"It's quite simple", explained Richard on Monday morning when the four officers were once more gathered in the station. "If Martin Peverel was already dead, or at least unconscious, who set off the explosion? Gas doesn't explode by itself. We assumed - we were meant to assume – that the gas had leaked and he had gone to light the cooker when he got up first thing, resulting in the explosion heard by the entire population of Honoré. But that can't have been the case. Someone else must have set off the explosion. Do we have the results of the toxicology tests yet, Fidel?"

"Yes, I just called them. There are traces of temazepam, nothing else, Sir."

"Temazepam. So he took sleeping pills. That would explain how he breathed in the gas without realising it. Very convenient."

"But did the killer turn the gas on or did the canister spring a leak?" asked Camille.

"Undoubtedly the former. A gas leak would be too much of a coincidence and as you know I don't believe in coincidences when it comes to a murder investigation."

"But couldn't it have been suicide, Sir? Martin Peverel was depressed for some reason, so took sleeping pills and turned on the gas to make sure he didn't wake up?"

"It's possible, Fidel, but I have to say that if I was going to commit suicide I think I'd take more than a couple of tablets. And it still doesn't explain how the gas was ignited. No, I think we're definitely looking at murder here. So: Fidel, I want you to carry out a background check on the victim, find out how healthy the business was, who his associates were. Dwayne, go up to the plantation and talk to the workers, find out what kind of boss he was. Camille, we need to speak to Mrs Peverel again, and the family. We need to establish everyone's whereabouts. We also need a motive. Come on." He jerked his head and Camille, flinging her bag over her head, followed him down the steps.

"Well, as I said, Inspector, Martin had been at the plantation since early in the morning. He came home at about 6 and joined us for a family dinner. He left at about 9.30 that evening. But I don't understand why you are asking me this again – I told you already on Saturday. Is there something wrong?" Laura Peverel looked perplexed.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Peverel, but we have reason to believe that Martin's death was not an accident."

"What do you mean?" she gasped. "Surely you don't think he killed himself?"

"No, I'm afraid he was murdered."

"But that's insane! Who on earth would want to murder Martin? Everyone liked him!"

"So I understand" said Richard drily, "but nevertheless someone did."

"Can you tell us where you were on Friday night?" asked Camille. "We need to establish everyone's whereabouts" she added hastily as Laura opened her mouth to protest.

"Well, I was here. We had dinner. After dinner Martin left. I sat talking with my son and daughter for a while and then I went to bed. The next thing I knew I had a phone call to say that the boat had exploded, so I went down to the harbour."

"Can anyone verify that you were here all night?"

"Well, no, not really. But I was, I assure you."

"Who rang to tell you about the accident?" asked Camille.

"It was Matt McAllister, Martin's driver. He was at the party."

"And do you know of anyone with a reason to want Martin dead? Anyone he was on bad terms with?"

"No, no-one – although I did see him arguing with someone a day or so ago when I was at the plantation. A young man – in his twenties – wearing a red baseball cap and a Che Guevara T shirt. I've never seen him before."

"And you don't know what they were arguing about? Was it related to the business?"

"I couldn't really hear. And I really don't know anything about the business. You'd need to ask Sarah about that."

"Sarah?"

"Sarah Jarvis. Martin's chief oppo. She manages the office and the warehouse, virtually runs the business in fact. Miss Efficiency incarnate."

"Thank you, Mrs Peverel. We may have some further questions, but that's all for the moment." Richard turned to go. "By the way, did your husband often take sleeping pills?"

"No, he never did. He rarely took pills of any kind. Just indigestion tablets now and then – he had a rather sensitive stomach."

As they walked back to the Defender, Camille suddenly shot off, returning a few minutes later. "I just grabbed a few words with the maid. She confirms that Laura Peverel went to bed at about 10.30 on Friday night. She also said she thought Laura and Martin Peverel were on the verge of splitting up – apparently there were rows and they hardly spent any time together."

"A fact that Mrs Peverel conveniently omitted to mention. Good work, Camille!"

Climbing wearily at about the same time up the steps to the station in the burning heat, Dwayne called to Fidel, who was busy pinning photographs onto the whiteboard. "Hey, man, you'll never guess, I've just bumped into my cousin Marlon. He and his wife were at that new restaurant one evening a couple of weeks ago and guess who they saw having a meal together?"

"Don't tell me" exclaimed Fidel, "the Chief and Camille?"

"Yes, and he said they were as cosy as anything, chatting away all night!"

"So we did it!"

"We did, Fidel, we did. We are the love gods! One day I'll tell the Chief about our little strategy to help the relationship along, but not yet! In the meantime they have to go on pretending that nothing has happened and we have to go on pretending not to notice they are pretending!"

"I never knew matchmaking could be so complicated!" laughed Fidel. "Oh, careful, here comes the Chief."

"So", said Richard, when they were all four gathered back at the station "we have a well known businessman and philanthropist who is asphyxiated by gas and then blown up, having previously taken sleeping pills – which his wife says he never took. We've checked with the doctor – he was never prescribed Temazepam. So where did he get them and why did he take them? Fidel, what have you found out?"

"Well, Sir, Martin Peverel bought the Peverel Plantation about 30 years ago, when it was in pretty poor shape. He turned it around and now he's the biggest employer on the island. He has a warehouse where they pack the bananas and a couple of lorries to transport them to the airport. He exports mainly to France and the UK. I've looked at last year's accounts, and it all seems pretty healthy. He set up the Peverel Foundation about 10 years ago which as you know is a major benefactor to the island. I've also run the usual background checks on him and his wife, and there's nothing – not so much as a speeding fine."

"Dwayne?"

"I've talked to some of his workers, Chief, and they all say the same thing: Martin Peverel was a good employer, paid good wages, looked after his employees. No-one had a bad word to say about him. But the foreman did tell me he had heard the son was in big trouble – bit of a playboy, apparently, and addicted to the casinos, always in debt. So I made some enquiries and it seems that Jason Peverel is very well known in the casinos of the Caribbean – in fact he's been banned from several."

"Hm, interesting. Well done, Dwayne. I think it's time for a chat with young Jason, and also Matt McAllister – Camille, if you would? And Fidel, see if you can find out who benefits from Martin's death – there must be a Will somewhere. Dwayne, I want you to talk to as many of the partygoers as you can. Find out if anyone saw anything suspicious."

"I'm on it, Chief"

"What are you going to do, Sir?"

"I am going to try and puzzle out how on earth the gas became ignited. Do we have all the photographs of the debris, Fidel?"

"Yes, Sir, they are on your desk. I checked with Forensics, there's nothing to report at this stage."

"Right, off you go. We'll reconvene after lunch."

Camille found Jason Peverel lazing by the swimming pool, drink in hand. From the bottles littered around, it was clearly not the first of the day. She guessed him to be in his early twenties. He was good-looking, if you liked the dishevelled and unshaven look. Personally, she preferred something neater and smarter. He gave her a bleary and rather hostile look as she sat beside him. His eyes swept over her and rather disconcertingly she detected a distinct look of appreciative lust.

"No thanks", she said in response to the proffered bottle. "Mr Peverel, can I ask you where you were on Friday night?"

"Sure. I was here having dinner with my beloved family. Then I went on to a bar and got stinking drunk. I really don't remember anything else."

"Which bar was that? Can anyone corroborate your story?"

"The Starlight. Plenty of people must have seen me – I spent enough money there."

"And what time did you get home?"

"No idea, darling. I believe they put me in a taxi at some point."

"And when did you last see your father?"

"At dinner. He left at about 9.30 ish. Said he was going to the boat. That's it."

"And you went to the Starlight immediately afterwards?"

"No, I stayed for a while and talked to my mother and my sister. It was her 17th birthday, that's why we made the big pretence of the family dinner."

"Pretence?"

He sneered. "Oh surely someone must have told you, beautiful detective. My parents were on the point of divorcing. They were barely on speaking terms. I don't imagine my mother will miss him."

"And you? Will you miss him?"

"Not hugely. We weren't close. He didn't approve of me, you see."

"Why not?"

"Didn't approve of the lifestyle – the girls, the drink, the gambling. Oh yes, I gamble, Detective. And yes, I have gambling debts that Dad refused to pay. And no, I didn't kill him because of that. Look, my father wanted me to take over the business from him. But I wasn't interested, it's just not what I want to do in life. So we didn't exactly see eye to eye. I'm not sorry he's dead, but I didn't kill him. OK?"

"One more question. Are you sure it was 9.30 when your father left the house? We have a report that he didn't arrive down in the harbour until about 11. Any idea where he could have been in that hour and a half?"

Jason laughed unpleasantly. "No problem there. He'll have been with Sarah, his tart."

"Sarah Jarvis, the manager at the plantation?"

"That's right. Everyone knew, though we pretended we didn't. She started as his PA about 18 months ago, then gradually took over the running of just about everything, including Dad. Clever little bitch."

"Did your mother know about the affair?"

"Of course she did. It was the main reason she decided to sue for divorce. You know, take him for everything she could get."

"I see. Well, thank you, Mr Peverel, that's all for now."

"Fancy a drink later, darling, when you're off duty?"

"No thanks" she replied curtly "my boss wouldn't like it." Which he certainly wouldn't, she reflected as she pulled up outside Matt McAllister's shack. The American had his head under the bonnet of a jeep.

"Mr McAllister? I'm Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey of the Saint Marie Police. I'd like to talk to you about the death of Martin Peverel."

"Sure thing" he replied, wiping his hands on an oily rag. "What do you want to know?"

"Can you account for your movements on Friday?"

"Well, I was here for most of the day, working on the jeep. Mr Peverel didn't need me, he drove himself over to the plantation. Then in the evening I went to the party on the beach, and I was there until the explosion. Then I rang Mrs Peverel and eventually brought her back home."

"You were previously in the US Army?"

"Not the Army, I was in the Marines. 15 years. Discharged 10 years ago. I've been working for the Peverels ever since, looking after the cars and the boats."

"Do you know of any reason why someone would want to kill Martin Peverel?"

"Nope, it's a mystery to me. You're quite sure it wasn't an accident?" She nodded.

"You didn't overhear anything, any angry phone calls when you were driving him?"

"I never heard anything – there's soundproof glass between the front and back of the car."

"OK, do you mind if I take a look round?"

"Be my guest. It won't take you long."

Camille conducted a quick search of the shack, then took her leave and made her way back to the station, where Richard was impatiently awaiting her return. Fidel and Dwayne were already back.

"So, what do we have? Fidel?"

"I talked to Martin's solicitor. She confirmed that Martin and Laura were divorcing. There was a lot of unpleasantness about the money – Laura claimed Martin hadn't declared all his bank accounts, that he had money hidden away somewhere. He denied it, and apparently Laura's solicitors haven't been able to find any trace. Laura is the main beneficiary of the Will, though there are bequests to Jason and Emily as well. She gets the house, business and most of the money."

"Dwayne?"

"I talked to as many of the party goers as I could find, Chief. No-one saw anything at all odd. They all saw Martin arrive, have a quick drink and then go off to the yacht. No-one saw anyone else going out to the yacht."

"Camille?"

"Well, Jason Peverel claims that after the family dinner he went to a bar and got drunk. I've checked and the bar owner confirms he was there and that he had a lot to drink. He said he had to call a taxi to take Jason home at about 12.30. Jason fancies himself as a playboy, I think. He said he wasn't on good terms with his father, who wouldn't pay his latest gambling debts, but claims he didn't kill him. But I think he would be capable of it."

"You didn't like him?"

"No, I didn't, but that doesn't make him a murderer. He also said Martin was having an affair with Sarah Jarvis, his manager at the plantation. That's why Laura was suing for divorce. He reckons that's where Martin went when he left the dinner. He clearly doesn't like Sarah much!"

"Nor does Laura Peverel, but I suppose it's understandable. And Matt McAllister?"

"Says he was at home all day working on the jeep, then at the party in the evening. Ex US Marines. I had a look round his shack, and there were women's toiletries in the bathroom. Including a bottle of Opium. Which is the perfume Laura Peverel was wearing – it's pretty distinctive and too expensive for most women on the island."

"So you think Laura and Matt are having an affair?"

"I told you he was acting in a very familiar manner down at the harbour! You see, I was right!"

"Yes, yes, all right" he muttered. He hated having to admit that her intuition was often correct. "The other outstanding question is how the gas canister exploded. I've been looking through all the photos of the evidence and see here" he pointed to one of the photos of a piece of mangled metal pinned up on the board – "this is part of the little cooker. The taps of both of the gas rings have clearly been turned on, so the cabin would have been full of gas. But there must have been a spark to ignite it. And Martin Peverel was out cold, if not dead by then. I've looked through all the photos and there doesn't seem to be … Hello, what's this? Here, does that look like part of a bullet hole?" They gathered round the photo of twisted metal. Richard got out his magnifying glass. "Yes, that's it" he cried triumphantly, "it was a bullet striking the gas canister that caused the spark that ignited the gas. Or I think so, anyway. Fidel, get on to Guadeloupe and ask the forensics team to check for a possible bullet hole."

"Yes, Sir, I'll do it right away."

"May I have a word, Inspector?" None of them had noticed the arrival of the Commissioner. Richard forced something approaching a smile. He knew from bitter experience that the Commissioner's 'words' were never just that: he was a man of (in Richard's eyes) Machiavellian cunning who worked to his own agenda – and who had twice manipulated him into staying on the island when all he wanted was to go home. "Of course, Sir." They moved aside.

"Do I understand that you are now treating the death of Martin Peverel as a murder enquiry?"

"Yes, Sir." Richard braced himself for what he was sure was going to be one of the Commissioner's more exquisite dressing downs. He opened his mouth to defend himself, trying desperately to order his wits which were rapidly deserting him. The Commissioner invariably had that effect on him: he was an imposing man who always spoke softly but to deadly effect, and had an uncanny knack of reducing the normally articulate Richard to a state of incoherence.

"Good".

Richard gaped.

"I should tell you, Inspector, that the day before the accident Martin telephoned me. He said he had discovered something disturbing but didn't wish to discuss it on the phone. He made an appointment to see me this week but of course was unable to keep it, so unfortunately I don't know what it was he wanted to tell me."

"And you didn't think to mention this before, Sir?"

"I didn't want to prejudice the investigation, Inspector. I wanted you to come to your own conclusions. But now that you have I think it is appropriate that you should know there may be a reason why Martin was killed."

"Yes, thank you, Sir".

"And what is more, he may have felt that his life was in danger. This morning I received in the post a small package, with a note from Martin. He said he was sending me the evidence for safe keeping and would explain when he saw me."

"And what was the evidence that he sent you?"

"This", and the Commissioner handed Richard a small envelope.

"A highlighter pen!" exclaimed Dwayne, following the Commissioner's departure. "How on earth could a highlighter pen be significant?"

"I haven't the remotest idea" replied Richard, "and what is more, it's pink! What sort of man carries a pink highlighter pen around with him?"

Camille opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. This was clearly one of those niggling details that the Inspector so loved to obsess over and she knew it was useless to try to reason with him.

"So," resumed Richard "we have a well known and respected businessman who has discovered 'something disturbing' (Richard used air quotation marks) which is somehow linked to a pink highlighter pen, but is conveniently blown up before he has time to speak to the police. Marvellous. Let's take a look at our suspects." They gathered round the whiteboard where Fidel had pinned a range of photographs. Richard went to pick up the pointer but found to his consternation that it was not there. He hunted around then asked "Has anyone seen the pointer?" Three innocent faces stared back at him. Richard looked decidedly miffed but decided to carry on regardless.

"Firstly the wife. On the point of divorcing Martin. Inherits virtually everything. No alibi after 10.30."

"Where did you hide it?" whispered Dwayne to Camille.

"It's in my desk."

Richard cleared his throat impatiently. "Aha!" he cried, pouncing on a ruler. "This will do!"

He tapped vigorously on the whiteboard. Camille ground her teeth in frustration.

"The son. Major gambling debts. Resented his father for not paying his debts. He has an alibi up to 1 in the morning. Could he have gone out again that night?"

Another rat-a-tat-tat. Camille pursed her lips tightly. How annoying could the man get?

"Well, I think we can disregard the daughter – she's only just 17. So now we come to the driver, Matt McAllister. He was at the party – could he have slipped away at some point? But what would be his motive?"

"I heard he is trying to set up his own business", interjected Fidel. "If he marries Laura, he would have access to all the money he needs."

"Right. But is that enough of a motive for murder? She was getting divorced anyway. Who else? Sarah Jarvis. She was having an affair with Martin. Clearly not popular with the family, but that's hardly surprising. On the face of it she has nothing to gain and everything to lose by his death."

"Laura overheard Martin arguing with a man – the man in the Che Guevara T shirt. What about him?" asked Camille, making a final grab for the ruler.

"I've seen him around" said Dwayne, "seems to have arrived on the island about a week ago."

"Well bring him in for questioning" said Richard. "Camille, with me down at the harbour."

Ten minutes later Richard was pacing up and down along the quayside. "Questions?" he invited.

"Where did the murderer fire from? And how did he turn on the gas without being seen?"

"Agreed. The boat was at least a hundred yards from the shore. That would have been quite a shot. You're a good shot - could you hit a gas canister at that distance?"

"Maybe, but with the boat bobbing about it would be difficult. And it would depend on the type of gun. But personally I can't see Laura Peverel being able to pull it off."

"No, and probably not the son either, particularly if he was inebriated. Unless he was not as drunk as he led people to believe?"

"But the driver probably could – he's ex-Marines. With or without the connivance of Laura."

"But he was at the party. Where could he have shot from? There were over a hundred people milling around. Even with a silencer it would be incredibly risky – and he may have had to shoot several times before hitting the target. And it doesn't answer the question of how the gas was switched on in the first place." Richard rubbed the sides of his head vigorously in sheer frustration. "None of it makes sense" he sighed. "What am I missing?"

"You know, there's one person we haven't talked to: Sarah Jarvis."

"You're right, Camille, I think it's time we paid her a visit. Let's get a warrant tomorrow and search the offices at the plantation at the same time. But for now, I need a drink. Let's call it a day."

Shortly afterwards Camille, Fidel and Dwayne were sitting round a table at La Kaz drinking their beers and chatting happily to Catherine. Richard had stationed himself on the terrace and was moodily stirring and re-stirring his tea.

"What is the matter with him?" Catherine nodded in the direction of the Inspector. "Is the case not going well or is he just in one of his grumpy moods?"

"Oh you know what he's like, maman, he's probably obsessing about some obscure piece of evidence."

"I can hear you, you know", he called from the terrace "but please feel free to carry on talking about me as if I didn't exist."

"Well come and join us, then. Stop being so unsociable."

Richard got up and made to move inside. He suddenly caught sight of the Commissioner across the street getting into his car and shot out of the café. "Sir, Sir" he called urgently, breaking into that strange loping gait of his that was something between a walk and a run, which always made Camille smile. The Commissioner turned.

"Inspector?"

"Um, I was wondering," Richard panted "whether, um, Interpol or SOCA had ever shown any interest in Martin Peverel's business affairs, you know, whether they had contacted you …" He trailed off under the unrelenting gaze of the Commissioner."

"No, Inspector."

"Great. No, I mean not great but, but … thank you, Sir. I just thought there might be … Er, I'd better be getting back to the others", and he backed gratefully away.

By the time he got back his tea had gone cold.