It was one of those hazy, autumnal afternoons where the light sifted through the blinds casting long shadows across the bed. I lay there on 16 October 2017 at around 16:15, dozing and pondering what the topic of my next column would be. I was in Cyprus at the time, visiting friends. Suddenly, the phone that lay next to me jolted to life with LED flashes and tinny vibrations. I picked it up and swiped my thumb across the screen, wondering what the sudden influx of notifications could be.
“They got her...Daphne is gone,” a message from a friend read.
Some 20 minutes prior, a car bomb had detonated in Bidnija, Malta. Daphne Caruana Galizia, the country’s most formidable journalist, my fellow columnist at a national paper, and my inspiration, had been assassinated.
