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But it was probably manslaughter.

Couldn’t have happened to a nicer fellow, said a small voice in his mind, which he tried to banish but didn’t succeed in doing.

None of this is Danjel’s fault, the voice continued. He watched his mother get thrown to the ground, yet again. How many times must a son witness that before he takes action, before he finds the courage to stand up to his bully of a father? No one else was going to deal with Lawrenz. The cub challenged the king who baited him… and the cub won. In the animal kingdom, that could be considered natural.

Inspector Vella had asked him something and was waiting for his answer, Peter realised. He blinked. ‘Sorry, Inspector. This has been a great shock. I’m struggling to come to terms with what I witnessed.’

The inspector raised his brows. ‘Even for someone who has seen so much death and destruction.’

‘Even for me, yes,’ Peter said, nodding. ‘I’m not a pilot any more and there is no battle to fight. On a lovely spring day, at a picnic with old friends, a drunken, raging man fell to his death before me and I just wasn’t fast enough to help. Can you imagine how that feels?’

The policeman shrugged, accompanying the gesture with a sad expression. ‘I once held a fellow officer as he died, talking to him as he lost consciousness. Mine was the last voice he heard, the last face he saw. I felt helpless because no aid was near, and he didn’t want me to leave him to find help. He knew his injuries were already so bad, and he wanted to slip away quietly with a friend talking gently at his side.’

Peter didn’t want to ask about the circumstances, but maybe the inspector understood his shock. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘It never leaves you,’ Inspector Vella continued. ‘I still dream about it sometimes, and I’m always looking for a way that I could have prevented him dying, wondering if I could have done more to help.’

His gaze lifted and Peter met it with an unflinching stare. He suddenly felt no guilt, having realised that Lawrenz might well have killed Valentina one day, drunk or enraged. Or perhaps she might have felt so hopeless that she would have even contemplated taking her own life. Lawrenz would have eventually turned his fists on the boy too, of that Peter had no doubt. Perhaps the greatest shock was realising how much he cared for Danjel, who he related to and wanted to help, along with Valentina. During his own miserable childhood, all it would have taken was an arm around the shoulder from his father, or some kind word, and Danjel needed that too. Even with all the love in the world from his mother, Peter knew he had no male in his life to look up to.

Peter could change that for Danjel.

He could stop being selfish. Stop pretending he was happy in his own company, following his own interests, and that it was fine to have locked others out. He’d lost one marriage because of his attitude and yes, there were many reasons to blame Delia, but he bore an equal responsibility. He knew that.

He’d loved being the dashing ace.

He’d loved daring death, defying it.

He’d loved the loneliness of the sky… and the loneliness of his work.

Maybe that was why he loved Caravaggio – he too was a loner, an outlier, an artist who didn’t put his name to his paintings – perhaps couldn’t commit to them – and who was on the run, not just from the authorities, but from himself.

Am I running from myself? Peter wondered.

A throat was cleared. ‘Is the nurse covering for the wife, Mr Fox? I’m sorry, but I have to ask.’ Inspector Vella held his gaze.

‘Absolutely not,’ Peter replied. ‘Mrs Falzon is innocent of any wrongdoing.’ It wasn’t a lie, but he didn’t say, She’s covering for the son. ‘I’m sure you’ll find, as they said, that Mr Falzon was drunk. It was a simple – and tragic – accident.’ He paused. ‘And I had no idea about the criminal dealings – nor did Mrs Falzon, I’m sure of it. Not that I would know about the business anyway. I’m not so close to the family to learn such things.’

‘We received a tip-off, and we’ll be looking into it thoroughly,’ the inspector said. ‘Thank you, Mr Fox. We shall conduct our tests, and I’m confident this will be recorded as a tragic accident. I appreciate your candour.’

Good word, Peter thought. He was glad the man didn’t say ‘honesty’, because he might have thrown up. ‘May I go, Inspector Vella? I think I need a drink.’

‘Of course. Er, how long are you in Malta?’

‘I am scheduled to leave tomorrow. I was here as part of the official entourage for the royal visit,’ he said, knowing he was gilding the truth, but it might add credibility. ‘Do I need to stay on?’

The man shrugged. ‘I shouldn’t think so. We can do simple blood tests overnight. I’ve already been told that the body reeks of liquor.’

‘Thank you.’ Peter held out his hand and the inspector shook it. He gave the name of the auberge where he was staying. ‘I’ll be there until midday tomorrow. You can get a message to me.’

‘Thank you,’ Inspector Vella said, giving a nod.

‘I’ll be going then,’ Peter said. He took a breath and turned to go, pausing as the inspector spoke again.

‘He works in mysterious ways.’

Peter swung back. ‘Pardon me?’

Inspector Vella pointed to the sky and gave a shrug. ‘Maybe this accident was a blessing, no?’ He gave a sad, knowing smile that Peter found unnerving.