And then I search for the name of the small village that Elaine said Tito liked to visit. I don’t know anything else about Tito, except what we talked about and what Elaine has told me. The internet has a few articles and pictures of him winning prizes and awards over the years, but nothing of any help to me. Willi comes up on the map, but not before the algorithm has tried to send me to a dozen similar-sounding places. It is about five hours’ drive west of here, and according to various websites it is a thriving metropolis. It has hotels and motels, and schools and industry. But when I refine the search on each of these categories, I discover that Willi has none of them. All I can find is that it has something called a sub post office, but the internet can’t really explain what this is. All the references are to licensed post offices and community postal agents. I guess these are modern rebadgings of the old half post office, half small businesses that used to exist around here. I remember one on the other side of Waterglen that sold booze as well.

I call the Willi number provided. I know with these sorts of establishments I have just as much chance of catching the proprietors at night as I do during work hours.

‘Hello.’ The voice is pleasant, but unconcerned.

‘Is that the Willi post office?’

‘Sure is. How can I help?’ It is not the voice of someone from the west. He has not bothered to take up the distinct way they talk out there. A newcomer, I’m guessing, but maybe new a decade or so ago.

‘I just wanted to check that you were still in business.’

‘Business? We’re still open, and we do the mail, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘Yeah. That’s good to hear. Do you remember a bloke called Tito Slade?’

He does not say anything for a long time. A dog yaps a small-dog bark in the background. No one hushes him. ‘Who am I talking to?’ The voice is now tense and on-guard.

‘Dave Martin from Stony Creek.’

‘Dave.’ His voice relaxes. ‘How are you, Dave?’

‘I’m well, thanks. You’ve heard of me, my name?’

‘Well, I would have, wouldn’t I?’

‘Why is that?’

‘If you want to find that out, you’d better come and visit.’ The line goes dead.

I ring Ian, and Mandy answers the phone. I tell her I need to go on a little trip, and this time I really will go away, and would Ian mind feeding the dogs? She is quick to agree to do anything I ask, and then wonders aloud if I would like Ian to go with me.

‘Thanks, Mandy, but I need to do this on my own.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I promise I’ll look after myself.’