There was little of interest to see while we were close to the airport, but Spoder directed me to the coastal freeway and I drove towards the holiday town of Corlynne. After thirty-five kilometres we turned off the freeway and began following a narrow road with breathtaking sea, forest and mountain vistas. A blend of flowery scents rushed in through the open car windows. This still being the out-season of intense heat and tropical storms, traffic was light.

Spoder refused to say anything in detail about what we would find when we reached Corlynne. He had only read police reports and old newspaper accounts and wanted to see the place for himself, discovering it at the same time as I did. It hardly silenced him, though. He regaled me with his views on everything else, looking down from time to time at the road map on his lap. I said little, trying to seem interested while in fact relishing the scenery, the mature broadleaf trees of the Sekonda forest, the rocky coastline. I kept glancing at my wristwatch. Spoder had said we could do this trip within the day, but it was already past noon. The occasional signs indicating that Corlynne lay ahead gave no indication of distance. I kept up the speed.

Eventually we started passing small houses built close to the sea. Not long after that we were driving slowly through the centre of the town, which Spoder confirmed was Corlynne. He put aside the map and opened the police file, riffling through the pages.

‘We’re looking for a place called Bonnzo’s Carnival Sideshows,’ he said. ‘On the other side of the town, but not far. It says here it is open all year round, although out of season some of the rides will not be in use.’

‘Bonnzo’s Carnival?’ I said. ‘Are you certain that’s right?’

‘I’m just following the notes, sir.’ He was looking from side to side as we moved away from the main part of the town. Three minutes later, in an area of dunes and scrubland, he pointed forward and past me, indicating an untidy shambles of old-looking carnival rides and sideshows. Although other cars were parked outside it did not look as if it was open. There was a kind of portal with a painted but faded sign overhead, announcing Bonnzo’s Holiday Park. Ghastly clown faces had been painted around the words.

I halted the car. ‘And this is where Dever Antterland was murdered?’

‘It’s described in the file as Bonnzo’s Carnival Sideshows.’ He held it up for me to see. ‘It’s obviously the same place. Police officers writing up notes at the end of the day don’t always get every detail right.’