Mackerel, his hoodie whipping in the pitch of the wind, took the binoculars and focused on the point of colour down there, swallowing another rush of nausea as his eyes disagreed with the shift in perspective.

A lifeless form was being tossed around in the waves, buoyed by diving gear.

The tiger-stripe wetsuit had been ripped to shreds by the rocks, blood frothing pink in the white foam. Davey’s distinctive Mares Phantom wetsuit had yellow and black stripes, designed to scare off sharks. And it was his custom diving gear: glinting gold, shipped in from South America. And there, where the sleeve was ripped from his arms – those were his tattoos.

It was definitely Davey.

‘There’s no way they’ll be able to retrieve the body,’ said Big Mane. ‘I’m sorry.’

Mack tore his eyes away, pushing the binoculars into Big Mane’s chest, and ran towards the police officers as fast as his limp allowed. They were making a vague attempt at crowd control, Constable Linda at their head, dark rings under her eyes – she looked as though she’d slept about as well as Mackerel had.

‘What’s being done?’ he demanded.

‘Mackerel . . . I . . .’ Her face fell at the sight of him. Gone was the hard tone of the night before. ‘There’s no way we can safely retrieve the body. I’m so, so sorry. We’d just lose —’

Big Mane jogged up behind Mackerel.

Mackerel pushed him towards his car. ‘Take me to your boat.’

Big Mane went pale. ‘No, mate, you can’t possibly think of going in there.’

‘Just get me as close as you can and then I’ll dive. The deeper you go, the weaker the cross-current.’

‘Mack, you’ll be killed!’

‘He’s my brother!’

‘The police have divers, let them do it!’

‘They won’t risk it with the Wind like this, but they don’t know this water like I do. I’m twice the diver they are. I’m doing it, with or without you.’

‘Mate, I don’t think you are,’ said Big Mane. ‘You’re not thinking straight. You drank a shitload last night. This is nuts! No one’s gonna take you out there.’

‘I will,’ said a voice.

It was Ahab.

Big Mane ducked his head.

‘My whole life, I’ve met maybe five people who move better under the water than they do above,’ said Ahab, eyeing Mackerel, ‘and Mackenzie is one of them. Let’s go, cousin.’

On the water, the drone of the Black Wind was louder. It snatched and thrust across the rigid inflatable, the only type of boat that could withstand the cross-seas for any stretch of time. And, fortunately, it was already primed for scuba diving.