Judah snorted. ‘You’re a git.’

Brendan said nothing to this. Knew he could just ask and find the house almost instantly. He passed the cemetery on the right, drove down the long stretch of road cloaked in green on either side, and came to the roundabout. Ahead was the main part of Port Napier, where the fish and chip shop was. There wasn’t much to the town. He turned left, into the small housing estate.

‘He’ll live here somewhere,’ Brendan said. ‘Just look out for his car.’

‘Isn’t his car out bush? With its tyres slashed?’ Judah asked.

Brendan kept driving, pretending like he’d remembered that.

Martin leaned forward and said, ‘You’d forgotten. Right? It’s alright. Listen. I get it. Your dad does the thinking for you. Nothing wrong with that. Like Judah here. Better as a heavy hitter. World needs all sorts. But if you’re driving us around on the back of a prayer, well, just admit it.’

Brendan gripped the wheel, making the rubber squeak. ‘We just need to ask somebody and they’ll tell us.’

As he said this he saw an old man watering his front garden. Slowing the car he wound down his window and shouted, ‘Hey, can you tell me where Vernon Moore lives?’

The old man squinted into the sun and said, ‘Hello to you, too.’

‘Hi. Sorry.’

‘It’s alright. Manners always a good way to start off a conversation though.’

Brendan did his best not to open his door and choke the mongrel. Instead he said, ‘I’m sorry, I said.’

‘Now who’s asking about Vernon?’

‘Just a friend.’

‘What sort of friend?’

‘I’m a friend of his son’s.’

The old man gave him a harsh look. ‘Up to no good, that one.’

‘Can you just tell me, please?’

‘You’re not up to no good, are you?’

‘No, sir. Just wanting to see how he’s doing. With Caleb in jail. Thought he might need somebody to talk to.’

The old man did not seem appeased, but said, ‘Oh, alright. Turn right down the next street and he’s at the end, just on the water.’

When Brendan rounded the corner he saw a police cruiser at the end of the street. It was parked outside the last house before the water, what Brendan assumed was Vernon Moore’s home. Next to it was a mustard-coloured car. He pulled in to the kerb and turned around to face the men in the back.

‘What is it?’ Martin asked.

‘You don’t see the cops?’

‘Oh, them,’ he said. He squinted, leaning forwards. ‘Do they matter?’

‘Looks like Trenton cops.’

‘Okay, but do they matter?’

Brendan said, ‘They don’t not matter.’

‘Come on,’ Martin said. ‘Just pull into the driveway like you own the place.’ He sat back.

‘They’ll ask questions.’

‘So pretend you’re his son. It won’t be a problem.’

Judah said, ‘Just do it, you pansy.’

Brendan, furious, thrust the gearstick into first and revved the car. He pulled into the driveway and, without looking back at his passengers, stepped out.