“I hitched lifts with lorry drivers. I came across on a ferry from Calais to Dover with Bob from Barnes and a load of Parma ham. At customs, they barely even looked at my passport.”

“This teacher, what’s he like?” Peter was scratching his shin where an ant had bitten him. My eyes wandered to his bike. It was on the grass, back wheel spinning slowly in the breeze.

“Badger? All right, I suppose.” David swallowed. “A bit funny maybe, even for a teacher, but easy enough if you stayed on his good side.” David had been at boarding school on a scholarship, but because of the business in Italy, he’d missed his exams.

“You could get a caution,” Marcus said. Sentencing was a matter of interest among his friends. What you got for doing what.

“Don’t know if they have cautions in Italy.”

“Or maybe you can get the charges dropped, get him to say he’d given you the card, or it was all a mistake.”

David looked a bit queasy at that.

“Not impossible,” he said. “But I think everyone should cool off a bit first. Then I was thinking I might write him a letter.” He was still looking for the right move, or perhaps for the problem to just go away. David didn’t believe rules applied to him. “Maybe,” he said, glancing at Peter, “you can help.”

“Won’t your parents be going mad with worry?” Em asked.

“I sent them a postcard.” Later, he would describe them as “Nice people, you know. Nice, very law-abiding.” He gave a suffocated laugh. “Dad’s desperate for me to get an apprenticeship. Mum writes down everything she spends and eats in a little book. On Sunday mornings they test the smoke alarm.”

David got up and we followed him into the house. The kitchen was cold enough to bring out goose bumps. There was a table, chairs, and a deep enamel trough. He’d found the mains and turned the water back on.

While the tap ran, we got some cups together. David handed me water in a tea-stained mug and our fingers touched.

We went out again, this time into the courtyard, and from there into the rose garden. David’s head was inclined attentively to Peter who was talking about a book he was going to lend him. Marcus slipped his arm around my shoulders. Em skipped ahead. We had come to stand in front of the stone bench where, all those years ago, mysterious Mr. Mortimer had been found dead. I cleared my throat.

“So, Mrs. East says…”

In the beginning, it gave us a reason to look around as much as we liked. We talked about hiding places, the places where, had we been Mortimer, we would have chosen to secrete the necklace. We had to remember it was freezing, and the middle of the night, and that we had a heart condition, that we were panicking!