His heart leapt and he stepped back to take in the full majesty of the boat. He walked her entire length, then turned back to take a photograph. Finally he strolled back to the stern, giving the boat admiring looks all the way. As he drew parallel to the wheel-house, a young man with dark hair tied back in a ponytail stepped out on to the deck. Even under a shapeless sweater, he was obviously broad-shouldered, his long legs clad in tight jeans, heavy work boots on his feet. He was clearly physically strong enough to be this killer, Tony thought. He pulled a baseball cap on as he emerged, obscuring his eyes.

‘You’ve got a beautiful boat,’ Tony called up to him.

The young man nodded. ‘Ja,’ he said laconically. He made his way round to the gangplank, a few feet away from where Tony was standing.

‘You don’t often see older boats in such good condition,’ Tony continued as the man came ashore.

‘It takes hard work.’ He continued towards the car.

‘I couldn’t help noticing that rather unusual pennant you’ve got there,’ Tony tried, desperate to engage his putative killer in conversation.

The man frowned. ‘What? My English is not good.’

Tony pointed to the triangular pennant hanging from a short flagstaff at the stern. It was black with a white fringe. Embroidered in the centre of it was a delicate weeping willow. ‘The flag,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen one like that before.’

The young man nodded, a smile of comprehension fleeting across his nondescript features. ‘It is for death,’ he said in a matter-of-fact tone. Tony felt his flesh crawl. ‘My grandfather was skipper before me. But he is dead since two years.’ He pointed to the pennant. ‘We have flag to remember.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ Tony said. ‘So you’re the skipper now?’

The young man opened the car and took a road atlas out of the door pocket, then headed back for the boat. ‘Ja. She is mine.’

‘It must be hard for you, not being able to work because of the river.’

The young man stopped on the gangplank and turned back to face Tony. He shrugged. ‘The river gives and the river takes. You get used to it. Thank you for liking my boat.’ He sketched a wave and went back on board.