• • •

‘I can only imagine what you must be going through,’ said William, as he sat down next to James and placed an arm around the young man’s shoulder. ‘But I’m not convinced your grandfather died of a heart attack.’

‘Neither am I,’ said James, tears streaming down his face. ‘Even if he did, I’d still want to know what was in that flask.’

‘Then I’ll need you to be at your sharpest for the next forty-eight hours, because once we dock in New York the NYPD won’t be interested in what I have to say, unless I can show reasonable grounds for suspicion.’

‘Just tell me what you want me to do.’

‘I need a detailed table plan that shows where everyone was seated during dinner. And, more important, I want you to write down what you remember of the conversation that took place between your grandfather and your uncle Hamish concerning what he was drinking.’

‘That would be hard to forget,’ said James. He gathered up half a dozen menu cards, turned one over and began to draw a rectangle on the back of it. He had filled in the last name by the time Franco reappeared, carrying three pairs of white gloves. He handed one pair each to William and James, keeping the third for himself.

‘What next, sir?’ asked Franco.

‘I want this whole area roped off and the doors locked. No one is to be allowed to enter the dining room unless I say so.’

‘Understood, sir.’

‘I’m off to question Dr Lockhart and Hamish Buchanan. I need to interview them before they go to bed, although I suspect Hamish already has his story well prepared. I should be back in about an hour. Meanwhile, Franco, remember to make sure none of the passengers come into the room.’ He touched James on the shoulder and said, ‘Make your grandfather proud.’

William didn’t need to ask where the chairman’s stateroom was. James had already informed him that his cabin was on deck seven along with the rest of the family, and there were no other passengers on that deck.

When William stepped out of the lift, he was greeted by the eerie silence of mourning. A crew member was standing guard outside a door at the far end of the corridor that William assumed must be the chairman’s stateroom.

The tall, heavyset man opened the cabin door before William had a chance to knock. On entering, he found Mrs Buchanan seated by the body of her late husband, still holding his hand. She didn’t look up.

Dr Lockhart was standing on the other side of the bed. Without a word passing between them, he motioned William towards an adjoining room and closed the door quietly behind them.

‘I’m sorry to intrude on your grief, Dr Lockhart,’ said William, ‘but I need to ask you if there’s any doubt in your mind as to what caused the chairman’s death.’

‘None whatsoever,’ said Lockhart firmly. ‘In fact, I’ve already signed the death certificate, which I’ll hand in to the coroner as soon as we dock in New York. I’m only surprised it didn’t happen earlier. Frankly, Fraser Buchanan was a time bomb waiting to explode.’