Chapter Six
Inspector Antoni Giagkos stood at the window with his back facing the man who was ranting at him. It was a great view; brilliant white rock set against the glittering expanse of the Mediterranean with lush, green shrubbery flowing up and towards the hotel, the wall of which was bordered by yellow buds of winter jasmine. It was a scene as pretty as any picture postcard – if you ignored the blood-red swimming pool immediately below them and the sight of fifty or more protestors holding homemade placards screaming “Murderer!” Unsurprisingly, it was this aspect of the view that had the hotel owner, Stelios Spyrou, in a fit of rage.
As the man spat his anger over a fibreboard desk, Antoni occasionally took notes, more out of politeness than purpose. People expected notes in an inv
