‘The same as I do when a man or a child goes missing. Follow up on the people in their immediate circle. It hardly ever happens that people disappear without a trace.’

Cara Parks’ expression was grim. ‘You’ll be earning your corn, Alex. Maria’s immediate circle comprises the residents of this resort complex.’

‘I’m sure you can narrow them down a bit,’ Mavros said, taking out his notebook. ‘Who did she spend time with on set?’

‘Apart from me and the other people who look after me, no one that I know of.’

‘Give me their names.’ He noted her personal hairdresser, dialogue coach, costume designer and various others. ‘What about in her free time?’

The actress laughed. ‘Free time? You don’t get much of that on location. For all I know, Maria might have spent every evening in the hotel bar or disco — though I doubt it — but she was always fresh at six a.m.’

‘No significant other?’

Cara looked blank. ‘Oh, you mean lover. Never heard of one. Sorry.’

‘That’s OK. I’ll take it from here.’

‘And you’ll find her.’ She raised her hand. ‘I know you’ve never failed, Alex, but this is important to me. I care about Maria, I really do.’

Mavros watched her carefully. Her eyes were damp and her lips had trembled. For all her acting skills, she looked sincere.

‘Where was she staying?’

The star held up an envelope. ‘243. There’s a duplicate key card here. The hotel’s been asked to leave the room untouched.’

‘Thanks.’ Mavros got up.

‘No, thank you,’ Cara Parks said, rising and shaking his hand again. ‘I know you’ll help us out.’

‘I don’t suppose Maria’s ever done this kind of thing before?’

‘Nope.’

‘By the way, what role are you playing in the film?’

The actress took a moment to refocus. ‘Oh, I’m Eleni Panakaki. The village girl-next-door who becomes a heroine and nearly gets herself shot. It’s a good part, plus I get it on with a Maori officer — except he’s white, not one of the tattooed hunks you see walking around here.’

‘Hugh Rook,’ Mavros said, remembering the actor from a magazine article. He was a former pretty boy trying to extend his range.

‘Yeah,’ Cara said, without enthusiasm. ‘Spends most of his time talking to his parents. They’re in the hotel too. Apparently his grandfather fought in the battle.’

Interesting, Mavros thought, but hardly significant. He headed for the door.

‘ Ade yeia,’ the actress hazarded.

He raised a hand without turning round as he repeated the second word of the farewell phrase. The dialogue coach had been doing a good job.

Mavros went down to the second floor and found the missing woman’s room. There was a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door and he made a note to ask housekeeping if it had been there since Monday morning. Then he pulled on the latex gloves he kept in his back pocket. The place had a similar lay out to his own but it was in a considerable state of chaos, with files all over the floor and clothes draped across the furniture. It took him a few minutes to satisfy himself that this was the way Maria Kondos lived, not least when he found the bathroom messier than a teenage boy’s. If someone had turned the place over, it had been done very subtly — which didn’t mean that someone hadn’t been through it and covered his or her steps. But he doubted it. The open tubes of make-up and the heaps of unwashed clothes suggested a life with time only to think about the important things, and there was no obvious sign of a struggle.

The question was, where to start? There was a desk in the living area, on which Maria Kondos seemed to have maintained a modicum of order. On the left side was a pile of papers, some bound together. They turned out to be the script for Freedom or Death, with additional dialogue on separate sheets. Cara Parks’ lines were highlighted. In the centre was a mobile phone, the battery discharged, an American passport in the missing woman’s name, a wallet containing credit cards and a California driving licence in her name, as well as over five hundred euros, and a small leather clutch bag with mascara, lipstick and the like. There were also two condoms.

After plugging the phone into its charger, Mavros sat back in the velvet-covered chair. The condoms suggested that Maria Kondos had a least some interest in the male sex, while the lack of a key card for the room gave the impression that she’d left willingly, expecting to return. On the other hand, she had taken no ID or means of payment. Had she expected not to need any? That could have meant she wasn’t going outside the resort area, or that she had left with someone who would pay on her behalf. But would a woman go anywhere without the other items in the clutch bag?

He turned to the right side of the desk. There were several small framed photos, showing a very Greek-looking elderly couple and some small children. Then it struck Mavros what he hadn’t seen — any form of computer. He checked the desk drawer and the rest of the suite. Under the bed, he found a charger for a laptop, but no sign anywhere of the machine itself. There were no diskettes or external memory devices to be seen either. Which left him with the suspicion that Maria Kondos had gone somewhere in the hotel with her laptop — perhaps leaving her phone behind by mistake. Searching a hotel the size of this one would be a hell of a job, especially with all its outbuildings.

The buzz of the doorbell interrupted his thoughts. He moved as quietly as he could across the marble floor and looked through the spyhole. A tall but stooping elderly man with a walking stick was in the corridor. He definitely wasn’t from housekeeping.

Mavros opened the door.

‘So sorry to bother you,’ the man said in Greek, his voice surprisingly strong and his accent only slightly foreign. His nose was misshapen. ‘I take it you are Mr Mavros?’

‘Em, yes. . and you are?’

The old man handed him a card. ‘Rudolf Kersten,’ he said. ‘I created the Heavenly Blue.’ The way he put it almost made Mavros laugh: as if he was an Eastern potentate — or the proprietor of a Chinese restaurant. ‘Ms Cara Parks just called me. I wondered if I might be of assistance.’

‘Ah, right.’ Mavros looked over his shoulder, reluctant to invite the man into what might be of interest to the authorities if the woman never returned. ‘Actually, there are some things you could help me with. Could we go down to my room?’

‘No, no, come to my residence,’ Kersten said, turning away. ‘I insist. It isn’t far.’

They went down to the ground floor in the lift, the old man asking a couple of exhausted guys in high-visibility jackets and shorts if everything was satisfactory. They looked at Kersten sullenly and nodded.

‘I see it as my duty to talk to all my guests,’ Kersten said, leading Mavros to a door beside reception. The staff nodded to the owner punctiliously. ‘Even the less than polite technicians on the film crew.’

The mixture of conscientiousness and condescension silenced Mavros for a few seconds. The old man’s residence was literally behind the shop. A short corridor led to a large living area with a view across the grounds to the sea.

‘Please be seated. I will arrange coffee.’

‘No, I. .’ Mavros tried to stop him, not being a fan of that beverage in the afternoon, but Kersten headed away without paying attention.

‘There,’ he said, returning almost immediately. ‘Hildegard will be with us shortly.’ He sat down in what was obviously a favourite armchair, his walking stick fitting into a groove on the side. ‘Ms Parks is most distressed about her friend Maria, Mr Mavro. I understand you have undertaken to find her.’

‘I have.’ Mavros looked at his notebook. ‘Actually, there are some specifics you could pass on to your people.’ He paused, wondering if the old man would call a secretary or take notes of his own.