‘No. But I wouldn’t. I never knew Gerry’s crews. I rarely went out with him.’ Except for that last fatal day that had started as a pleasure trip to the island and turned into a nightmare. Tilly thrust the thought away. ‘There was a sort of camp on the river where all the crews bunked when they were ashore. He met them there, and after a trip he’d clean up there and have a drink with them, but he never brought them home. They were a rough lot, he said. Not fit company for his girls.’ Her voice wobbled then, and she coughed fiercely to quell the emotion. ‘Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, Sergeant. My husband was a fisherman but I knew nothing about his business. Not even,’ she added bitterly, ‘that he was in debt and didn’t actually own his own boat.’ Her eyes swept over the spread of photographs. ‘I’ve never seen—’ She stopped and leant to pick the last one up, a profile shot of a man wearing a baseball cap above a heavy brow and hooked nose.

‘Yes?’ Burns fairly vibrated beside her. ‘You know him?’

‘I think . . .’ Tilly frowned, staring at the snap. ‘I saw him once. We stopped at the Alloway Roadhouse for a cold drink and Gerry bought fuel. He – that man – was talking to him at the bowser. I saw him when I came back to the car for my bag. I’m sure it was him.’

‘Did you hear any of their conversation?’

‘No.’ Tilly let the picture drop. ‘He left before I got close enough. I asked Gerry who he was, what he’d wanted, but he was a stranger to him. Just some bloke looking for work, he said.’

‘And this was when?’

Tilly furrowed her brow. ‘Three – no, two years ago. Ninety-four, it was. Yes, early in the year because we were hauling the trailer. That’s why we needed the extra fuel. We were bringing the gear up for the season. Three months before . . . before the accident.’

Connor said crisply, ‘Okay, Sergeant, I think you’ve had your five minutes.’ He picked up the photos, tapped them into a pile and handed them to Burns. ‘It’s a long drive back to town.’ He nodded a dismissal, then held the screen door for Tilly. ‘Would you like me to put the kettle on?’

She flashed him a grateful glance as the two officers, plainly unwilling to go, turned reluctantly to the steps. ‘That’s okay, thanks. Tea’s my job.’

Chapter Seven

In the kitchen they settled into their accustomed seats with the tea before them. Tilly left the fruitcake on the board she’d sliced it on and now pushed the whole thing Connor’s way.

‘Have something to eat. Thank you for getting rid of them. I don’t like that sergeant. Last time he was here he was perfectly horrible.’