Roscoff looked around the cabin, taking in the scene. To another less seasoned eye things might have seemed unremarkable. That is to say, not suspicious. The cabin was in fact utterly remarkable. A luxury cabin in a high spec ocean going yacht with gilt mirrors and a tiger skin rug being amongst the more understated items of décor. It was the kind of showy overstated display that immediately got Roscoff on edge, however, all that aside there appeared on the face of things to be nothing out of place.

“Not much to see here Gov” said his baby faced sergeant.

“Look again Evans” barked Roscoff “Look closely and tell me what you see”

Evans dutifully looked around again. “I can’t bloody see anything” he thought to himself, “just that miserable old fucker in his cheap suit and Millets anorak”. The cushions were in place, nothing smashed or upturned, there was just a little bit of milk on the coffee table next to the red velveteen slippers placed there. A’h hang on, that looks a bit odd!

“Gov, why would there be slippers on the table? This place is pristine, no one puts slippers on the table! And the milk, it hasn’t been cleaned up!”

“There we go Evans. Jars doesn’t it? Do you know what it makes me think Evans?”

Evans knew this wasn’t rhetorical and that an answer would be required “No Gov, what does it make you think?”

“Makes me think things have occurred here “

The owner of the boat was a fat bellied business man called Jameson, a good deal of his business was on the dodgy side of legit and another good deal of it was downright vicious. His operation succeeded by having a few well-placed coppers in his pocket at any given time. Roscoff had been one of them for some time. He was a gambler and couldn’t fund his habit on a police salary. Jameson offered a nice supplement and occasional useful intel, for a nod and a wink here and there.

The tables turned when DS Judy Mulberry was shot on an early morning raid about a month ago. It was in one of Jameson’s seedier properties, there should only have been a few dozy street girls and some punters there but instead there were gangsters with guns. Roscoff blamed Jameson.

Jameson’s body had floated on shore early this morning, hence their visit to his boat.

“What else do you see Evans?”

Evans tried really hard.

“Look man, look”.

Evans took a hard gulp, and taking his life in his hands said “Nothing, Sir, I can’t see anything!”

“Correct Evans, well done! There is nothing else, now go and get the SOCO in here”

With Evans gone Roscoff bent down and picked up the tie pin that he had hidden under the sole of his shoe. His Rotary Club tie pin, the one with the bent clasp. He placed it in his pocket and looked around one last time. His eyes rested briefly on the slippers and milk, enjoying the still life that they presented. “I would call that Red Herring!” he chuckled.