We sat in the car and looked at the house.

‘You sure he went in?’ Frank said. ‘He didn’t just hide in the bushes for a while?’

‘He went in, stayed half an hour, maybe less, came out. I waited out here. He took a bag in-lightweight, zippered thing-and came out with his hands in his pockets.’

‘What then?’

‘We were in my car. I drove him back to town. Dropped him in Broadway.’

Frank snorted. ‘You must’ve had a peg on your nose the whole time. You didn’t see anyone in the house?’

I shook my head.

‘Eloquent. Okay, let’s take a look.’

The three of us got out of the car, crossed the street and didn’t bother trying to look inconspicuous. It was an unusual experience for me- pushing open a gate and marching up to a front door without having to think about pretending to be someone else or how to prevent the door being slammed in my face. I tried to enjoy it, but somehow it didn’t seem to be as much fun.

Frank rang the bell until the chimes inside got boring. Back off the porch and down around the side: the lush garden didn’t look so lush up close. It had been carefully tended in the past but was beginning to look a little dried out at the edges. The back of the house was an extravaganza in glass; double doors were set between ceiling-to-floor windows; cane blinds shaded cork-tiled floors. The driver looked enquiringly at Frank and when he got the nod he pulled out a bunch of keys and started on the lock. I glanced across at the big garage with its double roller-door and heard the lock open before I could look back. None of us pulled his gun; we’d all been inside empty houses before and we were not afraid.

It was a lot of house to be standing empty-four bedrooms, two bathrooms, big modern kitchen and rooms for sitting and eating in.