I felt like such a total beginner. Putting my foot in it and making mistakes. Rosemary was right.
“I’ll see you soon,” she told me and hung up.
I rushed back to my hotel and up to my room.
Where did Gray’s wife fit into this? Had she faked her own murder and then gone off overseas? Had she and Kara met up somewhere in Greece? Nothing was making one iota of sense.
I’d been to Greece with James on his business trips. But really, all I could claim to know of it was a resort pool and some monuments. James had been off at his meetings while I’d basically stayed at the hotel. Greece was quite a few degrees more foreign to me than England. The difficulties rose in magnitude. There was also the nagging thought that Kara didn’t want to be found.
I gave the cab driver the name of Rosemary’s hotel.
The driver pulled up outside a modest hotel—at least, modest in comparison to the grand, vintage hotel opposite, even though it rose higher than the vintage hotel. I paid my fare, dumping some cash into the driver’s hand and letting him figure it out. Pounds totally confused me. If he swindled me, I wouldn’t know. There was a time that being swindled would have bothered me, but those days were long gone. I didn’t need to count my dollars now.
I called Rosemary so that she could come down and meet me, but she didn’t answer. Perhaps I was meant to go straight up. I tried the elevator, but it wouldn’t budge. Apparently, I needed a keycard from the reception desk in order to operate it.
Deciding that I couldn’t be bothered with that, I took the stairs. I was fit enough. At least, I thought I was. By the fifteenth floor, I was puffing and sweating profusely, my hands wet on the metal stair bannister. Now I had nine more floors to go. I dragged my feet up each stair, cursing myself that I wasn’t doing more hill runs. I made a mental note to add hill runs to my schedule.
I stepped out onto the twenty-fourth floor. Snatching some tissues from my bag, I dabbed at my face. Rosemary had asked me to look like a tourist, and I did—just a sweaty, dishevelled one with her hair stuck to the back of her neck.
The halls were stuffy and narrow, the carpet worn, everything boxed in. I took a breath of air-conditioned air that didn’t seem to have enough oxygen in it.
I located room 2416 in the rabbit warren of hallways. The door was slightly ajar. I knocked. And knocked again.
Perhaps she was in the shower and left the door open for me.
Would it be bad etiquette just to enter? Would she accuse me of being American if I did that?
Opening the door fully, I stepped inside.
God, please don’t let me surprise Rosemary as she’s walking naked out of the shower or something.
The room was empty, the decor as dated as the corridors.
“Hello? Hello?” Tentatively, I walked through and tapped on the half-open bedroom door. “Hello?”
I pushed the door open.
A scream rushed from my lungs.
Rosemary was here. On the bed. Blood all around her. Throat cut. Blood soaking into her white shirt and making thin trails into the waistband of her skirt. Her skirt was pushed up and her underwear gone.
I backed away, horror flashing in my mind. There was nothing I could do to help.
The taste of bile soured my mouth as I reached the elevator. I couldn’t make it move. Fingers fumbling, I jabbed at the elevator emergency button.
“Hello” came a female voice. “Are you experiencing an issue?”
“Help . . .” I forced my suddenly rasping voice to work. “She’s dead. She’s dead! Oh God . . .”
37. Evie
THE POLICE CAME AT DAWN.
They took the bodies of Saul and his murderer away. In the monastery scriptorium, a detective grilled each of us in turn about the events of the night before.
Poppy stepped out into the garden with red, weepy eyes from her police interview. “Poor Saul. I just can’t believe this happened to him. Doesn’t seem real.”
Brother Vito appeared and told us that the police had requested we wait outside the monastery walls while they searched the monastery and grounds. We were led out through the gate and onto the hills, where the peacocks scattered in surprise at the intrusion.
Far below, a police boat chugged around the entire island, checking the perimeter.
I walked the hills with Poppy, Richard and Cormack, the sultry breeze lulling me into a sense that things would be okay despite what had happened last night. Even Richard and Cormack had completely mended their differences after Richard’s revelations about living in the Las Vegas drains.
Beyond the bare hills, the island displayed vegetation and a small river.