Andreas was always amazed at how quickly the media got to a crime scene. This crew must be local, or maybe from a neighboring island, probably Kos. No way a crew from Athens could have beaten him here. They’d never get permission to land a helicopter to cover this story. But they’d arrive soon enough. This was too lurid for the press to miss.

The tarp covered an area roughly three times the size of a man and ten feet or so from the entrance to a narrow lane running off between two white buildings. Four more lanes led off the square, all paved in stones of different shapes and sizes.

Kouros waved to Andreas and pointed at one of the cops. Andreas walked to where they were standing.

‘Hello, Chief Inspector, my name is Mavros,’ said the man with Kouros.

From his stripes Andreas could tell he was a sergeant. Andreas nodded. ‘Where’s your captain?’

‘He’s in a meeting with the mayor and said not to be disturbed. But I can answer your questions.’

‘How about, “Where’s the body?”’

The sergeant looked surprised. ‘Back in the monastery. Being prepared for the funeral.’ In the Greek Orthodox Church, burial occurred as soon as possible after death, absent complicating circumstances such as murder.

The captain in charge of the island’s police was too busy making political nice-nice to meet with the chief inspector of special crimes at the murder site. He’d let the body be moved and tampered with before Andreas had the chance to examine it. If someone wanted Andreas to conduct a real investigation, he sure as hell didn’t bother to tell the Patmos police.

Andreas drew in and let out a breath. ‘Any idea of the time of death?’

‘Between two-thirty and three in the morning.’

Andreas nodded. ‘Take off the tarp.’

The sergeant paused.

Andreas smiled and patted the sergeant on the arm. ‘I’m sorry, I meant to say, “Take off the tarp, please.”’