So he saved his money and got back into the dying car. Could the money be in the graveyard? Could Benjy be in the graveyard? Don turned the car around. The boys were walking away. They gave him a wave. He waved back and pressed his foot a little harder on the pedal. The car hit the gates and snapped the chain. The gates flew open. Don kept driving, aware that, somewhere behind him, the boys were cheering and clapping. He did a circuit of the graveyard, but couldn’t see anything unusual. He stopped the car and got out. There was a hut, but it was padlocked shut. It had a window with wire mesh covering it. He looked inside, but there was no sign of life. Behind a hedge, he found a digger and a wheelbarrow, but nothing else. He stood there in the darkness, scratching his head.

And that was what he was doing when the police car arrived.

It took him an hour to talk his way out of it. They took him to the police station. The desk sergeant knew who he was, and didn’t believe his story. Some kids, joyriders, smashing their way through the gates and then running off… Don Empson, concerned citizen, completely innocent, checking the scene.

‘I wanted to make sure they hadn’t damaged anything.’

‘So the car’s not yours, sir?’

‘Never seen it in my life.’

When they let him go, he breathed the cold night air and took his phone out of his pocket. Nothing else for it. He would have to bring in Sam and Eddie. They always travelled together. They’d been best pals since primary school, nutters, the pair of them. But that wasn’t really the problem. Problem was, he couldn’t let them know what he knew. He couldn’t let them know Benjy was the shooter.

Because Benjy was family. He was Don’s family, his nephew. And if Don didn’t get to him first, the lad was as good as dead. Always supposing he wasn’t dead already. Don felt a stabbing pain in his stomach. He rubbed at it, for all the good that would do. Benjy, you bloody idiot. No happy ending.