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then, Dylan Scott. For a minute there, I thought you were trying to tell me she’d invited a bloke back to her cabin.” The sneer returned. “What you really think is that someone broke in? Had you been drinking, is that it?”
    “No.” Not enough to make him start hallucinating.
    “No one got into her cabin. It’s just not possible. Only the chief has the master card and he’d die rather than let it out of his sight.”
    “Presumably the cleaners have them.”
    “Not at that time of night—morning. You can’t have cleaners going in and nicking folks’ belongings, can you? Security’s tight, mate. The cleaners are supervised and they all hand back the cards at the end of their shift.” He took a long breath. “Look, she was pushing eighty. She had heart trouble—the ship’s doctor and anyone in the kitchen will tell you that.”
    “She looked pretty damn fit to me last night.” He was about to say angry, but if he did, Lloyd would suggest her annoyance with the crew had overtaxed an already weak heart. “And as I said—”
    “You heard something. Yeah, I know. But it could have been anything or anyone. There’s a lot of work being done when the passengers are sleeping. Everything has to be ready for morning. Tell you what though, I’ll mention it to the powers that be. They can pass it on to those who need to know. Okay?”
    “Thanks. I’d appreciate it. I’m sure there will be a postmortem so that will tell us how she died.”
    “Yeah. A heart attack.”
    “Let’s hope so. It would be awful to think she didn’t die from natural causes.”
    “She was pushing eighty,” Lloyd said again. “How else is she going to die?”
    “There are countless ways. She might have been poisoned, suffocated, strangled—anything.”
    “I’m telling you she had a heart attack. Still, if it makes you feel better, I’ll mention your worries to them upstairs.”
    “I’d be grateful. You never know, do you?”
    “Yeah, you do. Still, I’m happy to help. I hope you’ll sleep easier in your bed now.” He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, extracted one, turned his back to the water and lit it. “I may as well have another. I’m not on duty till morning.” He inhaled deeply, sucking in each droplet of tar and nicotine. “I’d like a decent pint to go with it, but it’s not allowed.”
    “That’s tough.”
    “Company policy.” He winked at Dylan. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make up for it when I hit shore.”
    Dylan returned his smile. “I don’t blame you. Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy it.” He needed to get back inside before frostbite set in. “If you could mention—”
    “Consider it done. Don’t spare it another thought. Sleep well.”

Chapter Eight
    Dylan’s peace and quiet the following morning was shattered when his mother sought him out. He made a mental note to enjoy his coffee behind the huge potted palms in future.
    “I’m going out on deck for a smoke,” she said. “Come with me, Dylan. I’ve got something to tell you.”
    “I’m sure it’ll wait till you’ve finished.”
    “No.” She tugged at his sleeve. “Come on. The fresh air will do you good.”
    Fortunately, he had his coat with him. He shrugged it on, emptied his coffee cup and followed her onto the deck. It wasn’t light yet although there was a hint of colour on the horizon.
    “Your theory about Hanna Larsen,” she said.
    “Sounds ridiculous. Yes, I know.”
    “It does, but not quite as ridiculous as it did earlier.”
    “What do you mean?”
    They’d chosen the most sheltered spot but it still took her four attempts to get her joint lit and she wasn’t about to waste her breath on anything else until she’d pulled a sufficient amount of the drug into her body. When she finally exhaled, she gave a satisfied smile. “That’s better.”
    “Everyone else’s mother is enjoying a nice cup of Earl Grey. Mine’s exposed to the elements doing illegal drugs. Great.”
    “Hark at you.