“There is evidence that the body was in the ground for more than eighty years,” the officer went on.
“So whoever he was, he died at some point during the war?”
“We will try to find a list of all the people who lived in the area. However, during wartime, there were many people whose homes were taken over by the occupying forces. It was a time of much chaos, a lot of death. But we will do our best to find out more.”
“What will happen to the baby’s remains?” she asked.
“If we do not manage to trace the family, we will make a public announcement. If that does not lead us to any conclusion, the bones will eventually be reburied.”
“Will you tell me?” Skye said, gripping the phone more tightly. “If there’s a funeral or anything, I’d like to be there.”
“Entáxei. Of course.” She heard the smile in the officer’s voice. “If you discover any further remains during your renovations, please inform us immediately.”
“I will,” she told him. “Thank you—I mean,efcharistó.”
“Parakaló,” he replied briskly, and the line went dead.
Skye turned to Theo.
“I feel awful,” she said. “If I’d read the letters sooner, I’d have known straightaway who was buried in my garden.”
“The police confirmed it?” Theo winced as she nodded. “Ah. Poor Katerina. But you mustn’t blame yourself. The rain did the damage. The bones would’ve come to light sooner or later.”
“That’s not all,” Skye said. “The other body, at the empty house, it has signs of an unnatural death.”
“Another murder?” Theo blew air into his cheeks.
“I’m not sure the Italian who tried to kill Katerina was murdered,” Skye said. “In the letter, she says he fell, hit his head. It was an accident.”
“OK.” Theo rubbed his temple. “And they didn’t bury him, did they?”
Skye shook her head slowly.
‘‘‘We gave him to the sea’ is how it’s worded in the letters.”
Theo passed her the dog tags.
“I found him,” he said, sliding a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
Skye raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. It wasn’t yet nine, but the heat felt absolute, pressing down from above, rising up from the ground beneath her feet. She’d forgotten to put on sunscreen, and her skin prickled, tight and raw, as if the air itself were sandpaper.
Theo cleared his throat.
“Giulio Muti, born 1916 in Comacchio, Emilia Romagna, Italy.”
Frowning, Skye did the math.
“That would make him, what, twenty-four or twenty-five when the war reached Greece?”
“Sounds right to me,” Theo agreed.
“Well, that one hundred percent rules him out as being thebody buried in the garden. The police just told me that man was likely in his midforties.”
Theo nodded sagely.
“That makes sense,” he said, refocusing on the lines of text. “Giulio joined the army and became part of the 50th Infantry Division, Regina, detachments from which were stationed across the Cyclades Islands during the occupation, between 1941 and 1943. He died in December 1941, and the cause of death is stated as drowning. Katerina might’ve given him to the sea…”
“But the sea gave him back.” Skye ran her forefinger over the tags. “Perhaps that has something to do with why all these houses were abandoned? The Italians must have asked questions. It might have been enough to scare them into fleeing.”
