‘You don’t have to come,’ Haut said. ‘We’ll bury them.’

‘I’ll come,’ Cavalier said. ‘I want to make sure this is done right. My responsibility.’

Pringle reversed the van and drove off down Nicholas Drive.

‘We’ll need a burial place with soft sand,’ Cavalier said ‘We want them deep, untraceable.’ He paused. ‘Must burn the wallets and everything in them.’ He paused again and added, ‘And the guns. They are very nice shooters.’ He tapped his jacket pocket. ‘I’ll keep one with me for the time being, if you don’t mind.’

‘Good idea,’ Haut said. ‘But when we’re ready we’ll hide the guns, including the Uzi and my Bentley. Best to leave them at my home for now.’

‘I have a hiding place behind panels in the van,’ Pringle said. ‘They can go in there.’ He glanced at Cavalier. ‘Do I know you from somewhere?’

‘Don’t know,’ Cavalier said, as they turned into Churchill Avenue. Pringle kept glancing at Cavalier.

‘Has anyone ever told you that you look remarkably like a guy named Cavalier, Victor Cavalier? Mind you, I haven’t seen him for a very long time.’

‘No,’ Cavalier said, pretending to watch the side mirror, ‘no they haven’t. Most people think I look like a certain ageing film star.’ He paused and asked, ‘Where do you plan to make this burial party?’

‘I know a vacant allotment,’ Pringle said. ‘It’s close to a beach. Very soft sand.’

‘I’ve known a few assassins like that,’ Cavalier said.

‘What?’ Haut asked.

‘Vacant allotments.’

The three men laughed. It broke the tension. Haut held his jaw. It ached from the strain.

Pringle drove for another ten minutes close to the beach. He turned into a side street and onto a piece of land covered in scrub. Trees hid the place from neighbours on both sides.

‘This is perfect,’ Haut commented, jumping out of the van.

‘That’s if no one ever builds on it,’ Cavalier said.

‘They will,’ Pringle said.

‘What?’ Haut asked.

‘I own it,’ Pringle said. ‘I’m putting down the foundations myself.’

Haut removed the two spades from the van’s rear. Cavalier removed the bag containing the three dead men’s personal effects. He went through the wallets item by item, examining bits of paper, credit cards, club memberships and passports.

Pringle and Haut began digging, piling up the sand in quick time.

‘What an idiot,’ Cavalier said under his breath.

‘What?’ Haut asked, pausing to wipe his brow.

‘Hollos has one credit card in his real name.’

He handed Haut a piece of paper marked ‘Farquar’ with a phone number scrawled on it.

Cavalier used paper in the van to start a small fire. He tossed the items on the fire and watched them burn. He held a bundle of money, hundreds and fifties of Australian currency in his hands. Cavalier walked over to Pringle and motioned that he take the money.