before nodding enthusiastically in her direction. ‘Precisely, Sofia. In fact, upon further investigation, it seems that this unveiling of the priests’ heads was more symbolic than merely clothing choice. It represented an inversion of values, of social practices. For example, the slaves were served dinner by their masters and…’

  ‘Inversion of values?’ Sofia looked to Katerina, who was already following her train of thought. ‘Like how Eleni inverted her values before she died?’

  ‘Or how Innes stopped drinking and partying when she met Alek?’ Katerina added, remembering Innes’s strange reaction to the empty bottles in her hotel room.

  ‘Jesus, do you think that these rich, powerful men see themselves as slaves?’ Sofia rolled her eyes, but her lip quivered in disgust.

  Michail was one step ahead of her, his head bowed, scrolling quickly on his iPad. ‘Alek’s social media posts certainly point to that. Enslaved to misguided feminism… stripped from their rights to live as men should.’

  ‘Ugh, it’s disgusting.’ Katerina leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. How could someone like that have gained such a following? As soon as the question entered her head, she shivered. More than anyone, she knew precisely how easy it was to be taken in by insidious, persuasive, hateful words. They acted as perfume first. Intoxicating with their sweet, alluring fumes. Then they turned to poison. Infectious and merciless.

  ‘Agreed.’ Michail tapped the side of his thigh with the pen. ‘It’s the same sort of rhetoric that Teddy posted. And, based on my research, seems to be a popular philosophy amongst a certain group of men.’

  ‘Assuming that he was Eleni’s mysterious boyfriend, I think we can gauge that he brainwashed her before she killed herself.’ Sofia’s eyes moved slowly from side to side, as if making some calculation. ‘Were his death an isolated incident, I’d be looking closer into the Barlas family.’

  Michail breathed heavily, as if frustrated, before appearing to curtail his irritation. ‘But remember that Iraklis Barlas has a strong alibi, as does Maria. Additionally, neither Iraklis nor Maria know who this mystery boyfriend was. If they had, they would have notified the police.’

  ‘Still…’ Sofia’s eyes narrowed. ‘It would be wise to leave no stone unturned. Katerina, will you talk to the local station about Eleni’s suicide? See if they noted any messages between Eleni and who we’re assuming is Teddy? If he was grooming her, which seems likely, then he was probably careful, but it’s worth a try. Also, just double-check there’s nothing suspicious about either Iraklis’s or Maria’s behaviour around the time of Teddy’s murder? I know…’ She held a hand up to Michail. ‘I know we’ve already triple-checked, but, like I said, they’re the only two people to have a motive for wanting Teddy dead.’

  ‘If it was an isolated murder,’ Michail repeated, his eyes growing a little dark. Katerina looked between her two colleagues: he was dangerously close to displaying insubordination. Based on Sofia’s mood today, it seemed like an unwise move.

  Sofia levelled her gaze at him. Surprisingly, she didn’t raise her voice when she spoke. ‘As I said, it’s just a precaution. I agree that Alek and Irene’s murders make it unlikely this is anything to do with the Barlas family. I just want to make sure that we’ve explored everything thoroughly. Yiorgos is also running checks on all of Eleni’s school friends. They have possible motives too.’

  Michail seemed to perform a strange dance in response, where he moved from one foot to the other. Sofia sighed, resting her chin in her hands. ‘What is it, Michail? Go on.’

  ‘It is imperative that you both understand that I would never do anything to jeopardise an investigation and that I understood, under good authority, that the Barlas name had been cleared and removed from any active inquiry.’

  Sofia glanced uncomfortably in Katerina’s direction. Clearly, she had an idea about where this was going. ‘Michail, if you could get to the point?’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ He purposefully avoided looking at Katerina, which made her think that she also had a good idea about where this was going. ‘I have entered into a friendship with Maria Barlas. Yesterday afternoon, we met and shared a glass of wine. She willingly offered me information about her father to aid the investigation. I, of course, have not shared any sensitive information with her.’

  ‘I see.’ Sofia, who also seemed to be avoiding looking at Katerina, sighed. ‘Well, these checks are just precautions and nobody is under investigation at present. Do you have plans to see her again?’

  Two red patches appeared on Michail’s cheeks. ‘Yes. This evening.’

  ‘Right.’ Sofia shrugged, and looked to the ceiling, seemingly exhausted. ‘Keep an eye on comms, but I don’t see any reason for you to cancel any plans just yet. In any case, it’s usually best to act normally when in doubt. Raising suspicion doesn’t benefit us.’

  ‘I am in no doubt about Maria’s innocence in this matter.’ Michail spoke the words with such sincerity, that it almost brought tears to Katerina’s eyes. She gulped, hoping that her face didn’t reflect the burning sensation she felt creeping up her neck.

  ‘Right, well, I’ll get on with that.’ She stood to excuse herself.

  ‘I have one more question before we leave.’ Michail looked straight ahead, his back straight and his jaw tight. Katerina wanted more than anything to shut herself in her room and disappear into her laptop. It was irrational, of course. Michail could see whoever he liked. But that didn’t help ease the thorny weight that had appeared in the pit of her belly.

  ‘Pistachios. Did either of you notice pistachio trees growing on the Saturn House grounds?’

  ‘I’m not an expert.’ Sofia looked completely puzzled.

  ‘No…’ Katerina closed her eyes, trying to visualise the hotel. ‘No. Olive trees, but no pistachios. Why?’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ Michail didn’t offer any further information.

  Michail took a long, deep breath. Tonight, the air seemed thicker. He could taste, very slightly, the saltiness from the gentle sea spray. Maria had booked a table arranged a few metres away from the others, positioned on the sliver of concrete that reached out over the water. Of course, this meant that the waiting staff had further to walk, however, he appreciated the privacy as he waited.

  His finger traced the diagrams in his notepad. Sickle. Saturn. Inversion. Speakers. He was close. That, he could sense. But it was like there was an invasive mist intruding his thoughts, billowing into a cloud as soon as a theory sharpened and turned. He took a quick sip of wine and placed his head in his hands. The missing items were also bothering him. Teddy’s phone and clothing. Iraklis’s key card. Statistically, there was little hope of finding them now.

  He checked his watch and frowned. Maria was uncharacteristically late by quite some margin. This wasn’t entirely encouraging behaviour and, worse, he found his mind wandering to the many occasions at which Katerina had demonstrated poor time-keeping. He had, against his better judgement, learned to accept and even embrace this trait. He shook his head, realising that his lips had twitched into a small smile. Inexplicable. He had made it very clear that he could have no emotional attachment to Katerina. He had moved on, as required. Based on their last interaction, he was almost certain that she wanted even less to do with him.

  He jumped as his phone buzzed. Maria. ‘Maria! Your lateness is no problem at all. In fact, I have ordered a glass of–’

  A muffled sound came from the other end of the line. His stomach tightened. ‘Maria? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes… yes, sorry, Michail. It’s me.’

  He relaxed slightly but there was a blunt pause as he tried to work out how to proceed. ‘Excellent. Like I said, your lateness is no–’

  ‘Do you think… do you think you could just come here?’

  Michail felt his head jerk up. Her voice sounded throaty and hoarse, as if she had been crying. ‘Here?’

  ‘Baba’s? He’s at work and… look, I understand if it’s a bit much. Second date…’

  ‘It makes no difference to me.’ He motioned for the waiter to bring him the bill. ‘But is there any reason for the change in location? You sound upset.’

  There was a pause at the end of the line. Michail stood abruptly, the pit of his stomach tightening. Something seemed unusual, which was rarely a good thing. ‘Answer yes or no if you can: do you need help?’

  He tensed as he awaited her reply.

  ‘No! God, no!’ She eventually gave a broken laugh, signalling that she was most likely not in imminent danger, at least. The Barlas house was a short walk from the main town; he could walk there in less than fifteen minutes. ‘So are you coming here?’

  He could see no reason why not. ‘Yes. Certainly. I’m leaving now.’

  With that, he downed his wine and set to a brisk, not-quite-urgent walk.

  Katerina was squished against a wall in the corner of the police station, scrolling through the paperwork relating to Eleni’s suicide. There was little more distressing than the black and white documentation about the death of a child. It was sad, terribly so, but the detached format of the statements, the way that they recounted the final hours of a young life, seemed to glare from the screen, so hollow and cold.

  She seemed happy, like normal.

  There was maybe something troubling her.

  Some guy… older.

  We had no idea.

  Her friends’ recounts read like a bad film script. Insufficient and clichéd. There was nothing here that told her anything new. She clicked onto the next set of notes, searching for any reference that might point to Teddy. Nothing at all.

  She almost missed it. Her eyes had glazed over as the words moved, generic and useless, up the screen as she moved to the bottom of the document. However, she caught it at the last moment: an exchange between Eleni and Irene.

  Eleni, did you manage to ask about what I told you? It’s very important.

  Then, on the next day:

  Please reply to me! I’m counting on you. I’m sorry to ask, but I have no other options. She listens to you. If you could just ask…

  That night:

  ELENI?! I’M ASKING YOU FOR HELP! PLEASE. YOU MUST DO THIS FOR ME. IMAGINE IF THIS WAS YOUR FATHER!

  Eleni had replied five minutes afterwards:

  Will you stop messaging me? I’ve said I can’t, okay? She’s just abroad. If she wanted to be in touch, she would. Just stop messaging, okay?

  She seemed to have blocked Irene’s number from that point onwards. Katerina studied the exchange again. Obviously, Irene was trying to find out where her daughter Tatiana had disappeared to. She listens to you. Who was she talking about? Who did she want Eleni to speak with? Tatiana? Someone else?

  Katerina made a note and continued to look through the files. There wasn’t much else. Nothing had been treated as suspicious, there was certainly nothing to indicate that the Barlases knew who Teddy Menkopf was. Michail was right: Maria had nothing to do with any of this. The stab of disappointment hardly caught her by surprise, which was stupid, she knew.

  Her phone ringing made her jump. She shook her head, attempting to sharpen her mind, and answered the call.

  ‘Katerina Galanis?’ Her eyes continued to scan the screen for any other odd exchanges. She shook her head silently, annoyed at the distraction of the phone call.

  ‘It’s the ticketing office at Saronic Ferries in Piraeus. We had a request about a ticket from one of our customers?’

  Katerina sighed, hanging her head. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Maria Barlas? She purchased a ticket on Thursday 24th July for the afternoon crossing. Er, at 3.40pm.’

  A dull ringing sound shifted between Katerina’s ears. She breathed in, her throat dry. ‘Uh, can you double-check that? She told us that she got the next morning’s crossing? The 25th?’

  ‘It’s definitely her. We’ve checked our CCTV footage too, to be sure, since you sent us through a photograph. Definitely the 24th at 3.40pm.’

  Katerina’s eyes flicked to the time in the corner of the computer screen. Michail would already be on his date. She managed a ‘thank you’ to the man on the other end of the line and began running to the car as she frantically called Michail.

  Entasis

  The Barlas house was a small white square building at the end of a narrow street. The buzz of the diners in the numerous restaurants was still audible, though nobody ventured this far up the road. Despite the relatively central location, a distinct feeling of abandonment rattled about the discarded beer cans and empty plant pots.

  Maria opened the door before Michail had a chance to ring the bell. She looked worse than she had sounded on the phone. Her make-up smudged black beneath her eyes and she held her body in a tense hunch. As if she had something to be embarrassed about, she bowed her head, avoiding his gaze.

  ‘Maria, is something wrong?’

  She ushered him into the house, placing a hand between his shoulder blades to guide him into a small living area. Unsure how to behave, he stood in between the two couches, which faced the television, and waited for her to offer an explanation. He noticed that his right-hand fingers began to tap against his thigh. One. Two. Three. Then again, on the left. He clenched his eyes closed, and then again. There was no need to feel overwhelmed. This was a perfectly normal scenario. He forced himself to hold his hands still by his side.

  ‘You’re humming.’ Maria walked to the kitchen and set out two wine glasses on the counter. When he didn’t reply, she nodded in his direction and said gently, ‘I sometimes sing without realising it too. Did you know you were–’

  ‘Yes. I sometimes hum when I haven’t syphoned effectively,’ he replied. ‘The case has taken a great deal of my concentration.’

  Maria cocked her head to one side, as if considering what he had said with great thought, and then handed him a glass of wine.

  ‘You must be wondering why I’m in such a state…’ She sniffed before taking a long gulp of her drink. ‘I’m sorry…’

  ‘No apology is necessary. I don’t share your reticence about having a second date at your childhood home.’

  She laughed as they settled onto the couch, but, like the archaic warrior smile, her laugh was empty and hollow. It wasn’t a wholly unpleasant sound, but one that felt like an imitation, as if it knew what it should be but lacked the heart, the humanity. He studied her face, which remained pinched with what he calculated as some kind of anxiety. ‘If it is not too personal a question, may I ask what’s troubling you?’

  For a moment, her eyes widened, panicked and sharp. Then, without warning, she planted her forehead in her hands and groaned. ‘It’s just all so… it’s all so messed up. A total mess.’

  It was as if the Maria he had met previously dissolved before his eyes. Her arms barely held her head up as she wept into her hands; they seemed limp and devoid of the life, the tenacity, which used to course almost demonstrably through her veins. ‘Is it your father? Has something happened?’

  ‘Oh stop! Stop, will you!’ She flung her head upwards, looking to the ceiling, a retching sound escaping her throat. She lowered her voice. ‘Stop being so concerned about me. I don’t deserve it.’

  One. Two. Three. His fingers tapped against the side of his thigh again. I don’t deserve it. Setting his glass on the table, he scanned the room. It was homely; decorated with care. Maria’s prints hung on the wall below the staircase: five landscapes showing the same scene of the view from behind the Temple of Apollo, each printed using a different colour. The single column reached up into the sky, the swirls of the sea below it depicted through impressively rendered incisions, curling back into spirals and licks through the block colours. She undoubtedly possessed a lot of skill – the details were conceived in such minute, punctilious movement.

  The colours blended, red, orange, pink, green, into a murky grey. He blinked, refocusing his eyes. The volute patterns emerged more clearly. He pushed himself from the couch and walked towards the prints. ‘How does one achieve such detail, here? The incisions, they’re exact.’

  His eyes fell to the volute patterning at the top of the columns. The meticulous width, the steady curvature that wrapped around the space so confidently. He realised he was shaking his head. This could not be. The cave, the feeling of being cut loose, let go into the atmosphere, split into chaotic, random little pieces. His chest tightened and he breathed, slowly, fighting to find a sliver of reason. A sensible explanation.

  ‘Maria?’ His lips moved over her name as he turned to face her. ‘I said how–’

  He was cut short when he saw what she had placed on the table. The small room began to move, at first, slowly, as if the walls were shifting, breaking free from their bonds, bending towards him. One point six one eight. One point six one eight. One point six one eight. His numbers. He hadn’t thought about them for a whole year. His signals of order, of what was right. They expanded in his mind, pushing like early saplings, virile and bright. One point six one eight. One point six one eight. One point six one eight. Without being able to help himself, he turned to look at her prints again. His phone vibrated, but his hand didn’t seem to move. The single column. Out of context, alone. Its curvature, its entasis laid bare and obvious without the rest of the temple. His stomach began to churn as he reached for his phone.