“We’re waiting for a third, but I’ll take a gin and tonic please, with plenty of ice, and a wedge of lime.” The man nodded and looked at Ian, who ordered a lager and a bowl of spicy cashews.

The drinks arrived, glasses sweating in the humidity. The manicured lawn sloped away from the verandah into some coconut trees, the bay twinkling beyond. The ice in Tusker’s glass was melting quickly and he drank it fast and ordered another. He was tired from the day’s long drive and thinking about Upali. Ian tried to make conversation.

“That Samanthi is a real cutie, eh?” He swigged from his bottle. Tusker didn’t say anything. “Then again, you know what they say about dating the innkeeper’s daughter.” He laughed. Still nothing from Tusker. He tried a different tack.

“I wonder what Dinesh got out of the police. Did he call you?”

“Only to arrange a time to meet tonight,” Tusker said, still looking out at the dark bay. He turned and banged his fist on the table so that the glass and tonic bottle clinked. Ian jumped. “It just can’t have been an accident! Upali was as careful as they come and boats don’t just catch on fire.”

“Yeah, but gas, electronics… and that Ranjith smoked like a chimney.”

Tusker shook his head. Just then, a small, bald man with round glasses approached their table. Tusker’s immediate impression was of Mahatma Gandhi, though instead of a robe, this man wore a striped button-down shirt and perfectly pressed grey trousers.

“Dinesh Ranasinghe.” He smiled and extended a hand. Tusker stood up and pumped Dinesh’s hand, then gestured for him to sit. The white-coated waiter returned.

“Just some cool water with lemon, please,” Dinesh said and the waiter disappeared. “Upali spoke very highly of you, Mr. Tusk,” he said, turning to Tusker. “Said you were schoolmates.”

“Yes, we were,” Tusker replied. “Upali tends, er… tended to exaggerate though.” He managed a smile. He was impatient with small talk. “What have you learned about the sinking?”

Dinesh shook his head and shifted in his chair. “The police seem to know very little and have no way of investigating what happened to the Taprobane. They don’t have divers with that level of expertise and their relations with the navy are not good.”

He took off his glasses and carefully wiped the lenses with a handkerchief. “I’ve offered MOCHA’s assistance for crime scene photos. Our experience with sensitive archaeological sites would be of value, I’d have thought.”

“But?” Ian chimed in.

“But this police captain, Gooneratne, was not interested,” Dinesh said. “They’re relying solely on eyewitnesses, which is slim evidence indeed, seeing as the boat was anchored offshore and it was 7:00 in the morning.”