Dad joined in, using the opportunity to drop another one of Tony’s mags into the flames. As the images of naked men started to disintegrate, James realised that unless he changed tack, nothing between these two old mates would break. He needed questions that were completely unrelated, something that might make one of them laugh just enough to put them off guard.

‘What are you planning to get up to now you’re retired?’ James said, checking through the porn Mr Jones had given him, then dropping it into his father’s fire.

Dad made an amused face and shrugged.

‘You and Andy could take up boating, like Tony, what do you reckon?’

Mr Jones snorted.

‘Ah, I don’t have the sea legs,’ Dad said.

‘Kippen boys don’t go sailing anyway, we go fishing,’ Mr Jones said.

James nodded. Talking about Kippen was good. ‘I heard they’re going to close the cop shop now you’ve finished up,’ he said.

‘Who said that?’ Dad asked.

‘Can’t remember. Someone around town,’ James replied.

‘Just gossip,’ Mr Jones said, chuckling while he eased himself upright.

‘That can’t have made it easy for you to give it all up,’ James said.

His father checked on the fire, dropping in another magazine.

‘Well, I’ve known for a while that I’d have let go eventually,’ Dad said.

‘End of an era,’ Mr Jones said, and leaned against a cable.

The subject of his father’s retirement lay between them now. James realised how oblivious they were to him picking up threads; but there was one date that remained unclear.

‘So, did you decide to retire after Tony went missing, or before?’

Dad looked at him and swallowed. Mr Jones dropped his reading glasses.

Bingo.

‘I’d been thinking about it since last year,’ his father said, too casually.

James nodded. ‘So Tony’s disappearance was the trigger?’

Dad shrugged. Mr Jones bent to retrieve his glasses from the deck.

‘And your big farewell booze up took place while Tony was lying dead in the river?’

His father licked his lips but remained silent. The timeline immediately snaked back across the decades. Dad’s retirement was at this end of things. What lay at the start, around the time of his marriage? All it would now take is one courageous question.

‘How old were you two, the first time you drove out to Kippen Bridge at night?’

Mr Jones looked at Dad. ‘What’s he on about?’

James pounced. ‘Ever “pick off any poofters” in your day, or was it just roo shoots on buck’s nights?’

The agent moved his head as though he was checking the distance to the dinghy, but James put one hand on the handrail, blocking the way.

‘You going to let him talk shit?’ Mr Jones asked.

‘It’s just family stuff Andy, nothing to do with you,’ Dad said.