In minutes, his father was dropping images of naked men into the flames and poking at them with barbecue tongs. ‘Think I got ’em all,’ he said.

James nodded, but then he noticed the yellow court envelope his father pulled out of his back pocket and pushed into the fire.

‘That belongs to me,’ James said gravely.

‘I read your little notes. You’ve always been a drama queen, Jamie, but murder? That’s a good one!’ Dad said, laughing and pushing the burning paperwork deeper.

There would be no separating himself this time, no buying any of his father’s little acts. Remembering the sting of nettles on his ankles, and the shiver caused by Bobby Jones drumming the baseball bat down the side of the dog cage on his father’s ute, James allowed himself to cautiously state the truth.

‘There really was a bashing two nights ago, Dad,’ he said. ‘I was there. A gang of kids attacked a group of men in the park under Kippen Bridge. One of them chased me across the weir all the way to Tony’s place, where I rang you.’

‘What are you on about?’ Dad said, focussed on the flames.

James increased his volume: ‘You can burn whatever you want. I was a witness, and I’ll make a statement at the Kippen police station today, even if I get charged with soliciting.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ his father said, flipping the hatch shut.

‘Why did you even bring him?’ James asked.

‘He can help us sell Tony’s stuff,’ Dad said.

‘What if I don’t want his help?’

‘Andy’ll get you the best price, just think about it, alright?’

James stepped closer to his father and spoke very quietly. ‘Can I have your word that you’ll do your job about Tony?’ he said.

‘I don’t have to do anything, I’m retired,‘ Dad said.

Suddenly the hatch lifted and an armful of maps was shoved up through it.

‘Take these will you, Jamie?’ Mr Jones shouted from below. ‘You might get a pretty good price for the whole collection.’

James rolled his eyes.

‘He’s right,’ Dad said.

Mr Jones heaved himself up, one hand around more magazines. ‘Here’s some more of that poofter porn to get rid of.’

Dad flicked a cautious look at Jamie. ‘How’d you manage to get up so easy, Andy?‘ he asked.

‘Rope ladder, tucked up underneath,’ the agent said, planting his broad backside on the deck, holding up a batch for James’s father to burn.

‘Can I see those first, please?’ James asked.

‘No probrem, big boss,’ Mr Jones said, putting on a terrible Asian accent, offering the magazines to James. ‘You want poofta piccies, you can have dem.’

He took them, but the agent left the stupid look on his face and laughed.