“I moved them. I hid them. It was meant to be a joke, I—”
But Jason was already on him—grabbing hold of him. “Where are they? Tell me!”
“Jason, let him go!” Kate said.
“Where are the guns?”
“Let him go!”
Jason released him, and Leo sank to the floor, against the wall, weeping, hugging his knees.
“She’s dead!” Leo screamed. “Don’t you even care?”
He covered his face with his hands. Kate went over to him and pulled him into her arms. “Darling, shh, shh. Please—tell us. Where are the guns?”
Leo raised one hand and pointed at the wooden chest. “In there.”
Jason charged up to the chest. He threw open the lid.
He scowled. “Is this a joke?”
“What?” Leo got up and made his way over. He looked inside.
The chest was empty.
Leo was astonished. “But—I put them there—”
“When?”
“Before dinner. Someone’s moved them.”
“Who? Why would anyone do that?”
Kate frowned as something occurred to her. “Where’s Nikos?”
“I am here,” said a voice behind them.
They spun around. Nikos was standing in the doorway. He was holding a gun.
There was a slight pause, then Jason said guardedly, “Lana’s been shot.”
Nikos nodded. “Yes, I know.”
Jason glanced at the gun in Nikos’s hand. “Where did you get that?”
“This is my gun.”
“Are you sure? All mine are missing.”
Nikos shrugged. “It is mine.”
Jason held out his hand. “Well, you better give it to me.”
Nikos shook his head—a definite no. Jason decided not to press him for it. Instead, he said slowly and emphatically, “We need to search the island. Do you understand? There’s an intruder. He is armed and dangerous. We need to find him.”
Then I entered—the bearer of bad tidings. I didn’t know how to say it; so I just came out with it.
“Agathi spoke to the police in Mykonos.”
Jason looked up. “And? When are they getting here?”
“They’re not.”
“What?”
“They’re not coming. It’s the wind. They can’t get a boat across.”
Kate stared at me. Her face tightened. “But they have to—they must—”
“They said it’ll calm down by dawn.… They’ll try then.”
“But—that’s in five hours.”
“I know.” I nodded. “Until then, we’re on our own.”
21
It was decided that Jason, Nikos, and I should search the island for an intruder. I told them it was a waste of time.
“That’s madness. You seriously think someone landed here—in this weather? That’s impossible!”
“What other option is there?” Jason glared at me. “Someone’s here, and we’re going to find him. Now move.”
And so, armed with battery-powered flashlights, we ventured into the night.
We began patrolling the path through the olive grove, shining our beams into the dark. The olive trees were thickset, revealing only spiderwebs and birds’ nests.
As we walked, Jason kept glancing at the gun in Nikos’s hand. Jason clearly didn’t trust him. I didn’t trust either of them with a gun, to be honest—I kept as close an eye on them as they kept on each other.
We made our way to the coast and began to search the beaches. This was an arduous task, with the wind attacking us as we walked. The fury was relentless, slashing our faces, hurling sand at us; screaming in our ears, shoving us off-balance every chance it got. But we persevered, and it took us a little over an hour, following the dirt path that snaked around the perimeter of the island, rising and falling along the shoreline.
Finally, we reached the north side of the island: a sheer cliff face, dropping down to the water below—where it was impossible for anyone to moor a boat; and there was nowhere to hide among the bare rocks.
At last, what I said earlier now became apparent to the others. There was no boat; no intruder.
No one else was on this island.
No one, but the six of us.
22
Perhaps this is a good place to pause—and take stock, before we proceed.
I am aware of the conventions of this genre. I know what’s meant to happen next. I know what you’re expecting. A murder investigation, a dénouement, a twist.
That’s how it’s supposed to play out.
But as I warned you at the start, that’s not the way this is going to go.
So, before our story deviates entirely from this familiar sequence of events—before we take a series of dark turns—let us consider how an alternative narrative might unfold.
Let us, for a moment, imagine a detective—a Greek version of Agatha Christie’s Belgian, perhaps? He appears on the island, a few hours later, once the wind has died down.
An older man, he cautiously steps off the police boat, assisted by a junior officer. He is tall and lean, with gray hair and a small, neatly clipped black pencil mustache. His eyes are dark and piercing. “I am Inspector Mavropoulos, of the Mykonian police,” he says with a strong Greek accent.
His name, Agathi informs us, means “blackbird”—messenger of death.
Looking rather like a bird of prey, the inspector perches at the head of the kitchen table. Once he and his officers drink their little cups of Greek coffee, devouring the sweet biscuits conjured up by Agathi, the inspector begins his investigation.
Brushing away some crumbs from his mustache, he requests to see us all—one by one—for an interrogation.
During these interviews, Mavropoulos quickly establishes the facts.
The ruin, where Lana’s body was found, is roughly a twelve-minute walk from the main house—along the path, through the olive grove. The murder itself took place at midnight—when the shots were heard. The body was found soon afterward.
As Leo was the first to appear at the ruin, he is the first to be interviewed by Mavropoulos.
“My boy,” he says, gently, “I am very sorry for your loss. I’m afraid I must ask you to put your grief aside for a moment and answer my questions as clearly as you can. Where were you when you heard the gunshots?”
Leo explains that he was throwing up—in the newly dug vegetable garden that he and Nikos had been working on. The inspector assumes Leo was sick from alcohol—and Leo decides not to disillusion him, suspecting marijuana might still be illegal in Greece.
The inspector, taking pity on Leo’s raw emotional state, doesn’t press him—and releases him after a few questions.
Next to be interviewed is Jason. His responses strike Mavropoulos as evasive, even strange. Jason insists that, at midnight, he was on the other side of the island, by the cliffs. When pressed for a reason, Jason claims he was looking for Lana, as he couldn’t find her anywhere in the house. The cliffs seem an odd place to search, but the inspector doesn’t comment—for the moment.
He simply notes Jason has no alibi.
Nor does Kate, alone in the summerhouse.
Nor does Agathi, asleep in bed.
Nor does Nikos, dozing in his cottage.
And where was I? you ask. Boozing in the living room—but you’ve only my word for it. In fact, none of us can prove where we were.
Which means any of the six of us could have done it.
But why would we?
Why would any of us kill Lana? We all loved Lana.
At least, I did. Although I’m not sure Inspector Mavropoulos fully grasps the concept of soulmates, I do my best to explain to him I had no motive to murder Lana.
Which isn’t strictly true.
I don’t inform him, for instance, that Lana left me a fortune in her will.