The conversation has changed, and I am no longer a friend, or, if I am, a pitiful one.

‘I drink, but I don’t do any other leaning.’

‘Well, you must be spending too much time on your own, because the idea that Tito was doing something like that is just bonkers. He wasn’t that kind of person. I mean, you’re suggesting someone brought the bodies here, and then we chopped them up, cooked the bones, and then made things out of them. Do you seriously believe any of this yourself?’

‘Frank Costello came and got the ashes of his brother.’ I get this in before she can hang up.

‘And that is just too bizarre. How do you know he was on the level? Did you ever think that someone might be playing games with you, Dave? Is there anything in your life that is real? Is there one thing you can guarantee me is true?’ She is sneering, and I’m almost feeling she’s right to sneer. It is outlandish.

‘You were bashed and robbed.’

‘Tito made very valuable works of art. People like to steal valuable things. It’s logical. Not everything turns out to be a criminal conspiracy.’

‘You said Ben provided Tito with bones for his pottery.’

‘Cow bones, roo bones. They’re lying around in the paddock on his place. It was a simple favour. No murder, no mutilation, nothing weird. Get a hold of yourself, Dave. You’re the one who thinks you received a box of money for no reason. Do you think that happens to normal people in normal lives? I suggest you visit a doctor. ASAP.’

Then she does hang up.

What does Ben have to do with this? I want to ask, but I am stunned by her response, and feeling insecure about my convictions. She could be right. I don’t have the greatest grip on reality. It is a stretch to believe that she and Tito were doing things with human bones.

I put the phone down, and think of how desperate Frank was to get back what was left of his brother. That did not seem fake to me, but it so easily could have been.

But what if she’s in on the game? What if she killed Tito, knows all about the bones, and has for some reason involved me in it?

Despite still smarting from the feeling of a slap-down, I ring her back.

‘What is it?’

‘I think the Vasiliev family is about to make a visit.’

‘Then send them my best, will you?’ She hangs up.

Elaine is not easily scared.

And then, straight away, the phone rings, and I pick it up because I assume it’s Elaine with one more rebuke. But it’s not. It’s Tom Little, saying, ‘Hi, Mr Martin. How are you?’ The way he asks it makes me think he believes it’s a worthwhile question, not just a meaningless greeting.