I wanted to start with questions I thought I’d already guessed the answers to. Michael had clearly been the middleman between the McAuleys and Alan Holton – I’d figured that much out. It would have been the McAuleys’ money in the bag, which was the reason no one – Lucy, Marcelo, the cops – had noticed it missing from Michael’s accounts. I also suspected Michael was selling the McAuleys something he didn’t have: he was going to use their down payment to pay Alan, get what he needed to sell on, and then collect the second half as his profit. But he’d gone to jail after the buy, and so hadn’t been able to complete the deal until now. That was why he’d brought the bodies up the mountain. It was a trade.

There were still questions. I’d assumed Alan had been selling my father’s final message, some incriminating evidence of Rebecca’s kidnap and murder that Dad had died trying to pass to his handler, Alison Humphreys. It made sense that the McAuleys would want that, and would pay handsomely for it, but my father’s message couldn’t be the location of Rebecca’s body, as my father had died before she’d been buried.

‘Well, there’s four hundred in there,’ Siobhan said unprompted, pointing to the suitcase and removing the need for me to ask for specifics. She gave Edgar an apologetic grimace, clearly not great at negotiating, and too impatient to hear about their daughter. ‘We added a hundred. For the photos.’

The amounts added up. If the three hundred in the suitcase was the second half of the payment, it matched what I’d expected Alan’s price would have been: the original ransom amount of $300,000. But my thoughts ran on with more questions: if Michael had gotten the money from the McAuleys, why had he been short? If they were able to offer an extra hundred grand for the photos, they’d have no incentive to stiff . . . Hang on . . . what photos?

‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘What photos?’

Siobhan stuttered. ‘Michael said—’

‘I’m sorry.’ Edgar leaned forward and dragged the suitcase towards him, the playing cards cascading off it. He kept one hand on it protectively, but I could see in his eyes a sliver of fear. He knew that if we wanted to take it, we would. And his wife had just told us how much was in it. They weren’t used to dealing with criminals. Or Cunninghams. ‘Who did you say you were again?’

Siobhan straightened her back, to prove she wasn’t intimidated. ‘Who are these people with you? And where’s Michael?’

‘Michael’s dead.’

That shocked them into silence.

‘But he did find your daughter’s body. I’ll tell you where she is.’