‘And by the time of the robbery?’

‘In so deep he’d need a JCB to dig himself out. Same with the others in his so-called gang. That’s what didn’t fit, you see. Between them they had the IQ of a chicken, and a very dumb chicken at that, yet they pulled off two very neat little jobs, made themselves a tidy little sum and if they’d waited a bit for the fuss to die down would probably have got clear away with the third.’

‘So, you suspect Kinnear didn’t do the planning.’

‘It was speculated upon, yes.’ He took a long draft of beer and then started on his chow mein.

Alec waited, thinking and chewing slowly. He had declined the beer knowing he had to drive and that even if he was still legal he’d be asleep at the wheel within a mile. He felt so bone weary and was having a hard time keeping his head clear enough to focus on what Pierce was saying.

‘So, when did you start to suspect Rupert?’ continued Alec.

‘When it turned out he’d been at the scene of the second robbery.’

‘Oh?’

‘Took a bit of time to make the connection. He wasn’t an official witness, just a name on a list of people questioned because he was in the vicinity. He claimed to have seen nothing and was sent on his way.’

‘Miracle, in that case, you even had his name.’

‘It was that. Seems they’d put a young recruit on the job who wanted to prove how thorough he was. Rupert Friedman never denied he was there and he had a valid sort of excuse if you believe someone would drive ten miles out of their way because they liked a particular supermarket.’

‘Actually,’ Alec mused, ‘that sounds exactly the kind of thing he would do.’

Pierce laughed. ‘Well, you would know.’

‘So, how involved did you suspect he was?’

Pierce paused, then rammed his fork back into the foil tray and twisted it round, collecting noodles and chicken. ‘Well, it occurred to me he might have been the one that planned it,’ Pierce said.

By the time Alec left an hour later his brain was buzzing, as Patrick would have described it. He couldn’t see Rupert as any kind of criminal mastermind but, much as he disliked the idea, he could not get away from the thought that this too might be something Rupert could do as an exercise, just because he could. Rupert, Alec thought, had never been much on consequences. Even as a child Alec had recognized that his uncle was an impulsive being. One who gave about as much thought to the responsibilities and outcomes of his actions as did Alec himself.

So, if he had been involved, why hadn’t Kinnear fingered him? Unless, Kinnear thought Rupert was looking after their money.

That made a kind of sense.

But, Alec had questioned, why wait until now to try and reclaim what was his? The only logical explanation Alec could come up with was that Kinnear hadn’t known where Rupert was.

Alec had analyzed that, put the speculation to Pierce. Friedman was, as he had commented, an uncommon name.

‘Your uncle was due to appear as a witness,’ Pierce said. ‘But he did a runner long before the trial and we didn’t have the resources to track him down. Not that anyone was that bothered; there was no doubt Kinnear had been there, was there?’

‘Which does not explain why Kinnear didn’t look for him.’

Pierce smiled and Alec realized he’d been keeping something back. ‘Kinnear thought he was someone else.’

Pierce laughed. ‘That’s what we figured,’ he said. ‘Kinnear kept going on about the getaway driver and how he’d been the one that planned it. That fitted with what we knew about Kinnear, but we knew from the start the driver hadn’t given him a proper name.’

‘Oh? How was that then?’

Sitting in his car and signalling to come off the slip road and back on to the motorway, Alec chuckled at the remembered reply. It was so Rupert. Then he sobered, realizing this really clinched Rupert’s involvement.

‘Because your uncle Rupert had called himself Sam Spade,’ Billy Pierce had said.

Twenty-Two

It was very late by the time he reached his parents’ home and he worried that they may not be up. He still had a key to their house, tucked away in the inside pocket of his jacket, though that might not count for much if his father had bolted the door.

Only an upstairs light shone out when he pulled across the end of the drive rather than turning into it, remembering almost too late that his father rarely put the car into the garage. He leaned back in his seat and rubbed his eyes, more tired than he could ever remember being.

Feeling in his pocket for the door key he found the locket he had discovered in Rupert’s box. It had come to him later that same night why it seemed so familiar, though he had omitted to tell Naomi. Forgotten? No, not forgotten, he’d not wanted to tell her yet, not until he had an explanation. It was one of the things he needed to ask his parents.

His mother opened the door as he inserted the key.

‘Alec! Naomi phoned a couple of hours ago, she thought you might be here. Your mobile was off,’ she chided. ‘And you might have let me know sooner, then I could have made up a bed. I’ve done it now anyway.’

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and Alec hugged her back. ‘I switched the phone off because the battery was low,’ he explained. ‘But I should have called. Watch the ribs they’re still sore.’

‘Yes, Naomi told us about that too. Alec, what were you thinking and why didn’t one of you let us know? We’d have been right there, you know that.’

‘I know, I know. Is Dad still up?’

‘Well yes, we thought we’d give you another half hour and then go to bed. Come on in, come in, do.’ Smiling, she reached out to take his hand. ‘What on earth do you have there?’

He opened his hand and held out the locket. He noticed the sudden rigidity that took hold of her shoulders. ‘Alec …’ Then she managed a laugh. ‘Good Lord, where on earth did you find that?’ She had blanched, her cheeks suddenly pale in the harsh light of the hallway. Then she flushed as though embarrassed or ashamed. Alec did not know what to say.

His father appeared in the living-room doorway. He was dressed in striped pyjamas and a deep red dressing gown. His comfortable dressing gown, Alec remembered. His favourite. Baggy and soft from years of washing and wearing and faded in patches as though the dye had been unevenly exposed to the light.

Alec folded his hand around the gold locket suddenly unwilling to ask questions that his mother’s response had already told him the answers to. But it was too late by then. His father, always sharp, always observant, had seen.

‘Rupert had it then,’ he said.

‘In a box upstairs. I didn’t remember at first where I’d seen it, then I knew. The photograph of us all at Fallowfields.’ He looked at his father’s face and invented a lie, one they could all retreat behind. ‘I guess Rupert must have found it and forgotten to give it back. Then when you all stopped talking …’

‘That must have been it,’ his mother said eagerly, then she met her husband’s eyes and shook her head. ‘Enough,’ she said. ‘Does it really matter now?’

Alec sat in his parents’ front living room, and listened. They were together on the sofa, sitting close, holding hands as though for moral support and suddenly, to Alec’s eyes, they looked very vulnerable and oddly young.

‘You were seven years old when we lost Sara,’ his mother said.

‘Sara?’

‘She would have been your sister.’

‘My sister? I don’t even remember you being pregnant.’

‘You remember I was ill. In hospital for a time. You went to stay with Aunt Liz and …’

‘And missed most of it,’ his father continued. ‘Sara was stillborn. It was all a mess. Your mother was depressed after and I hid in my work. We just didn’t seem to know how to get along for a while.’

‘That summer we went to stay with Rupert,’ Audrey, Alec’s mother picked up the story. ‘Rupert was kind and … well, it never actually came to anything, but it was a close call. I didn’t tell your father for quite a while. In fact, it was Rupert that let it slip.’