His son Justin was seventeen when he disappeared two years ago. Why was I being invited on board this late? Because Hampshire had been overseas, estranged from his wife and not really in touch with his son.

‘I had a very big business deal in progress that needed my complete attention twenty-four seven, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Plus I had… personal complications in the States. It was difficult. Angela is a hysteric. I never knew how much to believe and… time just slipped away.’

‘But now you’re back and concerned.’

‘I was always concerned.’

‘But busy.’

‘I’m told you can be very provoking. I’m determined not to be provoked. I need your help, Mr Hardy.’

He butted his third cigarette and didn’t light another to show how committed he was. He said his wife had reported their son’s disappearance to the police and that all the usual procedures had been gone through.

‘I’m not saying the police didn’t take it seriously,’ Hampshire said, ‘but it wasn’t the same as a ten-year-old schoolgirl. Justin was a big chap, about your size and build.’

That made him around 186 centimetres and 85 kilos- strapping for a teenager. I asked Hampshire for a photograph and he took one from his wallet. I wanted the photo but it’s always nice to get a look at a wallet. Justin Hampshire was dark-haired, regular-featured, and wore a confident, head-up expression. He looked pretty much the way his father would have done before years, work and a fair bit of play had left their mark. Athletic? Probably. Intelligent? Hard to say, in both cases.