Fifteen
Looe hadn’t changed. The air smelled of fish and rang with the sound of yachts’ rigging twanging in the breeze. The inevitable seagulls called overhead. I remembered the town as bathed in the permanent sunshine of childhood summers. Today it was grey with a bitter edge to the wind.
And the boats were in. My mood soared. Two pieces of luck. Getting Talan to test the powder and, now, the fishermen would be around. They were a close and closed bunch of families with boats passing from one generation to another. Chances were they’d know of illegal shipments arriving. Chances were one of them might be involved. I’d have to be careful who I spoke to.
First, I went to the Tourist Information Centre. An elegant building, grey granite and high ceilings, built for one of the fishing fleet
