‘What about Ray?’

He rubbed at his close-cropped grey hair, making it rough and spiky. ‘We had our difficulties. Started a few years back. We just didn’t get along as well as we once did. Not serious stuff; just sulks and no co-operation. A real pain in the arse to have around.’

‘That’s normal enough.’

‘So they tell me. Now, Chris could be hard to handle too but he’d go off and hit the books. Ray’s no scholar. He’s not dumb, mind. Passed the HSC, but he wasn’t interested in going on.’

I finished the drink and thought about another. I was tired, and still had some clearing up to do at the party. It was a sure bet that there’d be someone asleep somewhere to be woken up and poured into a taxi. Besides, he was reluctant to tell me the trouble and that’s an attitude I’ve come across before. Sometimes it takes three runs before they come out with it and tonight I didn’t have the time. I wanted to let him down gently, though.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Guthrie. It just doesn’t sound so different from a lot…’

‘It gets different’, he said sharply. ‘We had a bit of a row the day Ray left. He wasn’t under the thumb, you understand. Lived on the boat… I’m sorry, I’m having trouble coming to the point.’

‘You had a row.’

‘Yes. He stormed out. No word since. His mother’s out of her mind. I asked around. Couldn’t find him, and then I heard about the company he’s keeping. Bloke like you would know what I mean. Apparently he’s hanging around with Liam Catchpole, Dottie Williams and Tiny Spotswood

… that lot.’

Those names changed things a lot. Catchpole, Spotswood and Williams were all crims. Not big-time enough to make their full names a household word-Liam Angus Catchpole or whatever-but consistent, professional wrong-doers. All had convictions, but it was rumoured that Tiny Spotswood had done things much worse than those he’d been convicted for. Bad enough, but there were other reasons to avoid them: I wondered whether Guthrie had the whole picture.