‘As a matter of fact, no, I don’t. But, for the same reason, I don’t think it was a mugging.’ Andreas handed him the photographs. ‘What jumps out at you from these?’

The captain looked through each one and shrugged. ‘His throat was cut.’

‘Anything else?’

‘No.’

‘Exactly. And what does that mean to you?’

The captain bristled. ‘I don’t have time for your bullshit.’

Andreas remained calm. ‘Yianni?’

Kouros answered matter-of-factly. ‘There are no other marks or stab wounds on the body.’

‘So?’ said the captain.

Kouros continued. ‘A single cut, administered at precisely the point most likely to cause as quick and painless a death as can be done by a knife.’

The captain shrugged.

‘Muggers aren’t that careful, precise, or trained,’ said Andreas. ‘I can’t remember ever seeing a mugging-turned-murder victim cut just once. Have you, Captain?’

The captain didn’t answer, just glared.

‘I’ll take that as a no. And if this were a psycho lashing out against a symbol of the church, I can’t imagine rage great enough to drive a deadly, random attack on a monk being satisfied by a single, surgical slice.’

The captain clenched and unclenched his fists. ‘So what are you saying?’

‘Premeditated murder.’

Andreas expected an argument.

‘I can’t imagine why. But I see your point.’

Andreas was surprised. Perhaps this asshole actually had an open mind. Maybe he ought to try mending fences. ‘I’d like to speak with the abbot. Do you think you possibly could arrange for him to see me now?’ Andreas didn’t need his help to make the appointment, but he wanted the captain to feel that he did. It was always better to have the head of police on a small island inside your tent pissing out, rather than outside pissing in.