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Just remember, I’m only looking to find out the truth.”
    Mackay drained his glass and looked at Andrews with a glassy, half-coherent stare. “I don’t care about whatever it is you’re looking for. Just leave me alone.”
    Andrews stood and pushed his chair under the table. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, which he placed on the table.
    “If you wish to speak with me, don’t hesitate to call.”
    “I already told you, pal, I got nothing to say to you.”
    “I know. Keep the card just in case.”
    “Whatever you say, buddy,” Mackay said as he picked up the card, looked at it, then tossed it back on the table.
    “Just one more thing,” Andrews said as he fastened his jacket. “The other survivor, Henry Rainwater… any idea where I might find him?”
    “You might find him anywhere, but where he is I don’t know. Just get the hell out of here and leave us be.”
    Andrews nodded, ignoring the icy stares of the other patrons as he made his way to the exit. Even though it was a small town, finding one man would be difficult, especially if it was a man who didn’t want to be found. He wondered if Russo would have any ideas, and was about to head back towards the Victorious , when he saw the newspaper stuffed into the top of the waste bin. He pulled it out, and looked at the headline.
     
    FUNERAL FOR BROTHERS LOST AT SEA.
     
    Andrews looked at the photograph of the grieving woman, crying at the graveside, then at the caption underneath
    Widow, Valerie Harris, mourns her husband Joey, who along with his brother Sam and deck hands Hector Morales & Alex Grimshaw were killed at sea in last week’s tragic fishing accident. See page 7.
     
    Andrews skimmed to the relevant page. Three quarters of it was filled with a long lens photograph of the funeral, and the mourners standing around the four coffins. Andrews skimmed the article, hoping against hope that the usual insensitivity of newspapers would pay dividends. The final paragraph of the article gave him exactly what he was looking for.
     
    …Mrs Harris, of 344 Chestnut Drive, was not available for comment at the time of writing…
     
    Andrews grinned and tossed the newspaper back into the bin. 

 
    CHAPTER 9
     
     
    344 Chestnut Drive
    Freeport,
    Kodiak, Alaska
     
     
    Valerie Harris walked around her home like a ghoul. Without the children to provide her the distractions she needed to get through the day, the bottle of vodka and the two full bottles of prescription painkillers on the kitchen counter looked particularly inviting.
    Her way out.
    Her exit strategy.
    One that if not for the children, she would have taken already.
    There was a knock at the door. She ignored it, unable to cope with another visit from one of her neighbours or a well-meaning do-gooder wishing to pass on their sympathy, and at the same time get a fresh batch of gossip about the Harris widow to spread around their circle of friends. The knock came again, louder and with more urgency. To continue to ignore it would mean more people would come and interfere, perhaps accurately guessing that she was considering ending her pathetic existence. She strode to the door and opened it. For a split second, she thought it was Joey, so similar were they in appearance now that he had started a beard.
    “Hi, Valerie. Can I come in?”
    She nodded and stood back to allow him in. Rainwater walked into the sitting room, clasping his hands behind his back as he looked at the photographs on the wall of his father and uncle.
    “I didn’t see you at the funeral.” Valerie said.
    “I couldn’t be there… It didn’t feel right.”
    “They would have wanted you there. You’re all we have now.”
    “I shouldn’t have left them. I should have gone back.”
    “We can all talk about should and shouldn’t. It doesn’t change anything. They’re still dead, Henry.”
    He nodded and turned back to the pictures on the wall.
    “Can I get you a drink?” She asked.
    “I’ll