The Police Doctor’s Secret

CHAPTER FOUR

SARAH made a careful inspection of the site, but there was nothing else it could tell her. She roped off the plane so no one else could go near, but she knew it was futile. ‘It’s like shutting the gate after the horse has bolted, but it’s all I can do. I want technicians up here to take fingerprints. Anything. There’s been so much messed up already…’

‘I’m sorry,’ Alistair said ruefully as they left the beach.

There was no point in their staying. Jack, the capable mechanic Alistair had spoken of, had arrived. He was primed to stay close to Barry. Alistair needed to be back at the hospital and Sarah needed to set wheels in motion-wheels that required a phone and a lot of explanation.

‘To be honest, I wasn’t thinking about compromising the scene,’ Alistair told her. ‘I had a dead pilot on my hands, and almost the moment I saw him there were people demanding I get back to town fast to cope with the suspected coronary. I thought…’

‘You thought Barry might be depended on to preserve the site?’

‘Yes.’

She considered. ‘So, when he said there were others at the plane before him who messed with the footprints…’

‘There weren’t. He went out with the first group. I was following soon after, but Barry would have been first on the scene.’

‘So he just didn’t notice whether there were prints leading out of the plane before everyone else had stomped all over them.’ She sighed. ‘The man’s a liar as well as a fool.’

‘His mind’s not exactly on the job. He doesn’t want to be here.’

‘The easiest way for him to get out is to learn to be a decent cop,’ she said ruefully. ‘What are the authorities about, sending someone like this to be a sole policeman in this remote place? Professionals without back-up have to be the best.’

‘That’s not something Grant would have said.’

She cast him a look that was disturbed. Professionals without back-up having to be the best? Alistair was right. Grant would never have conceded that. Even if it meant criticising his brother.

Grant had done nothing but look down with disparagement on his twin, Sarah thought. How much had that hurt?

‘We were very young,’ she said softly.

He said nothing.

They walked on. She had to concentrate. The path was really rough. But it was easier returning than going. Alistair was walking behind her but he was moving branches aside, holding them. Making the way easier for her.

Why was he suddenly being nice?

She and Grant…they’d been so conceited. At first she’d even gone along with Grant’s disparagement of his family. Sure, she hadn’t disparaged them herself, but she’d laughed at Grant’s hayseed jokes.

Until she’d spent time with them.

Until she’d discovered what Alistair was really like.

‘What do we do now?’ Alistair asked, and she hauled herself back to the job at hand.

‘Worry,’ she said, trying to keep it light. ‘It’s what I’m principally good at.’

‘Yet you decided not to stay at the plane with Barry?’

‘I don’t think they’ll find them.’

‘Why not?’

She hesitated. Why not? Gut instinct? No. Something more.

‘They’re running,’ she said. ‘There are at least two blood groups there, which means at least two people. But there’s a child. I’m going to be really presumptuous here and assume if one’s a child then there’ll be parents. Why on earth would parents take an injured child and hide?’

‘Maybe the child’s hiding himself? Maybe the pilot was the kid’s father?’

‘He didn’t look like a father.’ She gave a rueful grin. ‘I know. There’s presumption again. But the passenger seat in the cockpit wasn’t used.’

‘How do you know?’

‘There are magazines, not only on the floor but caught in the seat belt. No one was in that seat when the plane crashed. That little plane is designed to carry a pilot, one passenger and cargo. At low altitudes. The hold isn’t pressurised. The cargo area is bare metal and there are no seats. It’ll have been truly horrible to travel in. No wonder the passengers were ill. If the child was the pilot’s son or daughter…’

‘He’d have given the kid the passenger seat.’ Alistair nodded. ‘Yeah. I see that.’

‘Or if anyone in the back was a friend he’d have had that seat. It’s a Rolls-Royce ride compared to the one they got. Yet the magazines got the ride and no one else. It screams to me that our pilot was transporting people for money. That plane won’t be licensed to carry any more passengers than one. The guy’s an idiot. He’s importing heroin in his stomach. He’s transporting passengers. In these conditions there’s no way these are pleasure flights. I’m guessing these passengers are in some sort of trouble. Major trouble.’

‘Like what?’

‘Who knows? Given that they’ve run, I’d guess there might well be criminal convictions. Barry might be right. I need to make a few phone calls-get enquiries underway. But as there’s a child involved…’ Her voice died.

‘What?’

‘I’m thinking that because of how far north you are,’ she said slowly, ‘and because of the fact that the plane flew north from Cairns, maybe landed and then headed west to this side of Cape York, maybe what we have here is a case of people-smuggling.’

‘Illegal immigrants?’

‘It makes more sense than anything else I can think of. Maybe they’ve been landed on the coast somewhere on the eastern side of Cape York by a charter boat, with the arrangement that our pilot will pick them up and take them somewhere they can be processed with false passports and the like. Somewhere really remote. Somewhere near here. How much fuel did the plane have left?’

‘The mail run pilot said there was only enough for another half-hour in the air.’

‘But most pilots verge on the safe side of caution,’ she said, thinking out loud. ‘Half an hour… You know, if I was a pilot in such rough country as this I’d leave plenty of margin for error. Say even twenty minutes’ flight time. If there are cattle over the airstrip and they have to be cleared…well, anything could happen to delay landing. He’s not coming to some place where a clear run can be guaranteed.’

‘So what are you saying?’

‘That we need to look at places close to here. Really close. Is there somewhere I can get a list of property owners?’

‘Why?’

‘I’m thinking…’ She frowned. ‘I’m thinking people who are involved in something as major as people-smuggling don’t usually have clean criminal records. I know it’s a longshot, but if you had a list of outlying property owners, or people who are renting or leasing, I could get a fast police check. Just to see if anything comes up.’

She trudged on. Alistair walked silently behind. She was conscious that his eyes were on her. She was being appraised. And found wanting?

Maybe not.

‘I can help with that,’ he said at last. ‘I know that there are ethical issues involved, but as we’re talking about people’s lives, I think I can square it with my conscience. We don’t have a pharmacy in Dolphin Cove. Pharmacy supplies are issued through the hospital. Through me. That means everyone who uses this town as a shopping base is registered here. I have a list of everyone who’s had so much as a tetanus shot in the last twelve months. More, we register our users on our computer as local or remote. If they’re remote we can issue people double or more supplies of prescription medication so they don’t need to make the trip into town so often. I can run you off an alphabetical list of all adults categorised as remote in the region. Will that do?’

‘Just like that?’ she said, startled, and he smiled.

‘Just like that. If you’re sure…’

‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not sure in the least. But it makes sense. Our pilot’s just been to Thailand, so he may well have been contracted there to do the pick-ups once our visitors reached Australia. While he was in Thailand they must have been already on their way by boat. They must have come by boat. Bringing people in illegally by plane is almost impossible-our border defence will pick them up. But landing people by boat on a remote beach is easier. Internal flights aren’t monitored, so maybe they’ll be put off the boat somewhere north of Cairns. Meanwhile our pilot comes home to Australia to pick them up. He flies as a normal passenger on a commercial airline, but on the way he decides to make a profit on the side. He swallows the condoms. Once in Australia he hires his small plane, flies north to collect his passengers, brings them almost to their destination-and then he dies. Which means out there in the bush we have a group of terrified illegal immigrants, at least one of whom is a child. They won’t come near any searchers. They’ll have invested too much in getting to this country. And they won’t know how savage this country can be.’

‘You’re basing a lot on supposition.’

‘I am,’ she agreed. ‘If there’d been any major crime in the last few days and we had fugitives on the run I’d say that’d be a better explanation. But there’s been nothing. This is the only scenario that fits with him flying north of Cairns before he came here.’

‘If you’re right,’ Alistair said slowly, ‘they’ll know nothing. There’s crocodiles in the freshwater streams and in the mangrove swamps. There are snakes-’

‘And there’s infection.’ Sarah bit her lip and quickened her pace. ‘We need to move fast. I don’t see Barry as having the push to get people up here to help, but I’ll sure as heck try. You’re going back to town to turn into being the Dolphin Cove doctor for the day. I’m going back to turn into a force to be reckoned with. I’ll have a major search and rescue unit up here, forensic scientists-the lot.’

‘But if they still hide…’

‘They’ll come out,’ Sarah said. ‘They must. Please.’

They split when they reached the town. The tension between them had dissipated in the face of urgent professional need.

Alistair made arrangements for Sarah to have use of phones, faxes and radio; he helped her e-mail his list of the remote population to headquarters, so it could be matched against criminal files; he organised the mail run to come earlier-Sarah wanted samples to be taken fast to Cairns for urgent analysis, as DNA matching could give her more information-and then he left her to it.

Sarah-with Flotsam settled happily at her feet-sat on the phone for an hour. And another hour. Finally she rose and ran a hand wearily through her hair. She’d done all she could. Nothing was possible today. It would take a day to get all the resources she needed up here. It would take another few hours to do the cross-matching with population and criminal files. But at least things were in train.

But she was so frustrated.

What else could she do?

She walked out onto the veranda and stood looking up into the hills. If she was right, somewhere out there was a group of desperately injured, desperately frightened people. How on earth could she make them ask for help?

Barry wouldn’t find them. They wouldn’t let him.

She was going nuts. There had to be something she could do.

Walk the dog? Swim?

A swim sounded good, but she wasn’t too sure about the beach. It looked deserted, and in her experience deserted beaches were usually deserted for a reason. It was May-too late for the worst of the nasties inhabiting tropical waters. She knew enough about box jellyfish and the like to afford them the respect they were due. She’d have to ask someone before she tried swimming.

She’d just wander over to the hospital.

She showered and changed-made the transformation from scratched and filthy bushwalker into something that might approximate a doctor, donning a fresh skirt, blouse and sandals-and made her way around to the hospital entrance.

She walked in and stopped in astonishment. There were maybe twenty people lined up on seats around the waiting area.

Good grief!

Claire was bustling past, carrying a specimen jar, and Sarah stopped her. ‘What’s going on? Trouble?’

Claire shook her head. ‘Nope. Normal. Doc’s been out of town all morning, and he’s been called out again now to a place out of town-someone’s rolled a tractor-and the fleet’s in.’

‘The fleet’s in?’

‘The weather’s blowing a south-westerly,’ Claire explained, ‘That means all the fishing boats have headed back to town. Most of these guys spend three or four weeks at sea at a time and they come up with all sorts of nasties. Tropical waters. Heat. A scratch becomes septic. And they spend their spare time on board dreaming up symptoms. Not only that, but while the weather’s bad these guys have all the time in the world to sit round here waiting for a consultation. If I tell them to come back in the morning I’ll be wasting my breath. Alistair will have his hands full until midnight.’

Sarah stared round at the waiting room, stunned. And guilty. Alistair had taken time out he could ill afford this morning, and she knew half the reason he’d come was that he was concerned about Barry’s behaviour. Which rightly was Sarah’s responsibility.

She remembered the way he’d cleared the path for her on the way back and how he’d held her as she’d leaned into the plane. He’d made her work easier. Maybe she could do the same. She was a trained doctor, after all.

‘Can I help?’ she said-tentatively-and Claire grinned as if Sarah had just walked straight into a baited trap.

‘You surely can. I thought you’d never ask. Can you treat a septic finger?’

‘I really enjoy a good septic finger,’ Sarah told her, discovering she was grinning in response. The nurse’s cheerful good humour was infectious. ‘A nice little bit of ooze-it’s principally why I became a doctor.’

Claire’s smile broadened. ‘And then you became a forensic pathologist-that’d give you more ooze that even I want to think about.’

They were both smiling now. Claire was a woman in her early thirties-maybe a little older than Sarah, but not much. She was a squat little woman who looked competent and funny and…nice. She could be a friend, Sarah thought, and then she thought suddenly and irrationally that friendship was something she should work on. It was something that was lacking in her life. She didn’t let people close. Not since Grant…

No. Not since Grant. So maybe friendship wasn’t a good idea. She needed to move on.

‘Show me a room with equipment and a prescription pad,’ she said, breaking the moment with resolution. ‘Ooze, eh? Let me at them.’

‘Okay.’ Claire turned Sarah round so she was facing twenty fishermen. ‘Right, you guys, here’s your new lady doctor. Sarah’s not only competent but she’s also a pathologist. That means she knows how to cut up bodies. So no one had better give her any cheek. Sarah, don’t take anything from any one of them-if they step one inch out of line offer them a place on your mortuary slab. Let’s go.’

She worked solidly for three hours. Claire ushered patients in one after the other, and, to her astonishment, Sarah found she was enjoying herself immensely.

This was real medicine. It was medicine she hadn’t practised for five years, and even then she’d started her initial training as a paediatrician in a city hospital. Paediatrics wasn’t this sort of medicine.

The fishing crews were rough, tough, but underneath as worried as mothers with newborns about their myriad ills. Most of them had been at sea for weeks, and in those circumstances-three weeks of thinking of nothing but sea and fish-minor complaints had a habit of growing in the mind if not in reality. A freckle on a forearm became a melanoma. A little deafness in one ear became a tumour. Sarah found most of her time was spent in reassurance. And apart from that, there were the festering sores that had been neglected for too long…

She worked through, being given an inquisition by each patient.

After Claire’s good-natured injunction to behave with respect, they treated her with caution-but also with immense curiosity. ‘How can you possibly be a forensic pathologist? We’ve seen what they do on telly. Why would anyone as pretty as you want to do that stuff?’

This community was heavily male-oriented. Single women were scarce as hen’s teeth, and she was propositioned by at least five fishermen. She ended up chuckling as she saw out the last fisherman, listening to his impassioned plea to go out with him that night as she tried to close the door behind him.

‘Yeah, I know we haven’t got any restaurants, but I know this great secluded little cove, and I’ll bring lobster and as much beer as we can drink.’

She grinned at him and declined, and was still laughing when she turned to find Alistair watching her, an expression of stunned incredulity on his face.

‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’

She didn’t stop smiling. ‘I suspect I’m protecting my virtue. If he hasn’t got more than lobster and beer on his mind then I’m a monkey’s uncle.’

‘I mean-’ he wasn’t smiling ‘-seeing my patients.’

‘It’s unethical, isn’t it?’ she agreed. ‘But Claire said you were snowed under. You needn’t worry. The people I saw only had minor worries. Anything that I was the least concerned about I saved for you, or told them to come back in the morning for a repeat consultation with a real doctor. For instance you.’

‘Thank you very much,’ he said dryly, and her smile faded.

‘Well, I think you should say thank you,’ she retorted. ‘I’ve saved you three hours’ work.’

‘While you should be out solving crime?’

‘As far as I know there’s no crime to solve. There are missing people I’m doing my best for, but there’s not a lot I can do but wait.’

‘And do nothing?’

‘And do your work.’ Her anger was building.

‘I didn’t ask you-’

‘I offered. I’m not incompetent, Alistair. I’m not sure why you came with me this morning, but-’

‘I’m not suggesting you’re incompetent, either.’

‘Then let’s leave it,’ she snapped. ‘We’re both competent doctors. You help me and I’ll help you. That’s fair.’

‘I don’t need help.’

‘No? You could be just starting clinic now and coping with everything else all on your own. If I was anyone else but me would you be so ungracious?’

He hesitated. Then met her gaze square-on. ‘No,’ he admitted.

‘Then why-’

‘There’s too much history, Sarah. What you did…’

She closed her eyes. What she did… It hung over her like a great black fog. An admission of guilt she could never escape.

When she opened her eyes Alistair’s expression had changed. ‘Sarah…’ His brows had snapped down as if he was suddenly uncertain. That was a change, she thought bleakly. The black cap of judgement had been replaced by something that had just the faintest shade of grey about it.

It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. What this man thought of her was totally immaterial.

‘I need to go through my notes with you,’ she told him.

‘Why?’

‘If there’s something you disagree with then you can dash out and change the medication before I kill someone else.’

Kill someone else. It was a bleak and harsh statement and it hung. Dreadful.

And Alistair’s face changed yet again. Acknowledging the pain she had no hope of disguising.

‘You’ve lived with the guilt of Grant’s death for six years,’ he said softly, and she didn’t say anything at all. Nothing. There was nothing to say.

If she’d wanted to say something then the time to do that had been six years ago, she acknowledged bleakly. Not now. Not now, when it was far, far too late to change a thing.

‘Sarah, I-’

‘Leave it,’ she said, more roughly than she’d intended. ‘Alistair, we agreed to shelve it. We need to work together for the next couple of days, until we sort this out, and then we can move on. We don’t have to see each other again after this. But for now we need to be civil. The way I see it, the only way we can do that is if we avoid the subject completely.’

‘There are unresolved issues-’

‘Then they’re staying unresolved.’

‘Right.’ There was a moment’s silence while each of them regrouped. Figured out where to go from here. Finally…

‘You’re telling me you’ve done all my work?’ Alistair said cautiously, and Sarah practically groaned in relief. They were back to being medical colleagues. It was a relationship she could cope with. She couldn’t cope with anything more.

He even sounded as if he intended to be nice again.

Well, two could go down that path.

‘Yep.’ She even managed a smile. ‘Plus your ward round. Mr Carter’s heart is behaving itself. Don dropped in and had his shoulder checked-he’s doing nicely. It looks to me as if it’s only the result of his major fall-I doubt it’ll end up being a chronic problem. How’s your guy under the tractor?’

‘He’s okay. He was pushed into soft dirt. He had breathing trouble until we got the thing off him, but once the pressure was off he recovered almost immediately. He has two broken ribs. I’ve put him into hospital for observation but he should be fine.’

‘Lucky.’

‘He is.’ Alistair’s gaze was thoughtful. His eyes were appraising her. ‘Are you tired?’

‘Why should I be tired?’ She was ready to spring onto the defensive.

But he was still in nice mode. ‘You’ve had a long day.’

She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s only six.’

‘And you’ve just knocked back a dinner invitation.’

‘So I did,’ she said, finally relaxing a little. Alistair seemed to have moved on-away from the hurtfulness of a past that was almost unbearable-and if he was prepared to do that then she was only too glad to follow. ‘I liked the idea of beach and lobster, but the beer and seduction bit was maybe a spot over the top.’

‘So if I said lobster and beach, with no seduction included…?’

‘Anyone who says lobster and beach has my complete compliance,’ she told him. ‘Lobster, beach. Two of my very favourite things. In fact, if I hadn’t been so scared of scary things I’d be on the beach right now.’

‘Scary things?’

‘The beach was deserted this afternoon,’ she told him. ‘It looked gorgeous, but with no lifesaver in sight and no one in the water I assumed there must be at least half a dozen lethal-type stingers like box jellyfish lurking out there.’

‘They don’t come in at this time of the year.’

‘Then why isn’t the town swimming?’

‘It’s a normal school day,’ he told her. ‘The townspeople are working. The fishermen are in port, but the last thing they want when they’re in port is any more sea. And anyone who has any free time is out searching. Not wasting time swimming.’

‘Well,’ she said, meeting his gaze square-on, ‘that’s put me in my place properly, hasn’t it?’ She gave him a half-hearted smile. ‘You’re very good at it.’

‘I don’t have a clue what your place is.’

Silence. Neither knew where to take it from there. But…he had said lobster and beach…

‘Cooked lobster?’ she queried, and the tension eased off again as he smiled.

‘Yep. One of the fishermen who’s just come in cooked up a batch this afternoon. He always keeps me some. It saves me from Mrs Granson’s interminable casseroles for a day or so.’

‘You know,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘you could always learn to cook.’

‘I need a wife,’ he said-and the twinkle was suddenly back behind his eyes again. She liked it, she thought. More. She loved it. Well, she must. Grant had had just that same twinkle.

No. It was different. Grant’s twinkle had led to nothing but disaster. Alistair’s twinkle promised teasing and lobster and a swim. Nothing more.

‘I need a wife, too,’ she said, responding to his smile. ‘Anything to save me from a casserole like last night’s. But if it’s only you that’s offering…well, Dr Benn, I accept you and your lobster as a wife substitute.’

‘Thanks very much,’ he said faintly, and she grinned.

‘Any time. Lobster, eh? Is it a large lobster?’

‘Maybe it can even be stretched to two lobsters.’

‘You’re definitely wife material,’ she told him. ‘Lead on.’

The beach was magic.

The tide here was huge, which meant that at low tide there was almost three hundred yards of golden sand. The tide was coming in now, though, which meant it took only fifty or sixty yards to reach the water. Sarah walked onto the sand, looked out at the waves lapping the shore and simply shed her clothes as a butterfly shed its cocoon. Her bikini was underneath, but, watching her, Alistair thought she was almost unaware of it.

She was certainly unaware of him. She’d walked down here by his side, with Flotsam bouncing next to her. Her face had been tilted to the sun and she’d seemed almost oblivious to his presence.

Which was a huge difference for him.

The Benn twins had been born good-looking. There had never been a dearth of women in their lives, and Grant had moved from one fabulous-looking woman to the next. Alistair had always been more selective, and so far there’d never been a woman who’d attracted him enough to make him want to commit to marriage, but he had always been aware that women were attracted to him.

Maybe that was why Grant had been infatuated with Sarah, he thought. Sure, she was gorgeous-and, sure, her father was so rich he could afford to give his daughter anything, which would have appealed to Grant enormously-but there was something more. Grant had offered her marriage. He’d told Alistair that this was the one and maybe Alistair could see why.

She might be rich, but she didn’t flaunt it. She might be spoiled rotten by indulgent parents, but she was a hardworking doctor who pulled her weight and expected no concessions to her status.

And she hardly seemed aware of the fact that any man’s hormones would start an immediate riot the minute she walked in the door.

He stood on the shoreline for a while, watching as Flotsam barked in hysteria and Sarah splashed the little dog and laughed at him until he gave up and started chasing gulls instead. Then she turned to face out to sea, seemed to gather herself, and dived under the first wave and started swimming strongly.

She swam the same way she approached life-with confidence and expertise. Her lithe body sliced effortlessly through the surf.

He watched.

Flotsam came haring up the beach, shaking water all over his legs, and he laughed and bent to pat the little dog.

‘You think I should go in and join her?’

Of course he did. They both did.

But joining her would be a bit difficult. She was lapping the beach, swimming steadily up and down the limits of the little cove. Outer reefs protected this beach. The surf was mild and kind. You could swim for hours.

She could swim for hours.

‘And what fun is that?’ Alistair asked Flotsam. ‘How do we distract her?’

Why would he want to distract her?

Impossible question to answer. All he knew was that he did want to do just that, and he had the means right in the picnic basket.

He lifted the cloth and removed a couple of bread rolls. ‘They’re not for you,’ he told Flotsam. ‘They’re to make the lady play.’

He was standing in a washing machine.

Sarah turned for a repeat lap of the cove and her attention was caught. Alistair was standing waist-deep in the surf and the water around him was a white, churning, maelstrom of movement. Silver slivers were leaping around him-the whole sea looked alive to within twelve feet of the man.

Entranced, she found her feet and stared, breast-deep in the water and fifty feet from the action.

‘You want to try?’ he asked, and she hesitated.

‘Try what?’

‘Fish feeding.’

‘You’re kidding?’ But as she watched he lifted his hand and scattered a fistful of crumbs around him. The water erupted. Slivers of silver fish leaped, contorting, brushing him, desperate to reach the crumbs.

‘Like to try?’ He held out a bread roll.

How was a girl to resist an invitation like that? She dived down and swam strongly underwater, opening her eyes as she neared him.

Fish. Everywhere were fish. Gorgeous silver arrows, long and thin and darting with magic speed… There must be hundreds of them.

She surfaced right by Alistair’s legs and the fish didn’t care at all. They were surfacing all around her, brushing her face, swimming through her hands.

She’d never seen anything like it. Entranced, she floated while all about her the fish leaped and tumbled and just…

Just were.

‘It’s a real-life spa,’ she whispered, and Alistair grinned.

‘Want to see me turn the power up?’ He tossed another handful of crumbs and the water around them churned with the horsepower of a commercial washer. Sarah lay back, grinning like a fool. She’d come down to the beach determined to keep her distance, but who could keep their distance from an experience like this?

Not Sarah.

‘This is magic,’ she breathed as he handed over a bread roll and turned into a spectator himself. She crumbled the bread and lowered it into the water so it would just float away from her hand.

It didn’t have a chance. The fish were actually lifting it from her fingers, darting away and then surging forward for more.

She was laughing out loud.

‘What are they?’

‘Mostly whiting. Though those guys there are banded grunters.’

‘Banded who?’

‘Banded grunters.’ He grinned. ‘You catch one and you’ll see why they’re called that. But you can’t catch one here. The local fishermen have declared this area off-limits to preserve breeding grounds. So we have everything here. Even sea snakes.’

‘Sea snakes?’

‘Sea snakes. That’s one winding through your legs right at this minute.’

‘Right at this minute?’ To say she froze would be an understatement. ‘There’s a snake winding through my legs…?’

‘Look.’

‘I’m carefully not looking,’ she whispered.

‘It wants some crumbs. Not you. Crumbs taste better.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘It’s gone now.’ He grinned at her still frozen expression and pointed to where a streak of silver-grey was breaking the surface as it snaked away. ‘He’s had his feed. He doesn’t need a dessert of toes.’

She relaxed. Sort of. She tossed another lot of crumbs and relaxed some more. Sea snake or not, this was an experience that was almost unbelievable.

‘People would pay a fortune for an experience like this,’ she murmured, and Alistair smiled in agreement.

‘They would. And so would those guys.’

‘Who?’ She looked up from her mass of writhing, tumbling fish and found he was pointing to the other side of the rocky outcrop protecting the little beach. A ring of rocks around the cove made it totally secluded. There was no fear of sharks coming in here. At high tide the rocks would be covered by about a foot of water, she thought, but now the ring of rocks was exposed. And outside it…

Fins. It was all she could do not to yelp. Rocks or not, there were fins, and her toes suddenly felt very vulnerable.

Sea snakes. Fins. A lesser woman might be clutching Alistair’s neck right now, huddled into his arms.

Come to think of it…

No. Concentrate on fins.

‘Sharks?’ she quavered, and his smile widened.

‘Look again.’

She did. The fins were cruising up and down on the other side of the rocks. Then whatever was under one of the fins seemed to take a chance. The creature surged forward, leaping into the air as if trying to see over the rock barrier. And Sarah gasped in sheer joy.

‘Dolphins!’

‘You can’t imagine how frustrated they must feel,’ Alistair told her. ‘They’re watching us feeding what they’d like as their dinner. The whiting and grunters come in here in schools and they’re perfectly safe. The dolphins, however, have to live with frustration.’

‘You tease them,’ she said wonderingly, and he grinned.

‘I do. They don’t mind. There’s heaps of fish on their side of the barrier.’

‘Can we get closer?’

‘I’d imagine with your swimming ability you’d be able to get as close as you like. And they’ll be as interested in you as you are in them. I don’t believe they’ve ever met a forensic pathologist before.’

‘Don’t tell them what I do,’ she said urgently-half seriously. ‘Let them think I’m a schoolteacher or something.’ Then, before he could question her, she’d turned and dived through the small wavelets and was stroking firmly towards the rocks.

Alistair watched her for a moment-just watched her-and then followed.