Kadek shook his head, waving his arms and trying to catch his breath.

‘You all right? I’ll get some water.’ Grace jumped up to run to the kitchen.

Kadek waved his hand, gasping. ‘No . . . no. It’s the chef. Chef Emile. He’s dead.’

Grace stopped still. ‘No way!’ she said. ‘What happened?’

‘Bloody hell.’ Steve put his hands on Kadek’s shoulders. ‘Where is he? Are the police there? We need to check this out. Does Johnny know?’

‘He’s been murdered, by the gangs probably. The big boss Johnny is coming. They’re trying to keep it quiet. I was over near the kitchen when someone started wailing.’

‘So where’s the chef now?’ asked Steve briskly.

‘Emile, he’s on the beach,’ said Kadek, his voice shaking. ‘In the water.’

‘Maybe it was an accident and he drowned? He could have been zonked out with drugs,’ Grace said.

Kadek just shook his head.

‘You go to the kitchen and see what’s happening. I’ll go with Kadek. I’d better find Henry and Mateo.’ Steve paused, touching Grace’s arm. ‘Are you okay? If you want, you can go to your villa and we’ll get in touch when we know more.’

‘No. I want to check that everyone in the kitchen is all right. I’m sure there’re people helping, but –’

‘Okay. I’ll catch you up,’ said Steve, and he and Kadek hurried out.

The staff were gathered outside the back entrance to the main kitchen. As Grace approached, Andy was speaking to the young sous chef de Franco had been shouting at the previous week.

She kept her distance, not wanting to interrupt. Then Johnny strode along the verandah accompanied by two senior-looking police officers.

Grace spotted Bakti, a young kitchen hand she knew from one of the shoots, looking distressed and standing to one side. She had witnessed the chef’s bullying – had probably endured it herself, Grace suspected – but Grace knew she’d still be in shock.

She went to her and said gently, ‘Are you okay, Bakti?’

The young woman looked solemn. ‘He was a bad man. Trouble man.’

‘Because he lost his temper?’

Bakti shook her head. ‘He did bad things,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I saw him sometimes, with bad people. Chef Emile, he is . . . was . . .’ She struggled to find the right word, screwing up her face in distaste and giving a shudder.

‘Creepy?’ It was a word that had come to mind when Grace met him. ‘Because he used drugs?’

Bakti shrugged. ‘Lot of rich bule buy drugs. He was friends with bad people. They come from many countries – Russian, French, Arab people, Java people. Bad men.’ She glanced around and stopped speaking when she saw Andy hurrying over to them.