We’re on our way back.

We’re nearly at the Euproctes, where are you?

See you very soon

Franck

The text had been sent almost three quarters of an hour ago. In the yard, Lisabetta held out her hand and a cane to Cassanu. Speranza had already come back inside, as if to check whether the food was cooked or anticipate a request from the patriarch.

Because your mother killed her.

Clotilde went and stood in front of her, blocking her passage, not caring whether the figatellu was burning on the stove.

‘You didn’t answer my question. You’ve told me your story, but neither you nor Mamy have given me an answer. Where is my mother? Where is she?’

‘She ran away, my little darling,’ Speranza croaked. ‘She cut Pacha’s throat and she ran away.’

57

23 August 2016

For the campers, passing through the gate in the fence surrounding the Euproctes, simply in order to go to the beach, had become more complicated than a Mexican in Tijuana trying to get into the United States. Two young, smiling but inflexible policemen made each camper open every beach bag, unroll every towel, and present ID; they also noted entry and exit times, and stopped just short of running metal detectors over the tanned and bikini-clad girls. What was the point, the ones in a hurry grumbled. They’d found the murder weapon, they’d banged up the guilty man, what else were they looking for? In the end, the only real question for the tourists, who had spent 1200 euros a week renting their bungalows, was who was going to clean the toilet blocks that day, since the keeper of the brooms was in prison in Calvi, and who was going to hire his replacement, since the boss was in the morgue in Ajaccio.

At the heart of this shipwreck, behind the reception desk, her face ravaged with tears, Anika Spinello was reassuring everyone, in every language in the world, explaining that yes, all the campers would be questioned, that no, the tents wouldn’t be searched, that yes, the campsite was still open, that nothing was going to change, that they could go on enjoying the sand and the sun, no, there would be no activities today, no diving, no pétanque, that no she hadn’t slept, that yes thank you, Marco, she would like a cigarette, a tissue, a whole box, no, she didn’t want to rest, or go to bed, take sleeping pills, yes she did want to stay there, like a captain at the wheel of a ghost ship, because this campsite was Cervone’s life, his work, his kingdom, and now that he was dead, she was the quartermaster, no, the Euproctes wouldn’t close, that would mean killing Cervone a second time, yes, my little one, that’s kind, I’m touched.

Valentine placed on the counter the bunch of wild thyme she had picked, and the condolence card she had written.