‘Sorry,’ I said. I opened out the other bag and freed two bottles of cheap red wine. ‘Better that than the plonk.’

He grinned. ‘Yeah. You’re right. Hang on, I’ll just clean this up a bit and put the kettle on.’ He shrugged off his jacket and put it neatly on the back of a chair. He went about the business of wiping the tomato sauce off tins and packets and stowing them calmly and efficiently in a cupboard. I sat and watched him, thinking how unusual this was. When you enter a house illegally and surprise the occupant you don’t normally encounter a polite and competent young person who makes you feel rather clumsy. He filled an electric kettle, plugged it in and spooned instant coffee into two mugs. He got milk from the fridge and set it beside the mugs.

‘Sugar?’

‘No,’ I said, almost rudely. Unusual circumstances are all very well, but I didn’t want this to turn into a tea party. I opened my notebook and looked at the notes I’d taken on what Wesley had told me. ‘You’re Noel Kidman, is that right?’

That startled him. ‘I thought you were a friend of Clint’s or something, not a policeman.’

‘You were right the first time.’

The jug boiled. He made the coffee and brought it to the table. He sat down and fussily rearranged his jacket on the chair. ‘Clint hasn’t paid any rent for four weeks. I’ve had to pay the last two lots myself. It’s been hard. I felt justified in using his car to save on fares. And I suppose because I’m pissed off with him.’

‘Okay.’ I passed one of my cards across the table and took a sip of the coffee. ‘I’ve been hired by Clinton’s father to find him. This is the obvious starting place. Have the police talked to you?’

‘No. There was a cop car here yesterday when I was coming home but I waited until it went away.’