‘She might be a while,’ croaks a voice from behind me. I turn to see an old woman, wrinkled, bent, a half-smile and eyes which, whilst watery, hold a certain power still. She shuffles towards me like a penguin, bringing with her an aura of powdery lavender. She’s wearing a taupe bathrobe with a purple waist tie, and slippers which each have two pink furry balls stitched to the tops. They flop around as she moves.

‘Someone died about half an hour ago,’ she says by way of explanation. ‘And they’re short-staffed today.’ She moves closer and adopts a conspiratorial air. ‘It’s because of the laxative I put into the staff breakfast; two of them have gone home already. Good to keep them regular.’

She chuckles, her shoulders keeping time.

I’m about to ask her if she knows Joos Wilders when we’re interrupted by a voice.

‘Elsie, there you are,’ says a harried-looking woman in uniform heading towards us, a Stepford grin on her face. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you. You didn’t take your medicine this morning; it was found hidden in the flowerpot again.’

‘It’s not medicine,’ Elsie stage-whispers to me. ‘It’s poison. They’re trying to poison me. All of them are.’

‘I’ll be with you shortly,’ Stepford Receptionist says, leading away Elsie who is protesting verbally but complying physically. A few minutes later she’s back.

‘Sorry about that,’ Stepford says, inserting herself behind the desk, her walk oddly stiff. She’s wearing a light blue polo shirt with an embroidered rising sun, shooting rays all over her left breast. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’m looking for Joos Wilders, I believe he lives here?’

‘Are you the dog warden?’

‘What? No, I’m … an old friend of Joos, I was passing and thought I’d drop in.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she says, tempering her forced smile a little. ‘Joos Wilders died earlier this morning. That’s why everything’s a bit chaotic here at the moment. And I’ve got two staff off sick as well, both gone down with a stomach bug, so it’s hard holding it all together today.’

I start to understand her pained grin, and I suddenly wonder about what Elsie said.

‘How did he die?’

‘Probably just old age. It’s not uncommon. He adopted a dog only last week and it was barking really early this morning. That’s how we found him. Anyway, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to –’

‘I’m actually from the police,’ I tell her, hoping she’s not going to be officious and ask for some ID. ‘I needed to talk to him about an old case but that’s obviously too late. I would like to see where he lived, though.’