The Dead Travel Fast by Nick Brown

must be cut short, there are things on the island which demand my urgent attention.”
    Steve could not stop himself blurting out,
    “What things?”
    Vassilis was not used to being questioned as Steve knew, but heanswered him patiently in the manner of one explaining something to a child.
    “This might surprise you but as yet we do not know; fire is near, it is circling as if dancing with these killings. Something is changing, changing irreversibly.”
    While he said this, Steve sensed a movement in the darkness and the creak of wooden floorboards told him that someone was leaving the room. He turned to look and saw a shadowy figure move towards the door; he was certain it was Antonis. The figure joined hands with Alekka and together they left the study.
    “Don’t worry, you will see her again soon; all I can tell you is that this in your best interest, it is better that you do not stay here tonight, think of it as being a precaution that we are taking, as caring hosts, for your safety.”
    Steve started to speak but Vassilis raised a pudgy hand to silence him.
    “Believe me, there are things you have no wish to see, you are a stranger and do not understand what transpires. Perhaps you have a part to play; but not yet I think. I will explain no more. Change, you see, can only be understood in retrospect. Are you familiar with the 17th century Japanese master Basho? No, I thought not, this quote is as close as I can get to your purpose.
    “‘Breaking the silence
       Of an ancient pond
       A frog jumped into water
       A deep resonance.’
    “Now Dieter will drive you home.”
    Steve turned and saw the shaven-headed driver standing behind him, though he’d heard no sound. Dieter motioned him to follow and as Vassilis turned back to his desk he saw the sepulchral figure of Father John emerge from the gloom and move to join him. Not a word was exchanged on the journey, which passed like a dream. In his apartment he saw his phone had a voice message waiting for him. He hoped it was Alekka and retrieved it.
    “Hi, Steve, it’s Giles. I can’t explain on the phone but Claire and I have to see you, we’ll be on the first available flight eitherMonday or Thursday. There’s something else, I don’t suppose you get much news over there. Tim Thompson is dead; killed in Nice, the circumstances are unclear. Listen, Steve, I think you need to be careful OK? See you soon.”
    Steve slumped onto the sofa and sat in the silence, and then he rummaged in his workbag and took out the unread letter from Tim Thompson.

Chapter 7:
The Keeper of the Dead
    At least it was cool in the police morgue. Lucca drew the sheet back over the body to give it some sense of decency, he felt sick, knew he shouldn’t, knew it was meant to be part of the job. But what he’d had to examine, eviscerate and reconfigure these last few months wasn’t what he had signed up and left Italy for.
    This one was the worst: one of their own; it made it too personal, too close to home. The thought of home made him grimace; this stuff, these mutilated unresting dead came home with him and filled his dreams. Made him not want to touch his wife or small children with his slender-fingered hands, no matter how hard he scrubbed them in the lab sink at the end of each day.
    This one was extra pressure; every cop on the island needed him to find some evidence that would let them nail the bastard who was doing it. Before, they had wanted to nail him of course, but now they all felt threatened. To kill the others was bad enough but they’d been strangers, in fact some of them had been foreigners, tourists, and the way some of them walked about the place it was almost like they had been asking for it.
    But this was a cop: it could have been any one of them lying on that table, under that sheet with an identification tag on their big toe, while back in darkened houses their wives, mothers and children wailed and mourned. It didn’t matter that it was a cop none of