‘And we still have your bag with your gun, and your pyjamas. You can pick them up whenever you want to.’

‘Thanks.’ End of conversation.

I tell myself I will ring her back and explain it all, and deliver the ashes and the powder, and maybe give her a leg-up with the detectives. But I am also thinking about loyalty — skewed, unjustifiable loyalty to Elaine. She is involved, and there is no way that her involvement is good. She knows about the boxes, and she’s been trying to get them back ever since we became friends. Which means we’re not friends, and that she only wanted to sleep with me for other purposes. Mucking about with ashes of the murdered people is a nasty business that she hasn’t managed to report to the police. But still I feel loyalty. Tom’s comment that maybe she doesn’t know how bad this all is has stuck with me. The weeks we’ve been seeing each other, even though they’ve turned out to be false, have mattered to me; they’ve helped me take a few steps forward, and I can’t stop myself being thankful for that. So my heart carries the day against my head, and I decide not to spill the beans on Elaine to the police.

But the police think something is stinky, and I am not quite as insane as I thought I was. Good news for a change. It means I have to follow up on what the boxes started, answer the questions, and maybe even right a wrong — any wrong that I can find.

Elaine is on Wilson Road, walking in gym gear, stepping out, swinging her arms. I’ve seen her on walks before, and never paid any attention except to swing my vehicle wide so the stones don’t kick up at her. From the back, she looks tight and shapely. Nothing moves when it shouldn’t, and I note the fact that I have registered this. I slow down, but she doesn’t. I open a window, and keep pace with her. She keeps her face to the front. I say hello, but she ignores me. I have the surprising sensation of an adolescent crush unrequited. This fits, because Elaine has become the sixteen-year-old who doesn’t just reject you, but makes sure you know you’re not worth consideration.

I am about to wind the window up, and ‘man up’ with it when she says, without turning around, ‘How did your visit from the phantom bad guy, Vasily whatever he was, go?’ The sneer is in full flight.

‘He hasn’t turned up yet.’

‘Surprise, surprise.’ Gravel is being punished beneath her pounding, brightly coloured joggers. ‘So when is he supposed to arrive?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe he won’t. We just guessed that when the Vasiliev family found out where the Costello remains came from, they would be pretty upset at us.’

‘We? Us?’