‘Look, “Investigations are ongoing”.’ Norton jabbed at the article. ‘It means the death was suspicious.’ He leaned closer, his voice low. ‘Why would someone take a yacht out when they were drunk in the middle of the night? What if Langham did himself in? Or was done away with, for his money?’

Sam’s mind was racing. At Dar Portuna, hadn’t there been that trophy on the shelf, proclaiming Langham the winner of a sailing race, an experienced yachtsman? Why would he capsize on a summer’s night in familiar waters? He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t make sense. I’ve been talking to … Who the hell is it if it isn’t Langham?’

The minute he said it, a face came to mind, sullen, beneath a pale hat, and a name: Alejandro del Potro.

‘That’s what I’d like to know.’ Norton’s face was alive with interest. ‘I think you might have stumbled across something here, Hackett. And someone wants to keep their identity quiet, hence the notes, the secrecy.’

Sam couldn’t answer. The writing case had come from the police station, taken as evidence, or from a person who had committed a crime.

A, I am sorry. One day, I hope you’ll understand.

‘My god,’ he heard himself murmuring.

‘My god indeed.’ Norton’s eyes were bright. ‘OK, here’s what we do. You go back there tonight and act like nothing’s happened. Plumb the old man for information, when he came there, what he does for money, all of that. Ask about the yacht if you can manage it in a roundabout way. Keep an ear out for anything suspicious, and don’t let your guard down. I’m going to talk to editorial, phone around, see if I can find anything else about this Langham or his death—’

‘No!’ Sam stepped away from Norton. ‘No, don’t do anything, please. Just let me …’ He tried to think. This was his story, and it was running away from him in Norton’s hands. He had to get it back under control. ‘Let me talk to the man first. We might be jumping to conclusions. There might be a simple explanation for all of this.’

Norton didn’t answer.

‘Ellis, please.’ Sam took his shoulder. ‘This is my discovery, after all.’

For a moment, he thought Norton would refuse but finally, he sighed. ‘Fine. I won’t mention it to anyone yet. I’m going to keep looking though, and I want to hear what happens as soon as you’re out of there.’ He checked his watch. ‘Speaking of which, shouldn’t you get going?’

Sam glanced at the clock. It was quarter to five. ‘Damn!’ He wheeled towards the door, only to stop. ‘The suitcase! I need it!’

Norton was hurrying towards the reception. ‘Jan,’ he called to the receptionist, ‘give Mr Hackett some petty cash for a taxi, will you?’