He had total recall. Like a bridge player. He could remember every ball he’d ever potted. So could I remember every one of mine, come to that, but that wasn’t quite the same thing. And also like a bridge player he could never have enough of post-mortems. No game was ever buried. You kept the cadaver in storage and went over it and over it. I left him on the third floor, still running through the missed chances in the final frame. He sounded heart-broken; but he always sounded heart-broken. It’s an upsetting line of business, mortuary work.

After we’d parted I kicked myself for choosing the wrong subject to discuss with him. I would have liked to hear his views on the crime wave that was currently inundating Townsville. According to the papers there were burglaries, rapes, car thefts, muggings, on a scale to rival London. There was even a story about a dog-devourer making front-page news. ‘BIZARRE DOG FIND – Three dogs found chained in the heart of the city were believed to be “on the menu” of a rumoured dog eater who frequents the area.’ The city in question was actually Cairns, but there was no reason to believe that once he’d got through its canine population he wouldn’t come down the coast and start sinking his teeth into Townsville’s. For a while I’d misread the headlines and assumed it was the dogs that were bizarre – as if we were dealing here with a highly particular gastronome who wouldn’t touch anything that wasn’t a chihuahua or an Alaskan malamute.

Anyway, it would have been interesting knowing what Eddie, as an ex-policeman, thought we were coming to.

On a billboard outside a newsagent’s, close to the hire car company I was making my way to, I read – POLLS FAVOURING MAGGIE FACE-LIFT DISTORTED. And one across the road said – MAGGIE STORM.