‘We’re trying to locate a car that was seen in this area.’ Cardilini thought he would take a general approach rather than immediately discussing the shooting.

‘Stolen?’ The man asked. Cardilini nodded, uncommitted.

‘Where?’

‘Along the riverbank.’

‘Go on,’ The man said with a brief glance to his book.

‘Parked under the paperbarks,’ Cardilini said.

‘Today?’ The man looked up to confirm.

‘No. October twenty-fifth around ten p.m.,’ Cardilini said but doubted the old fellow would be aware of today’s date let alone a date a few weeks back.

‘At night?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who can see at night?’ the old man asked.

‘Someone saw it, it was reported,’ Cardilini lied.

‘A lot of trouble for a stolen car. Is it there now?’

‘No. Did you see a car that evening?’ Cardilini asked with the sinking feeling that he was wasting his time.

‘Why are you asking where it was weeks ago?’ The old man asked.

‘You didn’t say your name,’ Cardilini said.

‘Leggett.’

‘Mr Leggett,’ Cardilini said, the name sounded familiar.

‘You got that right.’

‘How long have you lived here?’

‘Long before the twenthy-fifth.’

‘How long?’

Leggett took his time observing Cardilini. ‘Is that what you came to ask?’

‘No. On the twenthy-fifth of October the car was parked there for an hour, maybe less, and left before eleven.’

‘Not stolen this time?’ Leggett asked.

Cardilini shifted on his seat and assumed the voice of law and order. ‘Listen, this is a police investigation, I suggest you answer the questions from now on with full disclosure of anything you saw.’

Leggett straightened his back and sharpened his glare. ‘Listen, I’m eighty-six, so I’ll do whatever I damn well please.’

Older people usually fall over themselves to assist the police. And I get this old crock, thought Cardilini.

‘Arthur, what are you doing to that man?’ a female voice called from the house.

‘It’s not me, he’s making up stories,’ Leggett called.

The speaker was a woman in her fifties, blonde hair streaking to grey, fair skin. A delicate face like Betty’s, Cardilini thought. She wore an artist’s smock coloured by paint.

‘How do you do, I’m Detective Sergeant Cardilini,’ Cardilini said, standing.

‘Detective Sergeant,’ Leggett said mockingly.

‘Jean Leggett.’ She held out her hand. ‘I won’t break,’ Jean Leggett said as Cardilini gently took it in his. ‘Why are you here?’

‘This will be interesting,’ Leggett said to no one in particular.

‘We’re interested to know if a car was seen in this vicinity on the night of October the twenty-fifth.’

‘Is that the stolen one or the other one?’ Leggett queried.

‘Two cars?’ Jean asked.

Trying to ignore Leggett, Cardilini answered, ‘No. A very distinctive car, an American car. Cream and plum.’

‘Cream and plum sounds like a pudding,’ Jean said, walking past Cardilini and sitting next to Leggett. ‘What did Arthur say?’