Considering the bland state of his cousin’s unit, which would now be rented out and all his clothes and bits of furniture donated to a local charity shop, James just couldn’t accept it told Tony’s story. The scene matched the life of a man who’d been working hard at the local supermarket, perhaps saving up for something, like another voyage.

He’d heard the stories about Tony’s boat trips in the odd letter or email from Yvonne. Sometimes the holidays lasted a year or more, and it all sounded very exotic. Now, after years of keeping Tony at the margins of his life, James wanted more than anything else to see inside the Home Free.

He stopped in the shade of the library verandah and checked his watch. It was coming up to three o’clock. Down the road, Mr Jones and his grandson were inspecting the wheels of the hire car, looking at it disapprovingly while Dad kicked one of the tyres.

While they were distracted, James crossed the road and walked past the court house into the small field beside the adjacent police station, full of police vehicles and used as the town’s unofficial car yard.

If things were as they’d always been, that paddock would give onto a laneway that ran all the way along the back of the shops right to the Wishaw Road. If James cut up that way and found somewhere to wait for a while out of sight, they might all be gone by the time he returned to his vehicle. The hire car company would probably charge him a whole extra day’s rental, and he’d have to leave a message with his editor about taking another day off, but so be it.

He slipped across the road into the long grass and noticed how the police cars sat on the same angle up against the station, spied the lane and had taken a few steps before recognising the vehicle parked under the willow trees right around the back. Tony’s old Ford.

James felt in the pocket for the keys that had been hanging in his cousin’s kitchenette. The back door of the cop shop was closed.

He had one chance. The car would need reversing before he’d be able to angle it towards the back lane. With any luck, if any of them noticed they’d assume it was Daniel Brandt going about family business, that’s if the car worked.

James walked towards the old car like he owned it. Technically, he did.

My whole estate.

A few bare branches trailed over the driver’s side of the pale green vehicle, and the roof appeared to have collected plenty of fallen leaves; but the key turned in the lock.