The snow was worse. Its wind-driven descent filled the huge window, creating an illusion that the whole house was a vehicle travelling sideways at speed through some weird white sea. This weather was making commuting a nightmare, and his temper short. He picked up his leather case and wandered past the huge lounge window, looking down the virgin white paddock to the grey snow on the road. There was somebody looking up at the house from the fence. Roddy narrowed his eyes and chewed his toast. A tramp. Shit. So much for the neighbourhood’s strong police presence that the real estate agent had bragged about. What about security? he’d asked the weasel of a man in an Italian jacket as they went over the plans at that sales lunch. No problem, he’d said. Rosevale has a very strong police presence. Rosevale leaves all the problems of the city behind you but gives the resident the convenience of its proximity. Very strong police presence. Bullshit. Looked like bums could just hang about and peer into your house when they fancied.

But you didn’t get bums out here. In fact you didn’t get bums where they couldn’t beg. Roddy felt apprehension stir. Maybe he wasn’t a bum. Maybe something worse. Were there more of them? Were they casing the joint to break in as soon as he’d gone to work?

Maybe they knew he was alone in this big house, not even a dog to bark at footsteps on the drive. What if he went to work and brought Nicole home from the office for his weekly lay, only to find his hi-fi swiped?

Roddy swallowed the last of his toast and went to the phone. The police had better get here fast enough to let him get to work. If those bastards made him late, he’d fax their superiors in town first thing he did. Someone would get it. There was a cordless sitting on the coffee table in the lobby. He picked it up, pulled out the aerial and walked back into the lounge to keep an eye on his latent intruder. The figure hadn’t moved.