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As Kirby left the site office, a silver Range Rover pulled up at the chain-link fence. He watched as the door opened and two feet shod in what looked to him like designer wellingtons swung out onto the ground. The man who followed the feet was tall and slim, dressed in denim jeans with a green wax jacket swinging in the breeze over a checked shirt. A hand went to the black fedora on his head. Here was someone who wanted to impress, Kirby thought, or was at pains to portray someone he was not.

He approached Kirby, and after the detective showed his ID, the man removed his hat, revealing dark shiny hair cut as sharp as his sapphire-blue eyes. He was younger than Kirby had first thought. Early to mid fifties, perhaps. Tanned skin, but not leathery. Long fingers gripped the hat to his chest with one hand while he proffered the other.

‘Gordon Collins,’ he said, gripping Kirby’s hand firmly. ‘Welcome to my flagship project, about to go down the drain.’

‘Detective Larry Kirby.’

‘This about young John Morgan? I can’t get my head around it.’

You and me both, Kirby thought. ‘Can I have a word?’

‘Is Patrick in there?’ Collins pointed to the office with his hat.

‘Yes.’

‘My car, then. Patrick is a nosy fucker.’ He turned his back on Kirby and climbed into the jeep.

‘Nice leatherwork,’ Kirby commented on the cream livery as he sat into the warmth.

‘A pain in the arse to keep clean. How can I help you, Detective?’

‘Tell me about John. I believe you recommended him for the job here.’

‘I did.’

‘How did you know him?’

‘Through his mother, Brenda.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘It’s not like that.’ A sly smirk crossed Collins’s face before his lips turned down. ‘A business acquaintance.’

‘We haven’t been able to unearth any next of kin.’

‘I’m not surprised. Brenda is a private woman.’

‘I want to make contact with her. She has to be informed about her son’s death before his name is released to the media.’

‘She already knows. I phoned her.’

‘Hmph,’ Kirby snorted. ‘We need to call on her in an official capacity.’ He didn’t like Collins’s smugness. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could give me her number and address.’

‘I can, but she lives in London.’

‘Right, I still need it. Do you know her well?’

‘She bought one of my houses. Her intention was to relocate here within the year.’ Collins peered through the windscreen at a point somewhere in the distance. ‘I doubt that will happen now.’

‘Because her son is dead or for some other reason?’

‘I think she intended living here with John until he got his life sorted.’

‘Was there something wrong in his life?’

‘No, I don’t mean it like that. I meant until he got settled.’

‘He wasn’t settled?’

‘You’re twisting what I’m saying.’

‘Forgive me, Mr Collins, but we are finding it difficult to obtain any information about John. I’d appreciate your help.’

‘Look, I gave him a job as a favour to his mother.’

‘You do know her well then?’

‘Just casually. Met her in London when I was at an investment conference there. She’s in banking.’

‘Okay. Go on.’ Kirby wasn’t at all sure that Collins was revealing the full extent of his relationship with Mrs Morgan, but he didn’t want to stop his flow.

‘John had been in Australia with his dad for two years, working in the mines. Back-breaking work. He made good money but gambled it away. As I said, I met Brenda at a conference. Listened to her story and she asked if I could give her son a job. She vouched for him and he turned out to be an excellent hire.’

‘Have you any idea who would want him dead?’

‘No. Unless a gambling debt came back to haunt him.’

‘An old one, or something more recent?’

‘He promised he was finished with all that. I had no reason to doubt him. Patrick never brought anything to my attention.’

‘Patrick didn’t mention the gambling to me at all,’ Kirby said.

‘Then I believe John was over it.’

‘If not a gambling debt, can you think of anything else?’

‘His mother asked the same thing on the phone and I’ll give you the same answer. I can’t think of any reason why someone would kill the lad.’

Kirby stared out the windscreen at the muddy site. ‘He seems to have been a loner.’

‘From what I know, he found it hard to make friends and kept himself to himself. A hard worker, he went above and beyond what he had to do. He got on with his colleagues. It’s a shame that the good die young.’

‘So they say.’ Kirby held out hope for a long life for himself. ‘John walked into the foreman’s job pretty handy. Was there any pushback from the rest of the workers here?’

‘Not that I’m aware of. Patrick didn’t mention anything and no one came to me to complain.’

Scratching his chin, Kirby wondered if there was a question he should be asking, but he couldn’t think what it might be.

‘You can email or text Mrs Morgan’s details to me.’ He handed over his card.

‘I’ll do it straight away.’

‘And John’s dad, how can we contact him?’

‘You should ask his mother that question. He might still be in Oz.’ Collins turned noisily on the leather seat to face him. ‘My firm is in financial difficulty and I’m in the process of closing down the site. Temporarily, until cash flow improves. Don’t try to link John’s death to my money troubles.’

Kirby put his hand on the door, ready to exit. ‘We’ll do what we have to do.’

‘I warn you, though, Brenda is a very powerful woman in the financial world. You’d do well not to cross her, and I know she will want her son’s killer brought to justice. Sooner rather than later.’

‘Thanks for the heads-up.’

Once he was out of the jeep, Kirby lit his cigar again. Running a hand through his wild, bushy hair, he walked slowly through the unfinished part of the estate until he reached his car. He felt more confused than ever.

Gordon sat in his Range Rover for ages after watching the detective walk off puffing on a cigar. He noticed a cement lorry arriving to pour foundations. Had Patrick not got the bloody memo? All supplies were to be cancelled.

He jumped out and clamped his hat onto his head. At the cabin door, he halted, turned and glanced over at the work that had been completed – and the work yet to be done once he got his finances sorted. But in an instant, all that paled as he thought of John Morgan. The boy had been a good worker. True. And he’d taken him under his wing. But his mother was a bloody nuisance. Brenda had lived in his ear regularly, wanting news about her son. Was he gambling? How was he doing at work? He wasn’t the lad’s father, for God’s sake. But he’d mentored him as best he could. He had never wanted a son. Too much bloody trouble. He adored his daughters.

He entered the office to take his frustration out on Patrick, who rarely talked back. Just what Gordon needed.