The name ‘Fethering Marina’ raised expectations that were never going to be fulfilled. Adjacent to the yacht club, where rows of neat pontoons provided moorings for the wealthy boat-owners of West Sussex, the marina had once been the home of Fethering’s thriving fishing fleet. But the decline of that industry, hastened, if you believed the sages of the Crown and Anchor, by increasingly adverse EU regulations, had decimated the number of locals who made a living from it. As a result, the manmade inlet off the River Fether where the boats sheltered, had suffered from lack of maintenance which would soon make the facility unusable. The twice-a-day sweep of the tides had silted up the entrance and the wood of the old pontoons was eroded and sagging.

The paucity of boats moored there, however, was a bonus for Carole. There were only three. Two were battened down, their tarpaulins streaked with gull droppings, and looked as if they had been that way for a long time. On the deck of the third, mending his nets, sat a septuagenarian with walnut-shell skin.

‘Excuse me,’ Carole called out, still emboldened by her success with Malee. ‘Are you Red?’

His eyes, buried deep in wrinkles, flashed venomously at her. ‘What if I am?’

‘My name’s Carole Seddon.’

‘So?’

‘And I believe you were a friend of Bill Shefford …?’

This caught his attention. ‘I was, yes,’ he said cautiously.

‘You’ve heard, presumably …?’

‘Of course I’ve heard. I live in Fethering. Anyone dies in Fethering, it’s impossible not to hear about it.’

‘Yes. I gather Bill Shefford used to go fishing with you …’

‘What if he did?’

‘But then Malee stopped him from going …’

‘Is that what you heard?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who are you, by the way?’

‘I told you. My name’s Carole Seddon and I—’

‘You told me your name. I meant: who are you who has the right to ask me all these questions?’

‘I just—’

‘I know your type. Far too many like you around Fethering. With your Labrador and your fancy raincoat. Another middle-class snooper. This place was a lot better before all you lot moved in.’

‘I have actually lived here for—’

‘I’m not interested in how long you’ve lived here! All I want is a bit of peace on my own boat on a Sunday morning.’

‘I’m sorry. I just—’

Red put down the net he was working on and stood up. He was a lot taller than she’d expected and his stance was combative.

‘Sorry. One question,’ Carole pleaded.

‘What?’

‘Was it Bill’s marriage to Malee that stopped the two of you going fishing together?’

‘Yes. I only saw him once after that.’

‘And was that because …?’

But Red had moved quickly down into the interior of the boat. To emphasize that their conversation was at an end, he had pulled the hatches closed after him.