The Yacht Party (Lara Stone)

Fox looked at her, then gave a sad nod.

‘Where is he?’

She motioned towards the kitchen.

‘He’s still in there. I was going to move him, but thought I should wait until you came.’ The tears started to fall again. ‘Sorry, I’m not usually like this, I couldn’t…’

Ian Fox put an awkward arm around her and they stood like that for a minute or two. Lara supposed this was all part of the job for Fox, plus he was a decent man.

‘Do you have a box? A blanket would be good too.’

She nodded and went down to the bedroom, coming back with an old wicker basket and a fleece throw.

‘You stay here. I can deal with this,’ said Fox disappearing into the kitchen.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see him crouch down over Dingo’s body. She couldn’t bear to think about what he was doing so she crossed over to the window, letting her gaze settled across the dark waters of the Thames.

Lara pressed her thumb and forefinger into her eyes. She had to stop crying. She already looked a sight.

After a few minutes Fox came back into the room.

‘What do you think?’

‘It’s not a standard break-in,’ he said, still looking around. ‘Burglars are in and out. They grab high-value items and are gone, but you have a nice TV on the wall there and they didn’t touch it.’

It was the answer she had expected, but it wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear. Lara had harboured a slim hope that Fox would say ‘Oh, it’s just some kids messing about. We’ve had a spate of these over the past few weeks.’ But Lara had known in her heart it wasn’t kids or opportunistic thieves. Which meant it was something much more dangerous.

‘Have you pissed anyone off?’

‘All the time,’ she said, with a snotty smile.

Fox took a tissue out of her pocket and handed it to her.

Fox pulled a face.

‘Feels personal, doesn’t it,’ she said, nodding towards the slashed cushions.

‘They were either looking for something or they’re being vindictive, deliberately destructive. Possibly both.’

He paused. ‘What stories on you working on the moment?’

‘I think you know the answer to that one.’

‘Your friend. Sandrine?’

Fox inhaled sharply.

‘Could this be connected?’

‘You’re the detective, Ian. Dead girl, dead cat, trashed boat. Are you seriously wondering if it’s not?’

‘It’s possible.’

Lara knew it was time to stop tip-toeing around the edges of their conversation.

‘This isn’t a break-in,’ she said, hearing the desperation in her voice. ‘It was a warning to stop working on my story. Killing Dingo, they were telling me what they could do to me.’

God, it was true, wasn’t it? The air on the houseboat felt thick and stale. She was suddenly aware that there was water beneath her home and she could almost feel the river moving under the soles of her feet. She put her hand out to stop herself from falling but Fox caught her.