Monica interrupted, in her quiet, careful way, her tough blue eyes fixed on Hirsch. ‘Is there a reason you’re asking about him?’

‘There’s a fairly good chance he’s the one who cut your phone line and stole your shovel,’ Hirsch said, ‘before Kip scared him off.’

She swallowed, crushed the neck of her blouse in one hand. ‘Are you saying he might’ve shot us, too?’

Hirsch rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. ‘I can’t speculate about that. The main thing is, he didn’t, and now he’s locked up.’ He paused. ‘Which brings me to Kip.’

‘You think Wayne took him? Whatever for?’

‘No, not Wayne,’ Hirsch said. ‘Is there anyone else you’ve had a run-in with? Last two or three years?’

Monica was amused, but sad with it. ‘Us?’ She gestured at their slightly-better-than-threadbare existence: outdated furniture, low ceilings, small rooms in need of a new coat of paint.

Hirsch steepled his fingers. He’d have to prod them. ‘Specifically regarding Kip.’

They reached the answer together. ‘Redruth Show,’ Monica said.

‘Two years ago,’ Graham said.

‘Kip won best sheepdog a couple of times prior. That year he won best in show as well.’

‘And the runner-up?’ said Hirsch, anticipation pulsing through him, a little burst of adrenaline.

‘Annette Thorburn.’

Martin Gwynne’s daughter.

Then out to Pandowie Downs, where he found Eleanor Dunner in the office; Rex had gone to the dentist in Clare.

‘About the graffiti.’

‘Yes?’ she said brightly.

He wondered what it was like for her, stuck out here. Any visitor must brighten her days. ‘I’m thinking it wasn’t random.’

‘I don’t think so, either. We had a bit of resentment from the neighbours who didn’t want the extra tourist traffic.’

Hirsch let that go: the nearest house was five kilometres away. ‘Cast your mind back a year or two. Any tiff or argument or full-blown confrontation you can remember?’

She had to think. An argument with the accommodation-block plumber, but that was soon sorted. Some argy-bargy with a council inspector over the position of their roadside noticeboard. She paused: ‘Speaking of which, Martin Gwynne came by one day and said there shouldn’t be an apostrophe in “Demonstrations”. We corrected it but I’m rather afraid I told him to mind his own business.’

Hirsch cocked his head. ‘Told him a little forcefully?’

She smiled lazily. ‘A little.’

Hirsch returned to Tiverton in the dwindling hours of daylight, shadows lengthening over the dusty paddocks, some clarity now to his tangle of thoughts regarding Martin Gwynne. A man who never let go of his grudges. A man you didn’t cross. A man you mightn’t even know you’d offended. Patient. Patiently stewing. Never at peace.