Once again Richard was dreaming deeply about that elusive cup of tea which he never quite managed to find. This time it was the shrilling of his mobile phone which disturbed him. His hand automatically reached out to grope for the source of the intrusive noise. It was still very dark. "Hello" he mumbled groggily.

"Sorry to wake you, Sir, but I'm at the plantation. I was driving past on my way home from a party and I saw a light in the warehouse. It seemed odd that anyone would be there in the middle of the night, so I left the jeep and walked up through the trees to see what was going on."

Richard was wide awake by now. "Camille" he ordered urgently, "you are not to go any further without backup. It could be dangerous."

"I can look after myself", she replied indignantly, "probably better than you!"

"That's as maybe" he replied "but I order you to call Dwayne or Fidel before you go any further." He could feel her resentment spiralling down the line in the long pause that ensued. "Can you see anything?" he asked despite himself.

"Not now, but earlier on I could see a figure moving around inside the warehouse. I'm not sure what …"

There was a thudding sound and the phone went dead. "Camille, Camille, are you all right?" called Richard frantically. "Camille!" No response. He had a moment of blind panic. Camille was on her own. He knew he had to get out there to help her but he felt helpless as he had no transport of his own. Think, think. He reached for his phone but his hands were shaking so much he could hardly find the number. The phone rang and rang. Come on, Dwayne. An extremely sleepy voice finally answered. Richard explained quickly. "Come and pick me up immediately", he ordered, trying to keep his voice steady. "We need to get out to the plantation - Camille is in trouble." "On my way, Chief."

Bouncing along the pot-holed roads of the island in near-total darkness at a speed highly inadvisable for a motorbike with an extremely agitated Detective Inspector in its sidecar, Richard's mind ran riot. He tried not to dwell on what might have happened to Camille but couldn't stop thinking that she could well be seriously injured or even dead. No, he wouldn't think about that possibility, it was intolerable. He firmly pushed the thought to the back of his mind, only for it to resurface again and again.

"Can't you go any faster?" he urged Dwayne as the motorbike leapt several inches in the air when they hit the latest bump. "I'm doing my best, Chief, but it's pitch black and it won't help if we crash, will it. We're nearly there. Look, there's the Defender." They roared up the drive to the plantation, screeching to a halt in front of the warehouse. Any intruder would have had plenty of warning of their arrival.

Richard jumped out of the sidecar, tossing the helmet to one side, and immediately his legs crumpled underneath him. He had underestimated the effect on his system of such a terrifying ride and felt ridiculously weak. He fought against the nausea and gradually recovered his equilibrium. Grabbing a torch he sent Dwayne in one direction and began to explore in the other, calling all the time. Finally, he heard a woman's voice responding and crashed through the undergrowth in the general direction. He soon realised that it was not Camille's voice he was following and by the time realisation dawned he stumbled across the kneeling figure of Sarah Jarvis, who was supporting the limp body of Camille in her lap. Richard rushed across, his heart racing wildly.

"Is she all right? She looks very pale."

"She has lost a bit of blood and hasn't regained consciousness yet, but I think she'll be all right."

Richard called Dwayne over. "You'd better search around and see if there is any sign of the person who hit her."

"There's no need for that", said Sarah calmly. "It was me who hit her. I'm really sorry. I saw a light on in the warehouse and came to see what was going on. No-one should have been here at this time of night. Then I saw a figure lurking in the shadows and I thought it was an intruder, so I crept up and hit her over the head with my torch. I didn't realise who it was until afterwards. I've called an ambulance."

And at that point the ambulance turned into the drive, its headlights peering nervously through the darkness. Camille, still unconscious, was loaded into the vehicle and driven away to the hospital. Richard followed in the Defender. Dwayne stayed behind to check the warehouse over, despite assurances from Sarah that she had already looked and everything was in order.

Since the moment Camille's phone had gone dead, Richard's whole body had been taut with tension and the sheer relief at finding her alive left him trembling from head to foot in pure shock. He waited for what seemed like hours in the hospital, passing the time by playing endless games of internet Sudoku on his phone, until the arrival of the house doctor with the news that Camille had regained consciousness and – apart from a sore head – appeared to be no worse the wear for her mishap. He realised guiltily that in the intensity of the moment he had completely forgotten to notify Catherine of what had happened to her daughter. With some trepidation he dialled her number, fully expecting a storm of gallic emotion, but Catherine heard the news in a surprisingly calm manner, announcing her immediate intention of setting off for the hospital to sit by her daughter's bedside. Reassured that Camille was in no danger, Richard decided to beat a tactical retreat, thus avoiding the inevitable encounter with Catherine who he would much prefer not to have to face in his current state of mind.

Later that morning Richard, Dwayne and Fidel met to review the case. "The question is" said Richard "who was in the warehouse at 3 o'clock in the morning and what were they doing? Sarah Jarvis confirmed that nothing was missing, Dwayne?"

"Yes, so it's unlikely to be a casual break-in unless Camille disturbed the intruder before he had a chance to steal anything. But I'll tell you something, Chief, there was something really funny about that warehouse. You know, most of the crates were all neatly stacked up, ready for loading onto the lorry. But one of the stacks was all over the place, looked as if it had been pulled about, and there was loose straw and several bunches of bananas just dumped in a pile for no obvious reason. I'd say someone was interrupted before he had a chance to finish what he was doing."

"You think some of the crates had been opened?"

"It's possible, Chief."

"Well, let's take a good look at the whole consignment, shall we?"

"It will be at the airport by now, Sir", Fidel chipped in. The lorries always leave at 8 am – that's why they pack the crates up the night before.

"Right, Fidel. I want you to get over to the airport, get the customs chaps to open and examine the contents of every crate and report back if you find anything."

The sergeant hurried off.

"How did you get on with the background checks on Sarah Jarvis and Jackson Freeman, Dwayne?"

"I'm still waiting to hear about Sarah – she's only been on the island for about 18 months so I've got checks being run in the UK. Jackson seems clean – got into a bit of trouble in his teens but nothing serious. Both parents are dead – his father in the July 2005 bombings in London and his mother a couple of months ago. Seems he's drifted around a bit doing casual work – restaurants, bars, that sort of thing. Nothing to indicate any connection with Martin Peverel other than what he told us."

"OK, then I think we can more or less rule him out as a suspect. Let me know when there's any information about Sarah. In the meantime, see if there is any sign yet of the forensic report from Guadeloupe. I'm going out to the house to speak to the family again."

Shown once more into the lounge at the Peverel house, Richard found Laura in close discussion with a distinguished looking man of about 50. Silvery-grey hair, a tanned complexion and a ready smile marked him out as a man who might easily turn an older woman's head, guessed Richard with a moue of distaste. He wondered if Laura's head was easily turned, then remembered the American driver.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you" he said "I can come back another time if this is inconvenient."

"Not at all" said the main in an accent that instantly identified him as French (French! He might have known.) "I was in any case just leaving. Au revoir, Laura."

"Inspector, may I introduce Philippe Delacroix, a friend of Martin's."

"Ah yes, you were due to go diving with Mr Peverel on the day the, er, incident occurred?"

"Yes, that's right. There are a lot of wrecks in the Caribbean and they make for fascinating diving."

"Philippe is going to buy the company from me, Inspector. He has made me a very good offer. I'm sure Martin would be pleased."

"Isn't that a bit of a departure from your usual line of work, Mr Delacroix?" asked Richard. "I believe you run the Island Hoppa boats?"

"I do, yes, but you know, Inspector, we live in precarious times and it's always wise to have a second string to your bow. In a global recession tourists may stop coming to the Lesser Antilles and travelling on my boats, but I doubt people will ever stop eating bananas." His face crinkled into a broad smile.

The door crashed open. "Oh", said Jason, "I thought the police were here."

"They are. This is Inspector Poole, Jason."

"Oh. Where's the lovely Sergeant Bordey?" Jason sniggered.

"In hospital, as it happens", snapped Richard with some asperity. "She was attacked last night at the plantation."

"Oh dear" said Laura, "I do hope she wasn't badly hurt? What happened?"

"No, she'll be fine. An unfortunate case of mistaken identity, it would appear."

"So how can we help you, Inspector?" Laura Peverel asked.

"Does anyone in the family own a gun?"

"A gun? Well I certainly don't – can't stand the things – and as far as I know Martin didn't either."

"And you, Mr Peverel?"

"No, though I do belong to the rifle club. Why are you asking about guns? Dad wasn't shot, was he?"

"Just normal procedure" said Richard in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "Thank you all for your help. I'd like to speak to Mrs Peverel on her own now, if I may."

Once Philippe Delacroix and Jason had left the room, Richard went straight to the point. "Mrs Peverel, in all the conversations we have had with you, you have never mentioned that you and your husband were on the point of divorce. Or that he was having an affair with Sarah Jarvis. Or, for that matter, that you yourself are having an affair with Matt McAllister. That can hardly be construed as helpful to our enquiries. Added to that, you are the person who benefits financially the most from your husband's death. That has to make you the prime suspect or at the very least an accomplice in his murder."

Laura Peverel looked appalled. "No, no, Inspector, that's not true. All right, I admit that Martin and I weren't on the best of terms but I swear I only meant to give him an uncomfortable night, not to kill him!" She became seriously distraught under Richard's unflinching gaze. "It … it was the soup. Gazpacho – except that I added red pepper to it. He couldn't eat red pepper, you see, it gave him terrible stomach pains. It was childish, I know, but I just wanted to make him suffer a little, to pay him back for the way he humiliated me with Sarah. But that's all – you must believe me, I didn't kill him. And as for Matt, well, it has been pretty lonely here ever since Martin and Sarah got together, and I suppose I thought that what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander. But I'm not sure if Martin even realised."

"I see. Well thank you for finally telling me the truth."

"Are you going to arrest me?"

"Not at the moment, but please don't leave the island, and I'll need to take your passport." She took it from a drawer and mutely handed it over. "Thank you. Now I'd like to speak to Mr McAllister."

"By all means. I think he's out in the yard. This way please." Laura led the way into a courtyard, where the American was oiling some machinery parts. "Matt, Inspector Poole would like to speak to you" she called.

"Mr McAllister, could I ask if you possess a gun?"

The American looked surprised. "I sure do." "May I see it please?" "It's down at the shack. Do you want to give me a lift?" He pointed at the Defender. The two men climbed in and Richard drove carefully down the track to the small squat bungalow where McAllister lived. He dived inside and quickly emerged carrying a pistol. "It's all legal, I got a licence" he protested.

"I need to take that for testing" replied Richard, holding out an evidence bag. McAllister dropped the gun in the bag with some reluctance. "Where do you normally keep it?" asked Richard.

"In a drawer under the bed."

"And who else knows it is there?"

"No-one, so far as I know."

Richard thanked him, drove back to the station and handed the gun over to Fidel to send to Guadeloupe for testing. He sat back down at his desk, propped his head on his hands and tried to order his thoughts. He took a long swig of cold water, during which Camille walked in. He nearly choked.

"What on earth are you doing here?" he spluttered. "You should still be in hospital, or at least lying down at home!"

"I had to get away from my mother. You know what she's like when she thinks you're ill. I'm sure she's making a pot of chicken soup even as we speak!"

He grimaced in sympathy. Catherine's chicken soup had left an indelible mark on his psyche.

"She said you ran away as soon as you knew she was on her way to the hospital!"

It was no use denying it. "Well, er, yes, um, I suppose I did."

"I don't blame you! But thank you for rescuing me and for staying with me. It was really sweet of you."

He was overcome with confusion, shifting uneasily in his chair and staring anywhere but at Camille. The phone came to his rescue. It was Fidel, from the airport.

"Sir, we've searched all the crates and guess what! At the bottom of one of them under several layers of bananas we found packets of drugs, looks like cocaine."

"So that's it!" exclaimed Richard. "Now we know why Martin Peverel was murdered. And I bet I even know what the pink highlighter pen was for too!"

"What do you want us to do with all the crates, Sir?"

"Just hold on for the moment – I need to speak to SOCA in the UK. But photograph all the evidence first, Fidel - and make sure word of this find doesn't leak out."

"So" said Richard the following morning, pacing up and down in front of the whiteboard, "we now know why, but we don't really know how and we certainly don't know who. Someone is exporting drugs from Saint-Marie using consignments of bananas as a cover. Martin Peverel discovered this somehow and it led to his death. He was going to reveal everything to the Commissioner but was killed before he had the opportunity. You must have disturbed the murderer last night, Camille, when you turned up at the plantation. The question is, how are the drugs getting on to the island in the first place, and who can get access to the warehouse at night to hide them in the banana crates?"

"All the workers have access to the warehouse." said Camille. "We need to get a list and start checking them out."

"But would they have their own keys? They must be doing this during the night, when the building is presumably locked."

"Yes, but I don't think it would be too difficult to force one of the windows. They didn't look very robust to me. And there are keys hanging up just inside the front door of the house" said Camille. "I bet the warehouse key is one of them, so anyone from the house could borrow it."

"Right, Dwayne and Fidel – background checks on all the workers, please. See if any of them has any past history with drugs."

"Right, Sir", and Fidel withdrew to the back of the office and immediately set to work drawing up lists of the employees. "Dwayne, do you want to do the ones who work in the plantation and I'll take the ones who work in the warehouse?" There was no response from the older officer, who was staring out of the window and appeared not to have heard him. He tried again, touching him on the shoulder: "Dwayne? Are you all right? You're not your usual self today."

"Yes, I'm fine" said Dwayne shortly. "Just a bit tired. Got a lot on my mind. Now what are we supposed to be doing?"

"Background checks on all the workers. Didn't you hear what the Chief said?"

"Not really. Sorry, my mind was elsewhere."

"What's the matter, man? Something's clearly wrong. You want to tell uncle Fidel about it?"

Dwayne looked at the younger officer for some time, as if trying to make up his mind. Then he drew a deep breath and spoke.

"The question remains" said Richard to Camille pensively, a little later that morning "how do the drugs get to Saint-Marie in the first place? I feel sure that if we can find out how they get here we'll find our murderer. Presumably they originate in South America?"

"I would think so. Perhaps they come in on a boat?" offered Camille. "There are always dozens of yachts coming and going in the harbour. Perhaps Martin Peverel's yacht was used to bring the drugs in and that's how he discovered what was going on?"

"Yes, it's possible. But equally it could be via the airport. The island imports plenty of goods and customs inspections are not always very thorough – or maybe someone was paid to look the other way?"

"I'll check with Interpol to see if they have any ongoing enquiries in the area."

"Good idea."

"Oh and by the way, Ballistics rang to say that Matt McAllister's gun hadn't been fired recently. So that lets him off the hook – unless he has another gun."

Richard banged his head against his desk. "None of the leads lead anywhere!" he complained. "There has to be something to link all the pieces of the puzzle together."

"And I think we may have found it!" exclaimed Fidel. "Look at this! It's just come in." He raced excitedly over to Richard's desk with a piece of paper in his hand.

Camille leant over and they read the printout together. "So that's it!" cried Richard in relief. "That's the link. That means – now let me see how it was done." He paced up and down, thinking hard.

"He's staring at the whiteboard again", whispered Fidel.

"Sssh" admonished Camille "it's a good sign!"

A few minutes passed, then Richard let out a triumphant yell. "Yes, yes, of course."

"Do you have it?" asked Camille anxiously.

"Yes I think so, listen", and he told them exactly how he thought the crime had been committed. You had to admit, thought Dwayne, despite all his funny ways, the man was brilliant. "Now I have one further job for you, Dwayne, and Camille – I want you to get on to Interpol. Fidel, please gather everyone together at the warehouse at 4 o'clock this afternoon. We have a murderer to arrest."