‘He’ll be hiding.’ The lock clicked open. ‘There’s an orange fuel tank in there. Can you get it for me?’ I had to check the boat locker; I was pretty sure it contained a bailer and life jackets, but I couldn’t remember what I’d done with the flares or emergency beacon. ‘If there’s an EPIRB inside, can you bring that as well? And a yellow plastic tub? It’s got flares in it.’

As I dashed down to the water, I wondered about the fuel line. Was that in the locker too? Behind me, Warren said, ‘You’re really taking the tinny out?’

‘To Cleveland. Hurry.’ I heard a familiar creak of hinges; Warren was opening the boathouse door. Good, I thought and grabbed the prow of my four-metre Ally Craft Indian, which had been dragged up onto the mud.

I was just about to get on board when I heard a strange noise from the boathouse—a heavy bang. Had Warren dropped something?

‘Warren?’

No reply.

‘Warren!’

Still nothing. I rushed back up to the boathouse, wondering if he’d pulled a box down onto his head. If he was hurt, we were in trouble. I would have to use the emergency beacon.

But the beacon was in the boathouse…

‘Warren?’ I couldn’t see inside. Facing me was a big black square like a tunnel’s mouth. I knew I’d be blinded for a moment once I passed from sunlight into shadow, so I hesitated, torn by conflicting emotions—the desire to check on Warren and a deep reluctance to pass through that door. It had been locked; Scott couldn’t be in there. Yet somehow the whole set-up made my skin crawl.

‘Warren?’

Nothing. I advanced a step, then withdrew again. No. I couldn’t enter the gaping maw in front of me. Not without protection.

Not without a gun.

I turned tail and ran for the office, glancing back every few seconds to check that I wasn’t being followed. My front door was locked. While I struggled to open it, I dropped my keys and had to retrieve them again with trembling hands.

Key. Lock. Turn. Push.

When I slammed the door shut behind me, the deadlatch engaged. No one else was going to get inside.

I had to sort through my keys again to open the gun safe, which held a rifle, a scope and a box of .223 Remington shells. It was a while since I’d cleaned the gun, but the bolt functioned smoothly as I pushed four rounds into the magazine and one into the chamber. Then I slung the rifle over my shoulder, picked up the first-aid kit and hurried outside again. I made sure to lock the door as I left.