Here's a short extract from chapter 5 of my detective novel, Murder Under the Aegean Sun, which gives nothing away. Detective Inspector Norman Finch is on holiday on the Greek island of Skiathos when he receives a telegram from his boss, Chieh Inspector Tom Mitchell, asking him to phone him asap:
Later that day Norman collected the telegram, which was indeed from Chief Inspector Mitchell, and which read simply, Phone me. Mitchell.
“He doesn’t waste words, does he?” said Sally, reading over Norman’s shoulder.
“That’s one of his greatest virtues,” replied Norman, looking round for a phone.
“That rather depends on the words.”
Norman got directions to the telephone office, where they could make an international call. They went there straight away. In the cubicle Norman dialled the Chief Inspector’s number and waited. The ringing tone stopped.
“Mitchell.”
“Hello Tom. This is Norman. I’ve just received your telegram.”
“Good. It seems there’s been a murder down there,” the Chief Inspector said, coming straight to the point.
“Murder? We heard about an Englishman who’d drowned.”
“Same fellow. His name was Rycroft. James Rycroft. Rich businessman. Had a villa on your island. His boat was found drifting last week. He was found a couple of days later. The immediate assumption was an accident, of course, but examination revealed heavy bruising on the back of the neck where his head was held under the water. No doubt, apparently.”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“The local police are handling the case, but their chief is in communication with us, naturally, and we’re cooperating in every way possible as far as supplying information goes. But this James Rycroft was friendly with some fairly influential people who are keen that the facts are clearly established, and word has come to me that as you are on the spot you might like to poke your nose in and sniff about. Something like a bloodhound, Norman.”
“Poking my nose in sounds like a very apt description. How’s the local man going to feel about it? He won’t welcome my intrusion, will he?”
“Go softly, softly, Norman. Very low key. I’m not asking you to start an investigation. And the local man’s expecting you. His chief is in on the arrangement and will have told him. The story is that your role is simply to liaise between him and London, supporting him with information and passing on findings, that sort of thing. And you’re to act as cultural advisor. That’s the term we’re using to describe you. It means that Greek ways and English ways are very different and you’re to explain ours to him as an aid to his investigation. It will also give you access to most of the facts he turns up since we imagine that the killer is probably English. Yes, I forgot to mention, several of the victim’s family are staying on the island, that’s why a cultural advisor will be useful. Most murders are in the family, you know.”
Norman was thinking that this was one of the oddest jobs he’d ever been given and was wondering how he was going to go about it.
“What’s the local man’s name?” he asked.
“I can’t tell you, Norman. But I can spell it. Ready? First name: Y-I-A-N-N-I. Family name: Y-I-A-N-N-O-U-L-I-D-O-U. Quite unpronounceable.”
“Okay, Tom. I’ll see what I can do. Although, I don’t suppose it will be much.”
“I’ve got every faith in you, Norman. Just sniff. Remember the bloodhound. How’s the holiday going?” the Chief Inspector asked as an afterthought.
“Fine. We went waterskiing today.”
“Waterskiing, eh?”
“Well, I use the term loosely to include any activity involving water and skis.”
“Quite. Well, let us know what you find, Norman.”
Available here:
https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Under-Aegean-Mike-Horwood/dp/B0DFD4GK8Q/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=
or from the Amazon site in your country.
