It's just after noon
when Brock arrives at the house, not his favourite time of the day at
all. The house itself is hardly worthy of comment, a farmhouse
standing remote and alone amid North Yorkshire moors. He circles
the building at a distance, noting out houses and barn, then finds a
comfortable spot from which to observe. The day passes slowly, with
no activity or sign of life around the place at all. As dusk settles
into night, Brock makes his approach, knocking loudly at the farm's
main door. A few moments pass before he knocks again, “Hello,”
he shouts as he does. With still no reply, he crouches to flip the
letterbox open and peer into the gloom beyond. There's little to be
seen, so he tries the handle, which turns easily.
“Hello,” he shouts
again as he opens the door, “Is there anybody home?”
