“And who’s that?” asked Townsend.
“My uncle.”
“And who is your uncle?”
“Ben Ampthill.” She looked up at him. “You’re not local, are you?”
“No, I’m not,” admitted Townsend.
“I thought I hadn’t seen you before.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“Who?”
“Your uncle.”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“Would it be possible for you to tell me where that is?” said Townsend, trying not to sound too exasperated.
“Sure can. It’s the big house on the hill in Woonona, just outside town. Hard to miss it.”
Townsend ran back out of the building, jumped into the car and passed on the directions to Sam.
The young receptionist turned out to be right about one thing: the large white house nestling in the hills was hard to miss. Sam swung off the main road, slowing down as he passed through the wrought-iron gates and up a long drive toward the house. They pulled up outside a smart portico.
Townsend banged on the large black doorknocker and waited patiently, his speech already prepared: I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday afternoon, but I was rather hoping I might be able to have a word with Mr. Ampthill.
The door was opened by a middle-aged woman in a smart floral dress, who looked as if she had been expecting him.
“Mrs. Ampthill?”
“Yes. How can I help you?”
“My name is Keith Townsend. I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday afternoon, but I was rather hoping I might be able to have a word with your husband.”
“My niece was right,” said Mrs. Ampthill. “You’re not local, otherwise you would have known that Ben can always be found at the mine office from Monday to Friday, takes the day off on Saturday to play golf, goes to church on Sunday morning and spends the afternoon at the radio station, listening to the cricket. I think that’s the only reason he bought the station in the first place.”
Townsend smiled at this piece of information and said, “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Ampthill. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“No bother,” she replied, as she watched him run back toward the car.
“Back to the radio station,” Townsend said, unwilling to admit his mistake to Sam.
When Townsend walked up to the reception desk for a second time, he immediately asked, “Why didn’t you tell me that your uncle was here all the time?”
“Because you didn’t ask,” the young woman said, not bothering to look up from her knitting.
“So where is he, exactly?” asked Townsend slowly.
“In his office.”
“And where is his office?”
“On the third floor.”
“Of this building?”