‘Sort of. Except for what this has to do with Dad?’

‘I’m getting there.’

‘Snow’s melting. I hear I’m allowed to charge every six minutes, seeing as I’m a lawyer now.’

‘I think I’ve paid in advance, Ern.’

I had nothing to say back to that. Witty repartee is not well serviced by truth.

Michael took a swig of his Coke, grimaced, assumedly at the absorbed foot taste inside the open can, and continued. ‘So Alan contacts me. Out of the blue, you understand – I wasn’t seeking trouble. He says he has something I want. That he’ll sell it to me. He says he’s talked to you as well, actually. That’s why I brought him to your door that night. I thought if he’d told you what he told me, you might . . . understand what had happened.’

‘Maybe he said that to make you believe him.’ I leaned back in my chair. ‘But I’m not a part of this. I’ve never met him.’

‘Yes and no.’ Michael shrugged, like my awareness of who I did and didn’t know was a matter of opinion. Before I could argue, he kept going. ‘I figured out he hadn’t contacted you, of course I did. Your shock and confusion that morning, not to mention that you didn’t change your testimony after you knew his name, gave that away. But you have met him.’

I went to rebut this, but then he leaned forward and, with a single finger, pressed it into three parts of my body: my belly, my hip and the centre of my chest. He did it slowly, rhythmically, each poke a beat. I could hear the cadence of remembered words in my head, matching his movements, without him having to say them.

I’ll show you where I shot him. Here, here and here.

CHAPTER 20