Brodie dropped his rucksack into the spare wheel recess in the Mustang’s boot and made his way back to the apartment, taking care as always, to ensure that he was not being followed.
The day had passed quickly. Having checked out the yacht then taken his bag back to his car, Brodie went for lunch in one of the many little bars dotted along the quayside. He had picked one that afforded him a view of ‘Nijinsky’, without putting him in clear sight from the yacht. He ate slowly and took his time over a glass of Rioja, using his phone to take occasional photographs of people coming and going from the vessel.
‘Nijinsky’Later, he took a long slow walk round the marina, noting the police boats moored in a quiet corner of the harbour at the side of a steep ramp that angled down into the water.
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