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Poe walked to the end of the pier and caught the rope the marine unit cop threw him. Never having been a Scout, he tied it with the only knot he knew: the reef knot. Right over left and under, left over right and under. Gave it a tug to tighten it. It’d do; it wasn’t his RIB.

‘Hi, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. ‘I’ve never been on a boat before.’

‘You don’t say?’

‘I saw a shark,’ she added.

‘I told you, it wasn’t a shark, it was a bloody harbour porpoise!’ the marine cop snapped. He looked like he’d had the journey from hell.

‘Can’t you swim, Tilly?’ Poe said.

She looked at him blankly. He might as well have asked if she fancied suckling pig for dinner. He reached down and helped her onto the pier.

The replacement cop disembarked without his assistance. She introduced herself before removing her lifejacket and throwing it back onto the RIB. She handed Poe a small canvas bag.

‘For when it gets dark,’ she explained.

He pulled the Velcro straps and looked inside.

‘It’s a thermal imaging monocular,’ she continued. ‘Courtesy of Detective Superintendent Nightingale.’

Poe nodded in appreciation. No one was getting on the island now.

‘Can I have my lifejackets back, please?’ the marine cop said to Bradshaw.

‘No, you may not.’

He muttered something under his breath. It sounded like ‘Why me?’

‘I intend to wear them any time I’m outside,’ Bradshaw said.

‘No you bloody aren’t. They’re part of the boat’s manifest.’

A spirited exchange of ideas followed, one the marine cop had no chance of winning. In the end he gave up and compromised: Bradshaw could keep one as long as he got it back.

‘What do you want a lifejacket for anyway?’ Poe asked as they made their way to Atkinson’s bungalow.

‘I’ve read the weather reports, Poe – I don’t want to drown if I’m blown off a cliff.’

‘It’s the rocks you’ll have to worry about, not the Irish Sea.’

She stopped in her tracks.

‘I need a helmet then,’ she said. ‘I wonder if the boat driver has one.’

It was pointless explaining he was joking. He waited while she made her way back to the pier. She returned two minutes later.

‘Any luck?’

‘What a rude man,’ she said.

Chapter 67

To his surprise, Atkinson and Bradshaw hit it off immediately.

‘He speaks my language, Poe,’ she said.

Bradshaw had a working knowledge of several languages including Klingon and Elvish. Atkinson, with nothing but books, a computer and a Netflix subscription to keep him company, was no doubt just as geeky as she was.