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Back Time Is a Killer
Chapters (84)
  1. Dedication
  2. Time is a Killer
  3. Contents
  4. Map
  5. 1
  6. Twenty-seven years later …
  7. IRevellata
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. IISaint Rose’s Day
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. 53
  61. 54
  62. IIISempre giovanu
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. 59
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. Twenty-seven years later
  77. Acknowledgements
  78. AFTER THE CRASH
  79. BLACK WATER LILIES
  80. DON’T LET GO
  81. About the Author
  82. Also by Michel Bussi
  83. More on W&N
  84. Copyright

Palma’s turn.

She was moving. She was moving now. Enough so that her body wasn’t a dead weight. She did her best to help them, and curled up so that Cassanu Idrissi could pass one arm under her waist, another under her thighs, and raise her up towards Natale as a groom carries his bride across the threshold of their new shared home.

Clotilde had a sense that their eyes met in that moment. That some words were exchanged in that look.

In Papé’s eyes, she read, ‘Sorry.’

In her mother’s, ‘Thank you.’

Palma joined her granddaughter lying on the floor of the Aryon.

Saved.

Finally Natale held out his hand to Cassanu.

Papé had fought for almost seven minutes against the sea, the waves, the current, the rocks.

The battle was not equal, yet he had succeeded. He had held his ground.

The old man was exhausted.

At least that was what the police concluded, it was what the Corsican journalists put on their front pages, the story the hunters told, with great pride, at the Euproctes bar. It was even what Clotilde would say to Valou, and Palma, every time either of them asked her how it had ended.

That Papé had fought to his very last breath.

None of the witnesses ever said what they thought they had seen.

Natale Angeli held out his hand. It was barely a few centimetres from Cassanu’s.

He didn’t take it. He let himself sink.

66

23 August 2016, 9.30 p.m.

There had seldom been so many people on the coastal road at Petra Coda.

Not for at least twenty-seven years, at any rate.

Parked in the midst of this complete chaos were three fire engines, two ambulances, four police vans, and an impressive number of tourist vehicles stuck on the only road connecting Ajaccio and Calvi; only a few motorbikes and the evening athletes – joggers and cyclists – managed to get past, turning their heads towards the precipice as they did so.

Firemen had thrown down a rope ladder and were securing it to the rocks with steel grips, a coastguard Zodiac searched the inlet where Cassanu had disappeared, but in vain. The Aryon was firmly moored using steel chains that complemented the polyester ropes. Once it had been stabilised in this way, Palma and Valou were helped up the rope ladder, using a winch, and framed on either side by battle-scarred rescuers who were more used to saving hikers from the mountain tracks.