Baz knew he’d blundered into one of Jakes’s many philosophical quagmires. He struck out for firm ground. ‘Did you ever read what Rollason did to those children? Disgusting. One day they will be able to work out before birth who’s gonna be like that and wipe them out with an injection.’

‘Eugenics. Another tricky subject with no clear end point.’

‘So why shouldn’t they kill freaks like that?’

There was a tut, but no reply. When Baz looked across he noticed a careless crease like a wonky smile in Jakes’s fresh plaster.

‘You’ve got a line there, mate,’ Baz said. He was aware he was still trying to provoke a reaction. Jakes was a perfectionist.

Again there was no immediate response, but as Baz looked up from his work he could see Jakes staring at him. The most amazing thing was that for the first time, both of Jakes’s eyes were focused and unmoving, his mouth tight.

‘No offence, mate,’ Baz said, already regretting that his own petulance was causing mischief.

‘You don’t understand anything about it, Barry! Not a thing.’ Jakes turned away and, with a sudden growl, gouged a great chunk out of the wall he was working on with his trowel. He flung the hawk to the ground, its full load of plaster splattering across the floor, and stormed out of the room. Plasterers’ sacrilege.

For a full minute Baz carried on working, but then he realised his own arm was shaking a little. He’d never seen Jakes angry before and considered that an apology might be in order. Claire had often accused him of insensitivity. Once again she had been proven right. Perhaps Jakes had been abused as a child, something like that. Maybe that’s why he didn’t even want to discuss Neville Rollason. And he shouldn’t have used the word freaks. Baz emptied his own hawk back into the bucket, set the trowel down carefully and set off to find his workmate.

The lower doorway of the herpetarium led out through a footpath fenced on both sides to a large open area, in which much construction machinery was stored. Baz could see Jakes off to the left by another enclosure. He made his way over towards him, passing through a metal gate and onto a metal walkway that traversed the edge of a large muddy pool. Baz held onto the handrails as the walkway led him across the edge of the turbid waters. Jakes was staring down into the water, seemingly unaware of Baz’s approach. There was movement in the water, swirling currents, and then a shiny brown island surfaced for a moment before disappearing again.

‘Is that a croc?’ Baz asked, hoping for a safe conversational gambit.