McAvoy doesn’t register the voice. Can barely drag himself out of the pit of his thoughts. Doesn’t look up until Lucas Barrington is standing beside him, a puzzled look on his face.

McAvoy tries to draw the right file from his memory. He’s the coxswain of the lifeboat. There have been break-ins. He wants McAvoy to do something about it.

‘Lucas,’ he says, though his throat is so dry it comes out as a croak.

‘Thought that was you,’ he says, failing to read the mood. ‘I often see your lad sitting there, your little girl doing the whole Titanic thing at the stern …’

‘Just taking a moment,’ says McAvoy, rubbing his hands across his cheeks. He leaves a smear of blood in his beard. Catches the scent of it: iron and old keys.

‘Were you popping into the boatshed? Bit of good news, for a change. Took a bit of advice after the last time – being pro-active, and all that …’

McAvoy tunes him out. Climbs unsteadily to his feet. He’s soaked through. There are blades of grass and dead leaves stuck to his coat. He’s taken his tie off. Can’t seem to breathe with it on.

The other man takes a step back as McAvoy hauls himself upright. Stops talking. McAvoy is about to offer some half-hearted platitude about getting to it when he has a chance, but he can’t even find the enthusiasm for the lie. His son is missing. If he tells his colleagues, they’ll know what Roisin was a party to years before. They’ll know that he covered up her family’s involvement in several deaths. He is willing to take whatever punishment comes his way, but he needs to get his son back first. Needs to make sure that those he loves are never again placed in harm’s way. He doesn’t think he will be a police officer for very much longer and he won’t use the precious hours that he has left on trying to catch a burglar.

‘Look, Lucas, my brain’s all over the place, I don’t …’

McAvoy stares past the younger man’s pinched, puzzled face. Parked up outside the row of white houses, is a Ford Cougar. 2002. Bottle green. It’s the same vehicle that he glimpsed in the rear-view mirror on the way out to Sunk Island. The same vehicle that nosed backwards down the track towards Stone Creek. He narrows his eyes. The fog lights are on, glinting yellowy through the cold and murky air.

‘Walk with me,’ says McAvoy, quietly. ‘At my side. Back towards my house.’

‘Sorry, what’s happening?’ asks the coxswain, confused. ‘Look, I just wanted to tell you that …’

McAvoy turns him around, roughly. Takes a hold of his sleeve. Half drags him along as he walks briskly back towards his house, trying to look casual while keeping his eye on the parked vehicle.

‘Sorry, sergeant, what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘Quicker,’ says McAvoy. ‘Don’t let him know we’ve noticed, don’t let him know …’