In the palm of his large hand, Marko has another box. He pushes it at me. Ralph does the same. ‘It came in the mail, but we couldn’t get hold of you. Elaine said just bring it over.’

From each box I take a piece just like the one Mick has brought in. I take them over to the table, my legs like wet noodles beneath me, and, holding on, click them together. Then I go to my office and retrieve the section that Shiflon gave me, and go back to the table. They watch me, unable to decide what to do with me. My shard clicks in, and I now have five parts of a six-piece puzzle. They show a photo taken from an unusual angle, maybe from someone’s pocket. It is of a man alongside a brick kiln. It shows the bare-dirt area in front of the kiln. The photo is clear and crisp. The man is Ben, and he is reaching over something that looks like a body, but without the sixth part I cannot tell.

‘Shit. That’s Ben,’ says Ralph. ‘What’s he doing?’

Marko is quick to explain. ‘I reckon he’s putting a body in a kiln to burn it. We need that sixth piece.’

‘Who would have the sixth piece?’ Mick asks.

The rest of them immediately say, ‘Ian.’

I shake my head. ‘If Tito made this to protect me, he wouldn’t have thought of Ian as someone close to me.’

‘He wouldn’t have thought I was, either.’ Elaine might be about to break into tears.

‘Yes, but if he thought I might get into trouble, then he would have assumed you’d be involved.’

And then she asks the question that I wouldn’t, ‘What if it’s made with human ash?’

I almost knock the made-up bowl onto the floor. If Tito did this as a final attempt at providing protection, then of course it is made from the remains of someone murdered. As I think about this, another car arrives. This time I’m sure it is Ben, come to threaten or kill me. Maybe he knows about the bowl. Maybe that’s what he and his goons have been looking for the whole time.

I tell everyone to hide, and they move to go, but then stop. Marko says, ‘Nope. We’re not hiding.’

But the face that pokes through the front door and says ‘Hello?’ is Tom Little’s, unmarked and innocent. ‘Am I interrupting something?’ he says. I can hear my friends relax.

‘No. Please come in.’ I know immediately why he is here. I remember I told Tito about Tom — how much I liked him.

He sidles through the door, carrying another small, brown box in two hands.