Cautiously, Sam shuffled towards the doorway to the kitchen, dipping his head in and scouting the place out. The smell of rotten food was unbearable, and he quickly withdrew, shaking the foul odour from his senses. But the quick glimpse was enough to count the number of dirty plates by the sink, the brand of coffee by the pot, and appreciate the poorly drawn artwork that was tacked to the fridge with a magnet.

Old habits die hard.

Sam took a few more steps and then crossed into the living room. A ripped sofa was pushed under the window, with a coffee table in front of it. Numerous shreds of tinfoil and empty plastic bags littered the top, along with overflowing ashtrays and heat-stained spoons.

Sam had seen enough drug dens during his missions in Afghanistan to know when a place was occupied by a loser, but despite all the evidence of drug use, there were no signs of occupancy.

Alex was right.

Her mother was an addict.

The idea that Alex’s mother indulged her addiction while living with her kids turned his stomach. Not only were they subjected to watching their mother seep away, but god knows the type of people they’d shared a flat with. The drug trade wasn’t run by the nicest of people.

Sam could feel his fist clench in anger.

Just as he was about to walk across the room to the doors that lead to the bedroom, he heard a small clunk behind him and turned just in time to see the baseball raised high in the air.

Sam threw a hand up to protect himself.

‘Who the hell are you?’

The bat didn’t come down and Sam’s eyes locked onto the old man who was wielding the weapon with shaking arms. From his height, complexion, and the grey hair, Sam would have pegged him for a man in his seventies, but he looked surprisingly sturdy. Sam slowly held both his hands up in form of surrender.

‘I’m looking for Alex Stone,’ Sam said calmly, trying his best to defuse the situation. ‘Sorry, the door was open.’

‘You a drug dealer?’ The man spat coldly, looking Sam up and down with suspicion.

‘No, sir.’

‘A cop?’

‘I’m a friend.’ Sam spoke calmly, not wanting the situation to escalate. The man’s dark eyes squinted as he assessed the stranger in his neighbour’s home, and he lowered the bat slightly.

‘You English?’ the man asked, and Sam nodded.

‘It’s the accent, right?’

A smile threatened to break across the dark, wrinkled skin of the man’s face, but he quickly shook it off.

‘You’re a long way from home, son.’ The man looked around the room. ‘I’m going to lower this bat now, okay? But you make any funny moves, I’ll put a beating on your ass. You got that?’

The man smiled, and Sam reciprocated.

‘Loud and clear.’