Chapter 1
The first signs of spring came early that year, with clear blue skies and a pale yellow sun that shone over the drab concrete of Porthenev Harbour. Although winter’s stranglehold was loosening, the air remained crisp and thin, slipping beneath the folds of Blake Hollow’s long black coat as she climbed out of her car and shut the door. She shivered, slid her hands inside her pockets. At the other end of the half empty car park, a tall, silver-haired man stood next to a white transit van. Dressed in dusty overalls, heavy work boots, and a donkey jacket that had seen better days, he appeared strong and healthy despite nearing retirement age. His bare hands were currently wrapped around a cup of takeaway coffee, warming them against the cold. As Blake approached, he opened the van door, leaned inside, and took out a crumpled paper bag and another cup of coffee.
‘Your mother insisted I bring you breakfast,’ he said, holding out the bag. ‘Says you’re wasting away.’
Blake rolled her eyes. ‘She knows I don’t do breakfast.’
She accepted the coffee and brought it to her lips. Ed Hollow stared at the paper bag in his hand, shrugged, then removed a sugary pastry and bit into it. ‘I’ll tell your mother you ate it anyway.’
Blake turned her back on her father to peer up at Porthenev. The fishing village was hundreds of years old, consisting of small white cottages that clustered together on a sloping hill, their windows watching over the harbour and the ocean beyond. It was Blake’s first visit to Porthenev, but it reminded her of so many other Cornish coastal towns nestled between towering cliffs. She had already researched the place, learning that what had once been a thriving community built on the back of prime pilchard fishing was now a ghost town for half the year. Tourism, second homes, and holiday lets had sent local property values soaring, which had resulted in not only pricing local people out of the area but doing serious damage to the fishing crews’ livelihoods.
The seafront cottages that had once been home to generations of fishermen and their families had all been snapped up by property developers and converted into short-stay summer rentals and seasonal gift shops, forcing the current cohort of fishermen to live further from the shore, even in other towns and villages. Worse still, younger crew members, who were needed to work on the trawlers, were growing increasingly scant, because who could afford to live in a town where the cost of living was three times higher than the local average salary? Which meant several of the remaining fishermen had no choice but to set out on solo trips that yielded fewer hauls of fish and put their lives at greater risk. Add to the mix the growing tension between locals and second home buyers who left their dwellings empty for most of the year, and you had a village that had become a boiling pot of frustration, resentment, and a begrudging dependency on tourism.
Standing in the freezing car park, Blake could taste the uneasiness in the air. She sipped more coffee and turned back to her father. ‘Shall we get this over with?’
Ed nodded as he swallowed the last bite of pastry, then tucked the paper bag inside his jacket pocket. There were grains of sugar caught in his stubble that Blake decided could stay there. She was annoyed her father had insisted on accompanying her to Porthenev Harbour, using the excuse that he had been friends with the harbourmaster, Jasper Rowe, for years, and it was he who Jasper had reached out to in the first place. Blake believed his presence had more to do with a need to protect his daughter from a harbour full of grizzled old fishermen with wandering eyes. But what he hadn’t accounted for was that in Blake’s long career as a private investigator she had dealt with all kinds of violent and unsavoury people. She could handle a few surly fishermen with her eyes closed. And yet, for the sake of their fragile relationship, she had agreed to let her father come along.
Exiting the car park, they walked along a stony path, passing a row of empty cottages and closed shops, until they reached the main harbour. A long granite pier stretched out into the green water, while an angular seawall to the right enclosed the harbour in the crook of its arm. High tide had come and gone two hours ago. Now the water was restlessly ebbing and flowing as it gradually receded. Most of the larger fishing trawlers were already at sea, with only a few smaller boats left behind. The stench of fish guts hung thickly in the air, making Blake grateful that she hadn’t eaten the pastry.
She cast her gaze over the rest of the harbour. Stacks of lobster and crab pots lined the quayside. A row of net lofts stood behind them, filled with fishing nets and related equipment. Over to the right, two industrial-looking ice plants towered over the cold storage units where trays of freshly caught fish were stored before being taken to market.
At the top of the main slipway that sloped down to the harbour water, a fishing trawler named Laura-Lynn had been hauled up and secured. A large, ragged hole was visible in its side. Standing next to the trawler was a group of men wearing yellow waterproof over trousers, dirty jackets, and rubber boots. None of their faces had seen a razor in weeks. The men looked up as Blake and her father headed towards the harbourmaster’s office, which was tucked in next to the storage lofts. One of them nodded at Ed, while the others stared, unsmiling, at Blake.
‘Friendly bunch,’ she muttered.
Ed knocked on the office door then pushed it open. Jasper Rowe was waiting inside. The office was a single room, not much more than a shack, but Jasper kept it immaculately tidy, the paperwork on his desk organised neatly in trays and the noticeboard on the wall symmetrically arranged. The harbourmaster got to his feet as they entered and shook hands with Ed. Unlike Blake’s father, Jasper Rowe was a short man, but he was stockily built with thick white hair, a silver beard, and smiling eyes that reminded Blake of a friendly sea captain featured in a TV ad from her childhood. He had a weathered, outdoor complexion, and as he shook Blake’s hand, she felt the roughness of his skin borne from years of working at sea.
‘Good to see you, Ed,’ Jasper said, in a heavy Cornish accent. ‘Nice to meet you, Blake. Your father speaks highly of you.’
Blake glanced at Ed and arched an eyebrow. He avoided her gaze.
‘I was about to offer you coffee, but I see you already came armed,’ Jasper continued. ‘Please, sit.’
He took two wooden chairs from a stack in the corner and set them down on one side of his desk. Once they were all seated, Blake got straight down to business.
‘So, how can I help?’
A frown rippled over Jasper’s forehead. ‘I expect your father already filled you in.’
‘All the same, I’d like to hear it in your own words.’
The man scratched his chin. Ed automatically did the same and discovered his sugar crumb coating, which he quickly brushed away before glancing at Jasper and Blake to see if they had noticed.
‘The boys outside will tell you more,’ Jasper said, ‘but it all started a few weeks ago. Just a bit of graffiti at first, on one of the boats. We assumed it was kids from the village, bored and playing up. There’s not much for them to do around here. Still, it’s no excuse to vandalise private property. Anyway, the paint came off easily enough after a good scrub, and we thought it was over and done with. But then a couple of days later, the net lofts were broken into and some of the nets torn up. After that, it was the cold storage units. Someone tampered with the refrigerators, so that was thousands of pounds worth of fish gone to ruin.’
Ed shook his head in disgust. ‘Youngsters have no respect these days.’
‘We don’t know it was youngsters,’ Blake said, shooting him a look before turning back to Jasper. ‘What did the police say?’
‘Oh, they came down and had a look around, took out their notepads and pens. But that was about it. They said the same thing, that it was probably just kids mucking about. Said they couldn’t do much beyond asking around, and that if anything else was to occur we were to get in touch.’ He blew air through his nose. ‘Fat lot of good that did.’
‘What about cameras?’ Blake asked. ‘CCTV?’
The harbourmaster shrugged. ‘We don’t have anything like that. We’re not some fancy port like Padstow or Falmouth. Anyway, that seemed to be the end of the trouble for a few days. We thought whoever was behind it had been scared off by the police. But then, a week later, it started again.’
‘What happened?’
‘This time it was broken windows and smashed lobster pots. By this point, the men had had enough, so a group of them camped out in the harbour the following night to see if they could catch the bastard.’ He glanced at Blake. ‘Pardon my language.’
‘I’ve said a lot worse. Go on.’
‘Well, they waited and waited. Nothing happened. A few more days went by, and then Albert Roskilly and his crew came to take his trawler out in the early hours, only to find someone had put a bloody great hole in the side of it. Now she’s out of action. You probably saw her on the slipway as you came in. That’s Albert’s livelihood gone right there, along with his crew’s. Don’t know if or when she’ll be seaworthy again.’
Blake glanced at her father, whose face was pulled into a scowl, then back at Jasper Rowe. ‘Please tell me you went back to the police.’
‘We did,’ the harbourmaster said. ‘But again they said they couldn’t do much about it.’
Blake sat up. ‘I can understand that for a bit of graffiti. But for sinking a fishing trawler?’
‘They said without us having any security cameras or witnesses they didn’t have a lot to go on.’
Jasper was quiet for a minute before solemnly shaking his head.
‘Do you have any idea who might be behind all this?’ Blake asked.
‘At first, I put it down to rivalry, some disgruntled fishermen with empty nets trying to thin the competition. The waters around here were overfished for years, and although the fish are coming back, it’s still not how it used to be.’
‘And now?’
‘Now, I’m not so sure. These attacks feel personal to me. Like someone’s bearing a grudge.’
Blake thought a grudge was possible; the repeated offences, and the scaling ferocity of it all certainly felt like a vendetta.
Jasper regarded Blake from across the desk. ‘So, I’ve told you what I know. Do you think you can help us? Do you think you can find out who’s doing this? Because Albert Roskilly and his boys can’t afford to lose another day at sea, and the other crews are worried their boats will be next. These men, they don’t have much, but they’re willing to club together to pay your fees. But I want it to be worth their time and their hard-earned money.’
Blake leaned back on the hard seat. Her father stared at her, his cool eyes unblinking.
‘I’ll talk to Albert Roskilly before I answer that,’ she said.
‘You passed him when you came in. He and his crew are repairing nets just outside.’
Blake rose from her seat. Ed did the same. ‘No, Dad. You stay here and catch up with Jasper.’
Her father opened his mouth to protest, but a sharp look from Blake made him sit down again.
‘I’ll be back soon,’ she said.
