A small dog barked at them as they drove into a rubbish-strewn yard. Benson was the first out of the car. Instead of facing the house, he looked back down the mountain and out across the bay. 'Would you just look at that,' he said. Jimmy stood beside him. It was one of the most beautiful views you could ever see, with the trees sweeping down to the azure sea below, the tourists on the beach merely dots in an astonishing vista and even the Titanic, sitting, five miles off shore, reduced to the size of a toy ship floating serenely in a warm, freshly run bath. 'Stunning,' agreed Jimmy. 'If you forget about the dead people on their sunbeds.' Nick, who must have seen the view thousands of times, didn't even look. The dog rushed towards him, wagging a stubby tail, but he pushed past it and continued on towards the front door, calling out: 'Mamma Joss! Mamma Joss! It's Nick! Don't shoot!' Benson, who'd been issued with a pistol, eased a hand towards his holster.
