‘Yes, he certainly is.’ Gillard considered that further research might be a good idea. Cracking Ceejay’s amphetamine business was definitely on the National Crime Agency’s agenda, but if he could find a connection with the dead body in the Thames, that would help. As they got up to go, Gillard spotted Anton peeking out at him through the little glass window in the kitchen door. No doubt he was a subject of extended conversation in that private enclave.

Anton St Jeanne watched as the detective and his wife left the restaurant. ‘What was all that about?’ he asked Ceejay.

‘I’m not sure,’ came the reply. ‘But it’s useful to have a heads-up when the fuzz are after you.’

‘Do you think someone on the island dropped you in it?’

He turned to Anton. ‘It would be pretty stupid if they did, wouldn’t it? I think I need your help, Anton.’

The restaurateur shrugged. ‘I’ve got five covers that still haven’t had their dessert.’

‘It’s not just them that haven’t had their just deserts.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘Can I have your car keys?’

Anton rolled his eyes. ‘Why can’t you use your own car, Leroy?’

‘Because the police know all about it, don’t they?’

‘They know all about mine too, remember? I only got it back this morning.’

‘What about Leticia’s car? That’s not on the list.’

‘Jesus, Leroy.’ Anton heard his own tone of voice, a supplicating whine rather than a firm refusal. ‘Can’t you borrow one from one of your own guys? I’m serious, she could lose her job.’

‘No one is going to find out, Anton. Not even her. I’ll come around in an hour, you leave me the keys under the mat outside. She’ll be in bed asleep, she won’t even know it’s gone, I’ll be back in an hour.’

Anton shook his head as he prepared a serving of pecan pralines with whipped cream. After arranging the three biscuit-like confections on a large white plate he drizzled a semaphore of raspberry sauce back and forth across the plate. He used the tip of a damp cloth to remove a couple of specks that were in the wrong place, before passing the dish across to the serving hatch.

‘Okay, but it better not be longer than an hour,’ he said. The fig-leaf demand that barely covered his abject surrender.

Two hours later Leticia’s car made its way slowly across the bridge to Tagg’s Island. Leroy Ceejay was behind the wheel. He parked in a small pull-in just by the houseboat, left the car and went and knocked on the door. Kletz opened it. He seemed surprised, but invited Leroy in with grudging acquiescence.

‘Juliette,’ he called. ‘It’s for you.’