‘Unfortunately, there seems to have been some sort of malfunction with the villa’s security system.’ I feel a dart of relief as Demetriou rubs his five o’clock shadow. ‘Would you be happy for us to take a look at your mobile phone?’
The question catches me unawares.WouldI be happy? Hardly. The last thing I need is Greece’s version of Inspector Clouseau trawling through my text messages. If he finds the ones from my online tormentor, he’ll add two and two and makeheaven knows what. But refusing to hand over my phone will look deeply suspicious.
‘I don’t have it with me,’ I stall.
‘No problem.’ His eyes crinkle, but this time his smile is more shark-like than bumbling detective. ‘I can wait.’ As if to demonstrate, he leans back in his seat and laces his hands behind his head.
‘You want itnow?’
‘Please.’
I sigh loudly and haul myself up from my chair. Demetriou’s eyes follow me as I march from the room. In our bedroom, I go straight to my phone, which is charging on the dressing table, then cross to the window to check Barney is still on the terrace with the others. I open the phone and trawl through the messages from my unknown caller, my finger poised, ready to delete, delete, delete. The police could recover them if they really wanted, but with luck Felix’s killer will be found first. Right now, I just need to stall for time.
I skim the messages one last time and frown.
I know what you did.
Don’t think you’re going to get away with it.
hypocrisy / noun–The practice of claiming to have higher standards or more noble beliefs than you actually live by.
There’s something about the wording that pricks my memory. But no matter how much I try to unearth it, my mind refuses to give it up.
A shadow falls across the dressing table and I look up with a jerk. Demetriou is standing in the doorway, watching me.
Despite the heat, a cool chill settles over my skin. I have no idea how long he’s been there.
51
AMBER
Willow is curled up in a ball on her bed, a pile of snotty tissues beside her. I let myself into the room and slide the tray onto her bedside table.
‘I brought you tea and biscuits. My gran used to swear by a cup of sweet tea for shock. My mum used to swear by a bottle of vodka, of course, but I’m with Gran on this one.’
As I hoped, I’m rewarded with the ghost of a smile, and Willow slowly uncurls, wrapping her arms around her knees. I pour her a cup of tea and add a couple of sugars.
‘How are you doing?’
‘Not great. I keep expecting to hear him announcing it’s wine o’clock or happy hour, you know? He loves a party, does Dad.’ Her voice catches and she swallows a sob. ‘And that’s the other thing. I keep thinking about him in the present tense, but he isn’t anymore, is he? In the present tense, I mean.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I murmur, because what else is there to say?
‘Have you spoken to that detective guy yet?’
I shake my head. ‘Victoria and Barney have both given their statements. Dominic’s in there now so I guess I’m next.’
‘What doyouthink happened to Dad?’ she asks.
I’m about to tell her I have no idea when her phone beeps. She snatches it up, her eyes widening as she reads. Pale-faced, she powers it down and drops it back on the bed.
‘Your mum?’
‘What? No.’ She considers me for a moment, her forehead wrinkled. ‘Can I trust you, Amber?’
I feel a stirring of unease, wondering what on earth she’s about to share. Does she know what happened to Felix? Did she have a part in it? But just as the thought enters my head I dismiss it as ridiculous. Of course she didn’t.
‘One hundred per cent.’
