21
The ringing of a telephone in the night rarely fails to cause a surge of adrenalin, and bad news seems inevitable. When Day reached for his phone on the bedside table and opened it, he was even more concerned to see the caller’s name: Konstantinos Saris.
“He tried to kill Dali, Martin! He tried to poison my Dali!”
Konstantinos’s voice was ragged. His heart beating too fast for thought, Day shelved his questions and told Konstantinos that he would come straight to the atelier. Making certain that Konstantinos was not alone, Day ended the call and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
It was not quite seven thirty. He dressed quickly, left a note for Helen and grabbed the car keys. He took the road to the marble workshop faster than usual. Only the previous afternoon he had driven
