‘Was he here when you left?’

Mason nodded again. ‘It’s his job to tidy up and lock the gates.’

‘So what time would he finish work?’

Mason laughed. ‘He’d be here all hours if you let him. Gravy lives in a hostel. They sometimes have to come and fetch him. Time doesn’t seem to mean anything to him…’ Mason paused. ‘He’s not in trouble, is he?’

‘I’ll need to talk to him. Can you give me his address?’

‘He’ll be here in an hour or so. He’s mad keen to get started in the morning.’

‘I’ll still need his address.’

It was in a folder in the hut, along with a telephone number. Jane punched the number into her phone. It took a while before anyone answered. She realised she didn’t know Gravy’s real name.

‘Can I talk to Gravy, please?’ she asked.

The sleepy-sounding man went away, but was back within thirty seconds. ‘His bed’s not been slept in,’ he said, ending the call.

Jane stared at her phone. Mason asked if she was all right.

‘Fine,’ she assured him.

She wasn’t so sure about Gravy, though.

‘What’s his real name?’ she asked Mason.

‘Jimmy Gray. Gray and Gravy, not so very different when you think about it.’

‘He didn’t go home last night.’ She watched to see what kind of reaction she would get. Mason just made an O shape with his lips.

‘Do you know a man called Donald Empson?’ she asked. Mason shook his head. ‘How about George Renshaw?’

‘Everyone knows him, at least by reputation.’

She nodded and wandered back in the direction of the car. It didn’t belong to Empson, so why had he been driving it? And what kind of car did he usually drive? Jane reckoned it was time she had a word with Mr Donald Empson.

When she drove out to his home, however, the place was empty, the curtains looking as if they hadn’t been shut the previous night. No sign of a car. It was a nice house, detached, modern. Husbands in suits were passing in the road, just starting to go to work. They must have wondered what she was up to, but none bothered to ask. Jane got back into her own car and decided on her next stop, Renshaw’s scrapyard.