Chapter Four

On reaching the top of the hill, Markus could just make out some lights in the distance. Thinking that perhaps he could stop and ask directions, he headed that way. A string of coloured party lights, some missing, faintly illuminated the shop front and he made out a faded sign which readDoug’s Fish ‘n Chips. He parked outside, the braking tyres of his sports car making the only sound to interrupt the stillness of the night. He walked slowly into the quaint building. Its interior was hung with fishing nets and floats. Pictures, captured in sepia, adorned the walls and showed the faded faces of fishermen who had fished the local bay many lifetimes before. Doug’s had probably looked that way since time immemorial. As Markus advanced towards the chipped, laminated counter, he glanced quickly at the sole occupant in front of him. T