‘If the Vasilievs know about it, they will probably have found out, by pressuring Frank, where the ashes came from. So, mate, if you’ve got any more boxes, or even if they just think you’ve got more boxes, they’re going be sending someone after you, and this time it will probably be a professional — someone competent, someone who can actually do the job.’

I push out one long breath, finally understanding Marko’s concern. I could tell him he doesn’t know the half of it, but I don’t see how that would help anything.

‘Shit.’

‘Yeah, shit is right.’

‘It’s okay. I’m going to give them back their bones.’ The idea has just jumped into my head: a kangaroo in the top paddock. ‘Ben Ruder is involved with them, so I can just stick them in his mailbox, and everything will be cool.’

‘Ben Ruder is involved?’

‘He’s Tito’s cousin, and … I don’t know.’ And I don’t know. My dislike of him has made me leap to conclusions that have no basis, except for the fact that he’s a turd.

‘This is all just too far-out, isn’t it? Next thing you’ll be telling me there are bodies buried all over your farm.’

‘No. There’s not. All I’ve got to do is return the bones, and everything is cool.’

‘So you do have more ashes.’

‘I do.’

‘Bloody hell. Get rid of them. If Ben’s not the one to take them, I’ll find out how to contact the Vasiliev family and tell them I found something of theirs.’

‘Oh, terrific plan, Marko. Then they’ll probably send your bones to me in some fucking beer stein.’

He almost laughs.

‘Well, that’s one solution,’ he says, and is quiet. I don’t fill the space. Then he offers, ‘Do you reckon something like this ever just gets “cool”?’

‘Never been involved with something like this before, so I don’t have a clue. Just doing my best.’

‘Righto.’ Marko’s probably immune to my shit attitude, but you’ve still got to give him points. ‘I’ll talk to you later when I’ve had a chance to make sense of this stuff. Be careful,’ he says.

‘What did you mean by your fine-bone china thing?’

‘Nothing. Just my imagination getting away from me.’

‘Yeah. So what was it?’

‘Well, you’ve got a bloke who makes pottery, a neighbour with boxes of ash, and some gangsters who want pottery made for them. Fine-bone china was literally made using a certain amount of bone from animals. I just thought … stupid, really.’

‘Yeah. Stupid.’