The first leg of the nine-kilometre Sentiero Azzurro, or Blue Trail, between all five towns of the Cinque Terre was relatively easy, just a twenty-five-minute walk that linked Riomaggiore to the south, with its closest neighbour, the village of Manarola, to the northwest. Or at least that’s what the sign said.
Roxy had made her way through the underpass and up past Ted’s Trattoria where Sofia was standing out the front, apron in place, chatting with Hugo. Both locals turned to wave at Roxy and she waved back but kept right on walking, past the small alleyway that led to the back of Ted’s and up the steep, stone steps to the start of the trail. As she read the sign, a small lump had lodged in Roxy’s throat. According to the inscription, this part of the coastline was known as the Via dell'Amore, or The Way of Love.
The lump in Roxy’s throat hardened and tears began welling in her eyes. Had Max and Candy decided to rendezvous on the Way of Love? Was this where it all went terribly wrong?
Dabbing at a tear that had spilled down her cheek, Roxy gave herself a quick pep talk then securely fastened her handbag across her body, pushed her Gucci sunglasses into a better position on her nose, and set off.
The path was not as wide as she’d hoped, but it was relatively flat and paved in most places with slate tiles. While there were none of the usual warning signs she had come to expect from cliff walks around her home country—clearly litigation lawyers had not caught up with the council here—there was a metal fence along most of the cliff side and sheer rock face along the other. The fence was a little rickety in parts and just waist high, offering very little protection should someone want to throw you over, she thought darkly as she walked.
Along the way she noticed hundreds and hundreds of “love locks”, small padlocks that had been secured to the fence by lovers past. She stopped and read some of the inscriptions—JB 4 RS, S+V—and felt herself choke up again. She wondered if Max and Candy had placed one somewhere, then shook her head. He was a natural romantic, but even that seemed a little twee for Max Farrell.
She sighed. Oh Max. Where are you?
Stepping closer to the railing now, she held on and leaned out, looking down at the rippled blue sea below. There were splashes of frothy white where it crashed into the coastline, and while she couldn’t picture Max down there—or perhaps she wouldn’t let herself—she kept having flashes of Candy’s muscular body being smashed against those rocks. She shuddered and stepped back.
Then she pushed her sunglasses into place and kept walking. As she did so, Roxy’s brain returned to the American flatmate Jake.
What was he doing in Riomaggiore?
Why was he killed?
How was his murder connected to Max?
Perhaps Jake had witnessed Donald and/or Maria killing Candy and Max and that’s why he was murdered. Perhaps one of them drove Jake back to Berlin where they bludgeoned him with his own guitar.
She shook her head. No, no, that didn’t work. Unless they owned a Learjet there was no way either of them could do it. The drive between Riomaggiore and Berlin was at least twelve hours long and she knew for a fact that Jake had been killed some time very late on Friday night. Yet according to Riomaggiore police, Maria had only been out of town between 9:00 a.m. and midday that Friday. Donald had been missing longer—between 10:30 a.m. and 3:00 p.m.—yet still not long enough to drive to Berlin, kill Jake and return again.
She stopped in her tracks. Perhaps there was a third party? That would help explain it. But who?
She groaned again and kept walking, this time trying hard not to think, just letting her mind rest. God knows it needed a reprieve. Eventually, after another ten minutes or so, Roxy stopped again and leaned out against the railing, watching as a fisherman ploughed his vessel through the waters far below. Then she flinched when she realised that was no fishing boat. It had a blue stripe along one side and what looked like large spotlights attached to the roof.
It had to be the coast guard.
For several minutes she watched it bobbing in and out of the white caps as it made its way around the bay, hugging the shore the whole way. She knew what it was looking for and she felt deep sadness again.
Come on, Roxy, she told herself. Keep going.
Another hundred metres along, just after she’d taken a steep turn, the path came to an abrupt halt. A section had been cordoned off by blue police tape, some of which was flapping freely in the breeze where it had freed itself from its wiring, and there was a small sign on one side, with the words “Danger! No Pass!”
There was no way through.
Roxy stood then for many minutes just staring at the spot where Candy must have fallen. Why else would the police rope this bit off? She tried to find evidence of a landslip, loose rocks or broken branches where she must have grabbed for her life, but she could see nothing out of the ordinary. It looked just like the rocky terrain she had passed, peaceful and untouched. The fence was still in place and there was a smattering of plant life clinging to the rock below, including some agaves and cacti. Roxy glanced around. It hadn’t occurred to her before, but that explained why no one else had passed her on the walk. It was out of bounds now. Candy’s death, in effect, had put a stop to the Way of Love. At least for now.
A loud screaming sound caught Roxy off guard and she swung around, heart thumping in her chest as she clung tighter to the metal fence which was vibrating a little. She couldn’t see the source of the noise but there was also a slight shaking of the earth below her feet and she wondered what was going on. Was it an earthquake?
“It’s just the train,” came a deep, unexpected voice, and Roxy looked back to find a figure standing in the middle of the pathway on the Riomaggiore side.
She could not make out who it was. He had his back to the sun and was just a silhouette in the harsh morning light. Her heart now pounding like a jackhammer, she tried to take some calming breaths as she stepped away from the fence and wedged herself deeper into the rock face on the other side.
“There’s a tunnel, you see, dug through the rock,” the man was saying, his voice slightly familiar. “Must have been quite a feat of engineering to get those tunnels in place.”
“What ... what do you want?” Roxy managed to say, her throat dry, her heart so loud she wondered how he could hear her voice over it.
The man stepped forward and that’s when she saw his face clearly for the first time. She felt her mouth drain dry as he gave her a small, flickering smile.
“I’ve come to find you,” Donald Marlow said.
Then he took another step towards her.