‘Dr William Ashbury, written around 1850. He was caught in the Black Wind, out at sea, and became obsessed with siren lore. Claimed they followed him, called to him, even in his sleep. Some say he smashed his head open with a rock to get rid of the song . . . although don’t believe everything you’re told.’

‘How does that prove that the mermaids are real?’ said Detective De Corrado.

‘Sirens. There’s a difference. Mermaids are sweet natured, sirens are hungry and cruel. It’s a cautionary tale – never anger the sea. Leave it be, and hope it leaves you alone . . . But the Wind. The Wind is not of the sea. It’s above it, where we live.’ He shook his head. ‘Where can you run from the wind? Where can you run from the sirens’ song?’

She tapped for another gin, which he poured. The sirens’ song rattled the windows. ‘Good story, Innkeeper,’ said De Corrado. ‘Now, you promised to tell me about a curse?’

‘The sirens are part of it. But the night is young. We’ll get there. I think I’d like to keep you waiting.’

‘Fine. In the meantime, tell me more about your family.’

Ahab leaned back. ‘Ah . . . the great Dempseys of old . . . Begged, borrowed or stole all the abalone licences they could. And now the town itself is a monument to that history. The end.’

‘That was longer than it was enlightening,’ said Detective De Corrado.

‘I didn’t realise this was an interrogation.’

She raised her eyebrows to indicate that it was.

‘You already know how it happened,’ he said.

‘Well. I’m a little more interested in the complexities of your immediate family tree,’ said De Corrado.

‘And what are you offering in return?’ said Ahab.

‘I didn’t know we were bargaining.’

Ahab raised his eyebrows to indicate they were.

‘A chance to meet with Forest, face to face,’ said Detective De Corrado. ‘A privilege not currently afforded to you.’

Damn. She really was good.

‘Yes. Thanks to dear Aunty Ivy.’ Ahab hesitated, rolling the bottom of his glass on the table, his eyes on hers. ‘And what do I have to give you, exactly?’

‘I want you to answer every question I have,’ said Detective De Corrado. ‘No detail left out. Why certain members of the Dempsey family aren’t involved in the abalone business. Why all you received from the inheritance was this inn, and why you changed its name. And why the previous name is the same as that boat on your corkboard. Why your mother, Miriam, died a pauper, cut out of the inheritance. Why Mackenzie Dempsey is ostracised.’

‘Mackenzie is the best of the lot,’ murmured Ahab.

‘Yet his criminal record is a mile long.’ Detective De Corrado leaned in closer. ‘When Jesse and his family disappeared, everything went to Davey. Nothing to Mackenzie, nothing to you.’

‘Nothing sinister there. Davey was next in line, and Forest’s godfather.’