I got to my feet and started to stroll back down the quay. After a moment, Richard caught up with me. We were just in time to see the chauffeur and a young lad in shorts and a striped T-shirt trot down the gangplank and start unloading suitcases from the boot of the limo. They ferried half a dozen bags on board, not even giving us a second glance. We walked back to my car and stared at the receiver in a moody silence neither of us felt like breaking.

After about half an hour, Turner and the bodyguard came off the yacht and got in the car. “You want to follow them?” I asked Richard. “I’ll stay here and watch the boat.”

“No heroics,” he bargained.

“No heroics,” I agreed.

He just caught the lights at the end of the road where the limo had turned right. It looked like the chauffeur was taking Turner back to the villa. And judging by the screen, the buckle was now aboard the yacht. One of two things was going to happen now. Either the yacht was going to take off, complete with buckle, or some third party was going to come to the yacht and get the buckle. My money was on the former, but I felt duty bound to sit it out. The phone rang about twenty minutes later. “They’re back at the villa,” Richard reported. “Do you want me to wait and see if Turner takes off?”

“Please,” I said. “Thanks, Richard. Sorry I bit your head off earlier.”

“So you should be. You’re lucky to have me.” He ended the call before I could find a retort.

Suddenly the receiver screen went blank. I sat bolt upright. I pulled the connector out of the cigarette lighter socket where I’d been recharging the batteries and slid the power compartment cover off. I broke one of my nails getting the batteries out in a hurry, and stuffed replacements in. But when I switched on again, the screen was still blank. Given that it wasn’t the batteries and the yacht hadn’t moved out of range, there was only one possible reason why my screen was blank. Someone had discovered the bug and put it out of action. I took a deep breath and thanked my lucky stars that my name wasn’t Nicholas Turner.

Ten minutes later, the lad in the shorts was back on the quayside, casting off. Within twenty minutes, the Petronella Azura III had disappeared round the point. Pondering my next step, I drove back up the valley and found Richard sitting in the BMW a couple of hundred yards up the road from the turnoff to the drive. I parked my Merc at Casa Nico and walked up to join him. I filled him in on the latest turn of events. It didn’t take long.

“So, do we go home now?” he asked plaintively.

“I suppose so,” I said reluctantly. “I’d like to get inside that villa, though.”

“You said yourself it was impregnable,” he pointed out.

“I know, but I never could resist a challenge.”

Richard took a deep breath. “Brannigan, you know I never try to come between you and your job. But this time, you’ve got to back off. Go home, tell the police what you’ve got so far. They can pick up Turner and they can talk to the good cops over here and get them to look at the villa and the boat. There’s nothing more you can do here. Besides, you’ve got another case you’re supposed to be working on, in case you’d forgotten.”

Part of me knew he was right. But there is another part of me that responds to being told what to do by doing just the opposite. It overrides all my common sense, and it’s one of the reasons why I prefer to work alone. Besides, I knew that all we had was an address and the name of a boat. That wouldn’t necessarily take the authorities anywhere at all. I wanted more.

But I didn’t want to get into that right then. “Let’s book in at Casa Nico for another night,” I said. “We might as well get an early start tomorrow and shoot straight back to Antwerp in a oner,” I said. “We don’t have to eat there,” I added hastily. “Sestri Levante looked like it might have a few decent restaurants.”

Richard scowled. “So why don’t we go the whole hog and book in at a decent hotel too?”

“I’d like to stay up here, keep an eye on the place, see if there are any more comings and goings,” I told him. “You can go down to Sestri and potter round the shops if you want.”

The scowl deepened. “I’m not some bloody bimbo,” he complained. “If you’re waiting here, I’ll keep you company.”

It was a long afternoon. I finished the thriller and Richard started it. We played I Spy. We played Bonaparte. We played “I went to the doctor’s with…” right through the alphabet. The only break was when I nipped back to the Casa Nico to book us a room for the night. I was about to give in to Richard’s pleas to call it a day when there was movement. An Alfa-Romeo sports saloon shot out of the drive heading up the valley. Even at the speed it was traveling, I recognised the bodyguard behind the wheel. “Move it,” I told Richard. He pulled the BMW round in a tight arc and shot after the Alfa.

We didn’t have far to go. A few miles up the road was a bar whose owner could have taught Nico a thing or two. Even from our slow cruise past, it was obvious that Bar Bargonasco made Nico’s look like a funeral parlor. The music was loud and cheerful, the car park didn’t look like an apprentice scrapyard and there were more than six people in there. “Pull up round the corner,” I said.

When the car stopped, I opened the door. “Where are you going?” Richard said, panic in his eyes.

“I’m going to get into that villa one way or another. If I can’t do it Dennis O’Brien style, I’m going to do it Kate Brannigan style. I’m going to chat up the bodyguard.” I shut the car door and took off the shirt I was wearing over the cotton vest that was tucked into my jeans. As I was stuffing the shirt into my handbag, Richard jumped out of the driver’s seat.

“You’re out of your mind,” he yelled at me. “Have you seen the size of that guy?”

“That’s the whole point. He’s obviously been hired for his size, not his brains. He probably keeps them in his trousers, which gives me a head start.”

“You’ll never get his keys off him,” Richard exploded. “For fuck’s sake, Kate. This is madness.”

“I’m not planning on getting his keys off him. I’m planning on getting him to take me home with him,” I said, starting off toward the bar.

Richard caught up with me two steps farther on and grabbed my arm. “No way,” he shouted.

Mistake, really. In one short, sharp move, I freed myself and left Richard white-faced and clutching his wrist. “Never, never grab me like that,” I said softly. “You don’t own me, Richard, and you don’t tell me what to do.”

For a long moment, we stood in a silent Mexican standoff. “I love you, you silly bitch,” Richard finally said. “If you want to go off and get yourself killed, you’ll have to knock me out first.”

“I’ll do it if I have to. You better believe me. This is my job, Richard. I know what I’m doing.”

“You’d fuck that gorilla because you think it’ll help you nail some mafioso?”

I snorted. “Is that what this is about? Sexual jealousy? What do you think I am, Richard? A tart? I never said I was going to fuck the guy. If he thinks that’s on the agenda, that’ll be his first mistake.”

“You think you can sort out a fucking monster like that with a bit of Thai boxing? Brannigan, you’re off your head!” Richard was scarlet by now, his hands bunched into fists by his side.

I was inches away from completely losing control, but I had enough sense left not to flatten him. That would be one move that our relationship wouldn’t survive. “Trust me, Richard,” I said quietly. “I know what I’m doing.”

He laughed bitterly. “Fine,” he spat at me. “Treat me like an idiot. I’m used to it, after all. That’s what you all think I am anyway, isn’t it? Richard the wimp, Richard the pillock, Richard the doormat, Richard the wanker, Richard who lets Kate do his thinking for him, Richard the limp dick who can’t be trusted to do the simplest of jobs without ending up in the nick,” he ranted.