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Two local policemen had arrived quickly, hurrying back with Peter, and after taking stock of the shaken party, one had left to get a detective. The other told them to move away from the wall and wait for questioning.

‘What will happen?’ Valentina had asked, looking between Peter and Maria. They were both pale and visibly disturbed by the death, not that it had been formally confirmed. There was no doubt in Valentina’s mind though; she had looked at Lawrenz’s body lying at an awkward angle far below, a pool of blood spreading out from his head. She had tried to shield Danjel, but he’d insisted on looking, staring at his father for a long time, as though he needed to be sure. She couldn’t read his look when he straightened, a mixture of relief but also sorrow, she thought… but maybe also an air of triumph. That scared her. But Danjel had obviously reached his edge; she had to protect him now. After everything he’d been through, he couldn’t be held responsible.

Danjel had withdrawn into himself and was sitting on the ground with his knees drawn up tightly to his chest. Peter had begun pacing silently. Her son and her lover were suitably matched, she thought.

‘Maria,’ she began, about to start discussing what their story would be. ‘What can we⁠—’

‘Let’s just see what the police ask,’ Maria replied cryptically.

Finally, the senior policeman arrived, tailed by the younger constable. Not in uniform, the senior man introduced himself as Inspector Vella and confirmed that Lawrenz Falzon was dead.

Valentina felt nothing at the news, neither despair nor elation. A police artist arrived soon after and got busy sketching once the two uniformed officers had set out small paper cones to mark out boundaries not to be crossed. Nearby a police photographer recorded the scene, the pop of his magnesium flash replacing the laughter and joy of just an hour before.

The inspector ignored the women and addressed Peter, which Valentina immediately resented, given she was the wife of the deceased.

‘Can you tell me what happened here, sir?’ he asked in perfect but thickly accented English, having been informed that Peter was not fluent in Maltese.

Peter set the scene accurately and succinctly, leading right up to the fatal moment.

‘So he’d climbed up onto this wall – here?’ Inspector Vella clarified.

‘No, here,’ Peter said, moving forward a few steps up to the marked line and pointing. ‘Actually, you can see some footmarks.’

Inspector Vella nodded, following Peter’s gesture. ‘We’ll get those all checked.’ He nodded at the photographer, who was inserting a new bulb into his flash fan.

‘You said you were not expecting Mr Falzon today?’

‘Inspector, do we have to do this here?’ Peter asked. ‘Surely we should get his wife and his son away from here, for goodness’ sake?’

The man was unmoved. ‘In good time, sir. I tend to believe it is worth asking some questions while the scene is still fresh in the mind.’

‘The horror, you mean,’ Peter said, looking deeply unsatisfied. ‘In that case, Inspector Vella, I’m going to ask you to address Mr Falzon’s wife. She set out from her home today for a picnic; today she goes back to that home a widow. She deserves to be heard.’

Thank you, darling Peter.

‘Of course,’ Inspector Vella nodded to her. ‘Mrs Falzon, my deepest condolences.’

Under his gaze, Valentina realised she was visibly shaking. Could he tell? Maria reached for her hand and held it, which helped but she couldn’t stop the tremble.

‘Why would Mr Falzon climb up on the wall?’ Inspector Vella asked. ‘It seems a childish thing to do, and a dangerous one – he could hardly be unaware of the drop below.’

Valentina let out the breath she was holding and forced her shoulders to relax. ‘Why would Lawrenz do anything, Inspector Vella? He was a mystery at times. Today, he was drunk, as he often is. His moods can swing in a moment. He is often hostile – a person who, it seems, is unhappy with his wife, his son, his⁠—’

The inspector waved a hand to stop her. ‘I think I get the idea, Mrs Falzon. So in your opinion, he climbed onto the wall because he was drunk?’

‘He was showing off, Inspector. He was in an argumentative mood, claiming this was his island, like he was a king and we his subjects. I suspect if you do test him, you’ll discover he was very intoxicated.’ She sighed. ‘He was supposed to be in France. He told me he would be away for up to a month, and I wasn’t expecting him back…’ She shrugged.

‘So he came home early?’

‘Yes. None of us were expecting him home yet.’

‘And was he angry on his arrival here, or…?’

‘Yes.’ All of them agreed, nodding.

The inspector didn’t miss this. ‘Why so angry?’

‘I can’t speak to his emotions,’ Valentina said. ‘That he was home early suggests something went wrong in France, presumably, and he was drunk to the point of slurring. Perhaps it upset him to see us happy and enjoying ourselves.’ She thought her way through the likely scenario. ‘He’s very possessive, you see. Perhaps he came home early, became angry not to find us there and then he must have rung his brother, whom I phoned before we left, to let him know that Danjel and I were going on this picnic and the bar would be closed. So Lawrenz came here to find us, having drunk too much on the ferry home, and lost his temper to see us having a nice time.’