Michael nodded solemnly. He was looking at his hands, perhaps imagining them around Alan’s neck. ‘I didn’t go there to kill him. I didn’t know any of that until the end. He was selling me what Dad died for. Selling someone else out.’

I thought again about the money. We died for it. “We” was a Cunningham after all: our father, Robert. ‘But once you found out Dad had died because of Alan, you felt that whatever he had, whatever it was worth, was owed to you. An inheritance. So you shot him and took it. And you took your money back.’

‘That’s not how it happened. It was about the money, yes, but not like that. I brought what I could, but it was less than he wanted. I fucked up. I thought he wouldn’t notice.’ He shook his head sadly, the way people do in hospital waiting rooms. It’s a shake that says ‘if’ to the left and ‘only’ to the right. ‘He pulled the gun on me. I don’t own one – I mean, come on. We struggled with it. It went off. He was holding it; I don’t really know how. I’ve never fired a gun before. And then he was sitting down and there was blood pouring from his side. I just . . . well, I left him there. Threw the gun into a storm drain. But by the time I’d got back to my car and calmed down enough to start it up, he’d managed to sort of get moving again. I can’t remember if I meant to hit him or if he just kind of jumped in the way, but he went under the bonnet. And then he wasn’t moving anymore. That’s when I called you.’

Two-hundred-and-sixty-seven had always seemed like such an odd number. The fact that it didn’t add up suddenly added up.

‘Alan wanted three hundred?’

‘It was the best I could do. Lucy . . .’ He hesitated, embarrassed. ‘I messed it up, all right? I didn’t bring enough.’

‘How did Lucy not notice?’ Something he’d said on that night echoed: Lucy will know. I thought he’d been hiding his drinking, but maybe he’d been hiding something bigger.

‘Lucy’s not . . .’ His eyes flickered, happy to be honest about the night in question, but not to plunge too deep into his personal life. ‘Lucy’s not great with money. Her, um, business, I guess – it became a bit of a problem. A sieve. Katherine told me one of the kindest things you can do to someone is to cut them off. I tried it, but it just made things worse. I thought I could help her.’

‘Does Lucy know now?’

‘I don’t think so. You’ve got the bag. But she could know, I guess. If she does, she’s keeping mum.’

‘What could possibly be worth that much money?’