I rarely went into Uncle Phil’s den and was always amazed by the sheer volume of things. Both he and Aunty Jude liked stuff. There were books on everything from architecture, to history, as well as his medical-related texts. Some looked pretty old and I’d bet a few were fairly valuable. He also had framed antique maps and a number of scale models. And he could afford what looked to be the latest in computer technology. He had dual LCD screens for his rather stonking-looking tower, a separate external hard drive and a few other bits of hardware, a laser printer and an inkjet. He also had a lightweight laptop for work and for around the house, which he could hook into the internet and the printers via their wireless network. It was a comprehensive set-up.

‘No wonder he disappears in here for hours on end,’ I said as I bent over to look at a limited-edition model Denny Hulme McLaren. ‘Give me a big pile of food and I could spend weeks in here. This has got to be every bloke’s idea of heaven, not to mention mine. Books, DVDs, music, computer, flash telly – I bet there’s a drinks cabinet here somewhere too. All it needs is a pool table and a sign on the door: ‘Girls keep out.’’

‘Oestrogen exclusion zone. Perhaps I could get him a sign made up for his birthday. He’d like that.’ Maggie was working her way along the row of DVD spines.

‘I’m sure your aunt would just love it. Mind you, I noticed she didn’t volunteer to come in and choose.’

‘I’m amazed we were allowed in. He’s usually so precious about his man cave. I’ve got it, something Tarantino, how about Pulp Fiction?’

‘Perfect, just what I need to wind down after a hard day solving murders. Blood, guts, drugs, guns, needles and funky dancing. Funny and gory. Hand it over, let’s get out of here.’

16

I dragged my apprehensive body into the building to face another day, wondering what triviality I’d get to waste it on. Sifting animal poo for evidence? Fingerprinting the circus tent? Fetching the coffee? My only cheer-up, as it were, had been the fact that the note I’d popped under the rustang’s windscreen wiper was gone this morning, so I might at least have a hope of a place to put my car when I got home. Wishful thinking.

I couldn’t face trudging up the stairs, so cheated and took the elevator, which always felt a guilty sin. I had barely made it into the door of our room when I was accosted by Smithy looking positively gleeful – a big ask with his craggy face.

‘What the hell are you so cheerful for?’ I asked. ‘And grown men shouldn’t jiggle up and down like that, it makes it look like you need to go to the loo.’