‘There were very few signs of a struggle,’ Eckman said. ‘He didn’t even have time to unfasten his seatbelt. So, we believe John knew the person who attacked him. He might have even been lured out there. We’re going through his phone records and emails now. Is there anyone John knew in Belport? Anyone he might have talked to or visited?’

‘Not that we know about,’ Kate said. ‘We didn’t even know he had come here.’

‘Speaking of that.’ Eckman unzipped a black leather document folder and removed three photos. ‘John arrived on the island two weeks ago, on the day he told you he left for London.’ She placed the first photo on the desk and slid it across for them to see. ‘We pulled this from the ferry’s CCTV. That old boat is in desperate need of a security upgrade, but I think you’ll agree that this is him.’

The photo was grainy, low quality and showed a high-angle view of the island ferry’s front deck. There was a lot of negative space in the photo – the clean white deck, the steel railing, the ocean beyond – but there was a lone man in the corner of the shot. He was looking out over the water, hands stuffed into the pockets of a heavy parka, overnight bag wedged firmly between his feet. His face was angled slightly towards the camera, as if something to the ferry’s right had caught his attention. A barge ship, maybe, or a pod of dolphins. The man was tall, lean and unmistakably, indisputably, John.

Kate had never imagined that her husband had been dragged to Belport against his will – locked in the boot of some crazed kidnapper’s car, or at gunpoint in a dingy, crossing the wild waters. But seeing him now, freely making his way to the island, hurt.

‘I’ve got a couple of constables trawling through the ferry’s security footage from every day since then, but so far he’s not been spotted. We assume this was his first and only trip to the island. He paid with cash, and purchased a return ticket for the day after his murder, which tells me he likely intended to come home when he told you he would.’

The news was comforting, in its own way. It suggested that in another reality, one in which John wasn’t killed, he would have returned home and kept his secret trip hidden from her, maybe forever. She wouldn’t have known, and it wouldn’t have mattered. She would have lived the rest of her life in blissful ignorance. It also confirmed, at least in Kate’s mind, that John hadn’t gone to Belport to kill himself, as Fisher had suspected. Why would anyone buy a return ticket from someplace they knew they wouldn’t be returning from?

Eckman showed them the second photo.