Page 1 of Deep Blue Lies
PROLOGUE
Twenty-Two Years Ago
The sun was yet to rise behind the hills that formed the spine of the island, mottling the sky with pinks and pastel blues. The sea was still, the bay a flawless mirror to the colours above, broken only by the wakes of two small fishing boats returning to harbour after working through the night.
She parked the van in the hotel’s parking area and swung open the double doors.
There were two boxes to deliver that morning – peppers, green and red, glossy aubergines, tomatoes and a paper-wrapped slab of feta cheese. She stacked them one on top of the other and lifted the load into her arms. The van she left open. Theft was a problem for the mainland, not here.
The kitchen door was propped open to let the heat from the ovens escape. Inside, four white-jacketed chefs moved with brisk, early-morning purpose.
“Thanks – efharistó,” said one. She didn’t know him, but smiled at the attempt at the local language. The resort had a steady flow of foreign workers. Most stayed a season. Some didn’t last theweek.
“Parakaló,” she replied – you’re welcome. Then: “Is Jason here?”
“The boss man? Haven’t seen him yet.” The chef switched to English and turned to the room. “Yo! Anyone seen Jase?” The other workers looked up, but no one had.
“What you need him for?” the man asked.
She hesitated. “Just an issue with the payment. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“He should be here later,” the man replied, then frowned. “He should be here now.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “He normally is.”
They shared a glance. Jason lived for this place. Never took a day off. He usually worked from before dawn until long after dark. It sometimes seemed the resort couldn’t function without him.
“You could try his room,” the man offered.
The thought of him needing sleep surprised her. “Where is it?”
“You know the staff block?”
“I think so.”
“Just past that. Nothing else there, you can’t miss it.”
She took the van out through the manicured gardens, past the low row of basic rooms where the off-island staff were housed. A few minutes further, she pulled up outside a small, single-storey building and alongside Jason’s battered Land Rover.
She got out, looked around, and then approached the porch. She saw then that the door was slightly ajar.
“Hello? Jason?”
The woman considered turning back. But there was nothing to fear here. And the resort had missed a payment. She had to speak with Jason. It would be a simple mistake, nothing to be worried about, she was sure.
“Jason? Are you here?”
She reached the doorway. Through the gap she could make out something of the shapes inside: a double bed. A thing on the floor. What was that?
She knocked, her fingers inadvertently pushing the door a little further open, revealing more of that thing. She waited. No reply.
She had no right to enter. But something in her was now afraid. The hairs on her bare arms lifted. She felt a chill despite the warmth of the day.
She pushed the door wider open.
The smell hit her now. Something cloying and metallic, undercut with the sulphur note that reminded her of fireworks.
“Jason?Mandy?”
