The Greek Island

Prologue

He lies face down on the sun-baked earth, his right arm tucked neatly under his head and his left flung out at a right angle.

His expensive deck shoes, linen suit and chunky gold bracelet look absurdly out of place among the piles of rubble and rusting machinery surrounding the half-finished villa with its stunning views over the glittering Ionian Sea.

What drunken idiot thinks it’s a good idea to sleep off a hangover in the middle of a dusty Greek building site?

I sink onto my haunches, swat away a bluebottle buzzing around his head and give his shoulder a shake.

‘Hey, you can’t crash here.’

He doesn’t stir, so I nudge him with my foot.

‘You have to wake up,’ I shout, my patience snapping. ‘It’s dangerous.’

But he doesn’t so much as twitch.

Exhaling loudly, I roll him onto his back, recoiling in horror. It’s a sight I know will haunt me for the rest of my life.

A scalp matted with blood, a pulpy mess where his left temple should be, and wide, vacant eyes that stare unseeing into the cerulean sky.

Not drunk.

Dead.