Page 68 of Deep Blue Lies

SIXTY-SEVEN

“You are English, yes?”

I nod.

“You were the first person to find the body, yes?”

The body? I glance across, but I can’t see her. Has she died?

“Yes.”

“What is your full name?” He pulls out a notepad, opens it and flicks a few pages forward, then he waits, a pen ready.

“Um, Ava Whitaker.”

“Are you a tourist? Where are you staying?”

I tell him that I work here, at the Bar Sunset, and give him as much of my address as I can remember.

“Do you know the woman who was attacked?”

I open my mouth to answer, and then freeze.

It occurs to me – and I don’t know if it’s crazy – but if I say “yes”, am I going to be a suspect?

But if I say no, then I’ll be lying to the police.

I just freeze, my mouth open. But then I have to say something , the police officer is staring at me, his face darkening the longer I hesitate.

“Um, yes.” I don’t make any decision that this is the best answer, the word just comes out.

“She is a friend of yours?” he confirms, apparently this doesn’t surprise him. “You will give me her name? ”

“Imogen Grant. She’s not really a friend, she’s a friend of my mother.”

“OK.” It takes him an age to get the spelling of her name right. In the background I see they’re moving the sled that Imogen is now on, carrying it down the beach towards the medic boat.

“Is she still alive?”

“We will need a statement.” The officer acts as if he didn’t hear me. “At the police station. For now, can you tell me what you saw? Did you see who attacked the woman?”

I shake my head and try to focus. I recount what happened when I came around the headland into the third bay.

But I’m starting to think now, behind the words that fall from my mouth.

How much can I say to the police? How much should I say?

I don’t know the answers, and I need space to think, but luckily I get it.

“Please wait here. We will speak with you more.” The officer goes off, speaking to the other people still standing around the little cove.

I watch as the medical team finish their work.

They have Imogen in the boat now, and they’re strapping her in securely.

It takes me a moment, but I realise the way they’re dealing with her, she must still be alive.

She has to be, because now more than ever I need to hear what she has to say.

I find my feet taking me forward, down towards the boat.

“Is she OK? Can I go with her? To the hospital?” I call out. The doctor is there too, the man who took over from me. But no one answers me.

“Please? Is she OK?”

“She is unconscious,” the doctor answers me at last. “She must be taken to the hospital as quickly as possible.”

I nod, thanking him.

The policeman who spoke to me before turns around now. “You will come with us. You can wait in the boat.” I don’t know what he means, but then he takes my arm and leads me along the beach to where the police boat is moored, a rope coming off its bow leading to an anchor dug into the sand .

“Please, wait here. You must give a statement.”

I want to protest, but he helps me up into the boat, and I take a seat on one side.

I stare at the boat. It’s so strange. It looks so real, yet all of this is so unreal. A statement. What am I going to say?

More elements of my predicament bombard into me.

I was the first person to find Imogen, she’s clearly been attacked, so might the police think I attacked her?

Should I have just run off when I saw Imogen lying in the sand?

But of course not. Trying to help someone can’t make you look guilty.

But should I tell them I was meeting her?

Does that make me a suspect? It’s like being in a dream, where you suddenly find yourself in a trap that you didn’t notice at first, where you don’t quite know where the walls are, but there doesn’t seem to be any way to escape.

Maybe I should just tell them everything? But it’s so confusing. I don’t know anything. The whole point of coming to Alythos, the whole point of Imogen coming out here, was so that I could find out the truth…

Suddenly I freeze, the obvious reality of this hits me. How did I not see this before? Imogen was going to tell me everything, and suddenly she’s been attacked. That’s not a coincidence. That cannot be a coincidence. Someone hit her, someone tried to kill her , to stop her from talking to me.

I cannot get this thought out of my head, even as the policemen finish up what they’re doing and start preparing to leave.

There are more police now, I think they must have come from the land, and then I’m being told that we’re going back on the boat, that I should hold on tightly when we start moving. I nod dumbly, still reeling.

Somebody tried to kill Imogen, to stop her talking to me.

Who? Who could it possibly have been? My mind goes first to Gregory Duncan, he lied to me about knowing her.

I suspected it at the time, but now I’m sure of it.

But why would he try to kill her? How about Kostas?

He knew her, and he’d have the strength to do this.

Easily. But how did he know she’s here? Maybe Sophia inadvertently said something?

What about Simon Walker-Denzil, or the men who work for him on that crazy superyacht?

I’ve no doubt some of them are the violent type.

Or could it be someone else? I have literally no idea who might have done this, or why.

We’re pushed out backwards into the bay, the anchor passed across the bow where one of the police officers stores it away.

Then the powerful engine whines as it tugs us backwards slowly out into deeper water.

Then it growls as the prop bites and spins us around, pointing towards the open sea.

Moments later we’re flying along, turning – to my surprise – left.

Away from Skalio and along the rocky, cliffy coast.

The journey only takes fifteen minutes, flat out the whole way, until we slow down as we enter the rock arms of the harbour in Kastria.

It’s much bigger than Skalio, and we tie up alongside a pontoon.

I’m helped ashore, and then led up a ramp onto the harbourside, where a police car is waiting for me.

It takes me on a short drive to a whitewashed building with the words Hellenic Police on the outside in English – along with plenty in Greek I can’t read.

I’m led inside and finally into an interview room, where I’m left alone with a bottle of water.

It’s fifteen minutes later when the door opens again, and the policeman who spoke to me on the beach sits down in the chair opposite.

I’ve decided now, I’m going to tell the truth – as much as I can – without confusing the investigation they’re going to lead. I sit forward in my chair, preparing to tell the policeman everything.