But the blood. The room. I…

  Suddenly, she was alone again. You’ll need to clean the room. I can’t be a part of it, understand? Use the supplies in the cupboard. You can do this. Be thorough. Sweet-pea? Understand?

  She nodded, a quick, continuous movement, staring at the body strewn on the sand. She could do this. She had to do this. But then, the chill of realisation. Teddy’s key card. His clothes. She’d left them in the room. How would she get back in?

  Had she been thinking straight, she never would have used her father’s key card, hung up behind the door to his office. However, it was the quickest way. Irene had disappeared, fuming, ranting about Lily. Everyone else was asleep.

  And so, her father’s card in hand, she ascended the stairs, ready to clean up her mess.

  Cat

  Michail sat at a café on Iraklidon. He stirred his coffee three times to the right, then to the left, then to the right again. It was a beautiful day. His eyes trailed along the patches of shrubbery until they rested on what was still his favourite building. The Parthenon. It still towered above him. It was still truly a monument of peace. Only now, it was tinged with a deep sadness, which he was certain would never abate. He took a slow sip of coffee and let his eyes fall searchingly at the bend in the street.

  There she was, running up the street, belt askew, shirt pressed moderately, though not expertly, sweating already, breathless and rushed. ‘Michail! I am sorry!’

  ‘Again,’ Michail replied to the blank space in front of him, wondering if his voice had always sounded so flat, so disapproving.

  Her image smiled and he felt a phantom slap on his shoulder. She repeated after him, ‘Again.’ He could hear the playful lilt in her voice as if she was here.

  She sat down on the chair beside him – although, of course, the chair remained untouched beneath the table – chattering about her sisters and her mother and her aunty and some other irrelevant business. Michail held a hand up, remembering what he had said perfectly. He formed his lips over the word and said it silently. ‘Stop.’

  She blinked at his hand and patiently lifted her own before grasping his. He knew, he remembered, that she had then placed both their hands back on the table so they could get on with their business. But, for now, he was happy to sit with his hand in hers. She knew, he realised, even at the very beginning, how to calm him. She knew him.

  ‘Michail?’

  He bowed his head as Sofia pulled out the chair. The scene before him faded, disintegrating into the chatter of the tourists. ‘Major Sampson, I expected to see you at headquarters?’

  She smiled at him and he noticed she was back to wearing her characteristic red lipstick. In fact, she seemed less tired altogether; the dark circles beneath her eyes had disappeared. ‘I thought I’d enjoy a coffee with you first. I had a feeling you might be here,’ she said.

  ‘Ah.’ He looked at his cup, his chest tightening. ‘Of course, you must have been aware that this was our meeting place.’

  ‘Yes.’ She gestured to the waiter to bring her a coffee. A silence grew between them and Michail was given the distinct impression that he was expected to fill it.

  ‘I believe you are assessing my emotional state before my first day back?’

  ‘If I were, how would you describe it?’

  ‘I would assess it as “Below Average”.’ He stirred his coffee again, mainly so that he didn’t need to look Sofia in the face. ‘Of course, I am being proactive. I am reading, jogging…’ He glanced at the Parthenon again. ‘Being back in Athens helps.’

  Sofia shifted in her seat. ‘It’s probably not at the forefront of your mind, but Domenico, Lily, and all the major players are facing what I’d tentatively call iron-clad charges. Tatiana is complicated, Innes is cleared of murder but not much else. Helen, the girl who…’ Her voice trailed off. ‘The girl we found Katerina with, she heard Lily’s confession from the next room. With the memory card, it’s pretty much a done deal. She saved countless young women. Sorting through the images, the videos,’ she grimaced, ‘…well, some good came out of it.’

  He looked at the table. ‘Yes. She helped them. Unlike me. I… I was misled again, by Maria–’

  ‘We all missed Maria.’ Sofia tutted, as if she was annoyed at herself. ‘There was no reason to suspect her, Michail. She’d been nothing but helpful. That was sort of the point. She was trying to help us as much as she could without getting caught herself. I think she finally realised that, unless she confessed, we’d never stop Lily and Domenico. Teddy’s murder kept throwing us off the scent.’

  The prickly memory of his lips against hers, her laugh in his ear, the view of the sea below and the Temple of Apollo behind them crawled into his mind. He winced, wishing he could erase every moment he had spent with her. The whole thing was a brutal kick to Katerina’s memory. Katerina. The great, gaping numbness filled his head with white noise. ‘We should never have let her go in.’

  She sighed and leant back in the chair. ‘We made the best decision we could at the time. She wanted to help, Michail. And she did. I know–’

  ‘I didn’t tell her how I felt.’ The words spilled out of him, completely unprecedented. ‘I didn’t tell her. And now I can’t.’

  ‘You shouldn’t blame–’

  ‘Incorrect. I am to blame. I was perfectly aware that syphoning my feelings was the right thing to do. Instead, I locked anything to do with her away. I was cold. So cold that I am certain she took risks that she should not have.’ He took a sharp puff of breath. ‘And now… now there is nothing I can do.’

  He didn’t expect Sofia to respond; there was nothing logical that she could say. He was right. His actions, his lack of emotional maturity had made Katerina feel like she had to prove herself. It was his fault that she was gone. He closed his eyes to ensure Sofia didn’t notice his tears forming. To his utter surprise, she reached forwards and grabbed his hand. Looking up, he realised she was crying too. ‘You know, until very recently, I would have agreed with you about that. But…’ she took a long, slow breath, ‘…I think you can tell her, Michail. Syphon, if that’s what you call it?’

  ‘Correct.’

  She laughed, although it was a sad sound. ‘I thought for a long time that it was better to ignore lost loved ones. It felt easier, more… detached. I was wrong about that, Michail. I… you should remember Katerina, because when you remember someone, you can talk to them, in a sense.’

  He had never seen Sofia behave in such a way. He squeezed her hand, hoping it would convey gratitude. For a short while, they sat in silence. Then, having woven its way down the Acropolis foothills, a small tabby cat circled the table and, without invitation, jumped onto Michail’s lap and nestled into his uniform, purring gently. He frowned and moved to brush it off him, when Sofia chuckled. ‘Let her be. Cats can sense it when you need some support.’

  He sat very straight as the animal looked up at him. Its yellow eyes stared into his, unflinching, like it was sorting through his thoughts. He raised his hand very slowly, frightened that he might scare it away, then lowered his hand to stroke its head. The purr grew more intense. ‘She liked cats.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He tickled it behind the ears and chuckled as it rubbed its furry head against his hand, begging him to do it again. His laughter shocked him; he had not made the sound for a long while. The cat, considering its job done, jumped down from his lap. He stood, smoothing down his shirt. ‘We’ll be late if we don’t leave now, Major Sampson.’

  ‘All right, let me just finish my–’

  ‘Out of the question.’ He folded his arms. ‘It is our responsibility to maintain the smooth and orderly running of the Special Violent Crime Squad.’

  She raised her eyebrows but smiled at him, giving him a small nod. ‘Understood, Sergeant Mikras.’

  Every year, towards the end of the summer, small groups of tourists wait at the water’s edge in Aegina for their return trip to Athens. The heat is still lava-like and heavy, although the breeze of the sea rolls in at dusk, bringing relief to tired, be-sandaled feet and rouged cheeks. Were one of them to be particularly observant, they would notice a serious-looking policeman disembarking their boat before they board. A few others follow him, yet his are the first feet to hit dry ground.

  If the observant tourist were to continue watching, they would see how his lips tremble ever so slightly, as he surveys the town from a distance. It seems like he might change his mind, turn around, retrace his steps, and run back aboard. But then he would have nowhere to place the bouquet of flowers. Nor would he have anywhere to recite his note. So, he marches, his head held high, his chin jutted forwards, onwards. Of course, the tourist doesn’t see what happens next. They don’t see him walk the long way at the side of the dusty road, one steady foot after another, ignorant of the beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, for about one hour. They don’t see him stop, abruptly, swaying backwards slightly, in front of what looks like a boarded-up, deserted hotel on the beach. They don’t see him kneel in the sand, unconcerned about his uniform, place the flowers before him, then carefully unfold a piece of paper.

  He takes a deep, brave breath, and begins. ‘Katerina…’

  * * *

  THE END

  Afterword

  This second installment of the Hellenic Mystery series was, again, such fun to write. I urge anyone visiting Athens to take the short boat trip to Aegina – it’s a beautiful spot. I would spend a night or two there, however, it’s very easy to treat it as a day trip from Athens.

  * * *

  A few artistic liberties have been taken with locations; the geography of the island itself is mostly accurate and true to life. It is well worth visiting both the remains of The Temple of Apollo and The Temple of Aphaia. Both the east and west pedimental sculptures from The Temple of Aphaia (which help Michail solve the case) are on display in the Glyptothek in Munich. The ‘Mask Gallery’ in London’s National Portrait Gallery exists, although the stairways and the vaults beneath the gallery are embellishments.

  Also by V.J. Randle

  The Athenian Murders

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  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to Betsy, Fred, Tara and Hannah at Bloodhound Books for all your support and enthusiasm – it’s a pleasure working with all of you. Also, to the incomparable editor Abbie Rutherford, thank you for your eagle-eyed insight and sensitive suggestions. If anyone is in need of a superb editor, I would endorse Abbie any day.

  To my Dad, Ethan, who always reads the first draft of my books and offers his unparalleled narrative and structural thoughts, thank you.

  Thanks to my husband, Will, who provides calm and perspective for me, especially amidst book releases!

  About the Author

  V.J. Randle is the author of The Athenian Murders and The Saturn House Killings. She read Classics at King's College, University of Cambridge before teaching Latin and Greek for over a decade. She has given many a tour of Hellenic sites over the years, both in the capacity of educator and holiday-maker. If you spot an excitable woman in a maxi skirt waving her arms about on top of The Acropolis, chances are it's her. Do say hello!

  She now lives and writes in the North-East of Scotland (via a brief spell in Canada) with her husband and cat, Athena.

  A note from the publisher

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  V.J. Randle, The Saturn House Killings

 

 

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