Gone to the Dogs: A trip to the bottom of New Zealand

I’d knocked on his door several times during the previous day and the neighbour’s dog had identified me as a person of interest.

Around 9pm that evening I gave it one last go. His door was open, as it had been all day. I called into his empty living room. A shuffle from the back of the house. Warren appeared, smiling, as if he’d been expecting someone to come out of the night. This was Bluff, after all.