The Third Shadow

Four

Inside, the holiday bungalow was much as one might expect: perfectly neat and functional but clearly furnished on a tight budget. Cupboards and cabinets were of the flat pack variety. The TV was similar to my own back at the vineyard - a relic of a thing little bigger than a shoebox. To the rear was a small, basic kitchen; the front part of the living area was meanwhile centred by a round, chip-marked table which looked like it had been dusted down from somebody's attic. The environment was light though, pleasantly airy, the kitchen window doors looking out onto a pretty rear patio complete with wrought iron table and chairs, a slice of Ionian visible beyond. The beach was public here, a little rockier than the main stretch in town. Not so crowded, twenty or thirty metres separating each umbrella-centred encampment. Just visible beneath the nearest of these was an untidy sprawl of beach bags and bared limbs. Further out, a circle of ant-like figures were tossing a volleyball around, others taking shoreline strolls, throwing themselves into the crested lines of incoming waves.

"That's the thing with the world," murmured Sarah, following my gaze. "Just sort of carries on regardless." She motioned that I should join her and Olivia at the table. "Another bit, was going to call you anyway. Those thirty-six hours up yet you think?"

As near as damn it, I thought, reaching into pocket for my phone. As a precaution, Nuzzo and I had swapped numbers the previous afternoon, but I don't think either of us had seriously expected to hear each other's voice again.

"I don't like how this sounds, signor Jacks. I don't like it at all." Moving phone momentarily away from mouth, the commandante barked out instructions to some poor subordinate before rasping a weary sigh back into the receiver. "I will arrive immediately."

In the meantime, there were a couple of practical considerations to attend to. Firstly, a round of hot, sugary teas - the soothing balm of Englishmen and women everywhere. Then, a call to the landlord. The holiday lease would be up that same afternoon, but the two sisters-in-law would need to stick around town of course. A couple more days at least.

Both the tea-making and hunting down of the landlord's contact number were seen to by Sarah. Eight years or so the senior of the two sisters-in-law, hers was a purposeful, hands-on presence. She was the one who had to remain strong, externally at least. Olivia, in contrast, sat wordlessly at the table beside me, her vacant gaze directed out of the window doors. Close up, she was even more beautiful than she'd seemed on first impression, her shoulder-length blonde hair a sleek golden haze in the sunshine. The nose was a pretty, stubbed affair, her eyes as blue as the sea she was contemplating. These latter were red-rimmed however, raw-looking; oh yes, it was clear that a lot of crying had been done.

The landlord, signor Caputo, was to prove himself a kind and likeable old chap, his enquiries into the two women's welfare touching, insistent. He had a German family arriving on Friday, but until then, yes of course they could stay on. No extra charge. Given the circumstances, it was the least he could do. He only wished there was more.

Thanking him, I rested down the phone, glanced at each of the sisters-in-law in turn.

"We'll be needing a photo of course..."

I was struck by my use of the first person plural. We not they. It had just slipped out, as if my subconscious had already decided for me: I was part of this now, intended to play as active a role as possible.

In all, there were a score or so of holiday snaps on Sarah's phone, every type of combination - some showing the four members of the holidaying party singly; others in pairs by sex, by marriage, with respective in-laws. The majority were in diverse groupings of three; just a couple - a neighbouring beach-goer obviously called upon to do the duties - framed all four together. Sean, whether alone or with others, was rarely without a bottle of beer in hand; Lee, likewise, rarely without a cigarette between his lips. I remember lingering particularly on the soon-to-be-famous shot of the pair arm-linked on the beach - those differing expressions, Sean's cheerful beam contrasted by Lee's lowered brow. For facial clarity, I'd already earmarked it as the one most suitable for the inevitable media appeals which would follow.