Page 1 of Deep Blue Lies

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 the week.

“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? ”

She pushed the door again, and took a step forward.

The curtains were drawn, so it took a moment to adjust to the dark.

Then her eyes went back to the thing on the floor.

Deck shoes, socks, a pair of legs, tanned but twisted.

Then his pastel-blue shirt, the staff uniform Jason always wore.

His arms – one over his body, the other wedged underneath. Then she saw his head.

Her eyes took in the small, neat hole beneath his chin first, connected it with the way his head was driven back, exposing his throat.

But when she looked for his face it was gone.

Just a ruin remained – a gory mess of blood dripping off white bone, the pale grey jelly of brain.

One eye stared back at her. The other was missing.

The wall behind him, once whitewashed, was now painted in a fan of red.

She blinked, gasped, inhaling the thick, coppery air which now made her gag. No scream came. She couldn’t. Her breath came in jagged bursts. Her mind reeled.

She took a step back, her hand over her mouth. But then her eyes widened further. She couldn’t just leave, she had to check, on her . The woman swallowed, from somewhere found the courage, then moved forward further into the room.

Oh no. Oh no.

Mandy’s body lay half-hidden behind the double bed. Only her torso and head were visible, cheek pressed to the tiles, eyes wide open. Her blonde hair, once so pretty, was tangled and matted with blood, a pool of it lay on the ground around her .

The woman tried to look away, but her eyes fell back on Jason’s empty half-head. Then she screamed.

A moment later her breath came back, in panicked gasps. She noticed the bed. In the centre lay a single sheet of folded paper. A note.

Her eyes fixed on it. She nearly reached out. But her senses returned. Whatever it said, she had to leave it for the police. She had to get out, call for help.

She began to turn, her mind urging escape from this place of sudden, awful death…and that’s when she heard it. Unmistakable.

The sound of breathing.

There was someone else in the room.