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forgive you the mistake though because I haven’t lived in Wales since I was eleven years old. Mike Lloyd at your service, but you can call me Taffy. Everyone does.”
    He was mid-thirties, Dylan supposed. A grubby jacket showing the shipping company’s logo on both sleeves kept the elements at bay, and workmanlike boots gave him a good grip on the deck.
    “It’s still good to hear a familiar accent,” Dylan said. “I assumed the crew was Norwegian.”
    “Most are. There are three Brits—me, Jimmy Simpson and Gerry the chef. There’s one German but, other than that, all Norwegian.”
    Dylan leaned on the metal railings and peered a long way down to the icy waters below. “It must be a great job if you like this part of the world. I suppose you’ve seen the northern lights a few times. Most of us are paying for the privilege of possibly not seeing them.”
    “I’ve seen them once, but I’ve only been working with this lot for a month. Before that, I was doing river trips on the River Avon. Stratford-upon-Avon to the Arctic Circle. It’s a bit different.”
    “You’re telling me.”
    “Before that, I spent six years on the Dover to Calais ferries,” Lloyd explained. “This is good though. The pay’s a lot better than I was getting in England. It means spending a lot of time in Norway, but I’m prepared to put up with that for a couple of years. I’ve got no one at home so the travelling suits me.”
    He flicked the butt of his cigarette high into the air where the wind snuffed out the dim glow.
    “The woman who died,” Dylan said, deciding to get to the purpose of this chat before Lloyd returned to his duties, “what happened? There are a lot of rumours going round.”
    “I can’t talk about the passengers.”
    “Ah, I suppose not. As a raw recruit, I don’t suppose you’d know anything anyway.”
    “Oh, I know all right.”
    Dylan had hoped that insulting his level of superiority would work.
    “There’s not a lot to say though.” His companion couldn’t have looked more disappointed if he’d tried. “She’d booked a morning call and, when she couldn’t be raised, we got into her cabin and found her dead.”
    So at least that particular rumour was true. “We? You went into her cabin?”
    “Not me personally. No.”
    “She had the cabin next to mine,” Dylan said.
    “So?”
    “So I feel as if I knew her. We only chatted for a couple of minutes but she seemed healthy enough last night.”
    “Nah. She had heart trouble.”
    “Really? How do you know that?”
    “It was on her booking form. She had to have special food.”
    That made sense. Hanna Larsen was the type to cause havoc if she wasn’t fed properly. And it was another rumour confirmed.
    “So what happened when she was found?” Dylan leaned back against the railings, trying to appear nonchalant, which was damned difficult with the temperature threatening him with hypothermia.
    “What do you mean, what happened? We radioed the shore—we were only twenty minutes off berthing anyway. The police contacted her family and had a hearse organised to take her to the local mortuary. What else could happen?”
    Insulting his level of superiority had made him irritable. Now he was trying to make Dylan look stupid.
    “Oh, I just wondered. I suppose there will be a postmortem then?”
    “I suppose so. I dunno. What difference does it make?”
    “The thing is, I heard noises last night,” Dylan explained. “At about three o’clock this morning, I heard someone leaving her cabin. And no, it wasn’t her. It was someone heavier. I’m sure of it.”
    “Someone leaving her cabin?”
    “Yes.”
    “Nah. You must have imagined that, mate.” A sneer curved Lloyd’s lips. “Are you telling me she got lucky? You do know she was pushing eighty?”
    “I’m telling you she got un lucky.”
    Lloyd stared at Dylan for long moments. “What did you say your name was?”
    “I didn’t. Sorry, it’s Dylan. Dylan Scott.”
    “Right,