Silver, of course, thought it wiser and kinder not to pass on Jonny’s message to her. It would only upset her. Besides, when she eventually left his place she’d naturally go back to Sweden. With no money but her airfare, still in Silver’s bank account, she had very little choice. Jonny had received the photographs, at first with no comment. But he returned to them after a few minutes, staring long and hard at the shot of Jason. Silver knew he never read a newspaper, on account of reading being a problem for him, but he had watched a lot of television while in Russia Road and might have access to television still, though there was no set in that room.

“He’s that kid,” he said at last. “The Paki kid.”

Usually so calm, Silver was filled with rage at this description of Jason, whose mother, according to the paper, had been born in Bradford, the child of Brahmins from Varanasi. But he held his tongue.

“These two are the folks that kidnapped him, are they?”

Silver nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Afterward he thought he should have said, “They might be,” which Jonny would have understood.

“A real dog, that one,” he commented of Alison. “There’s some ugly women make me puke. Don’t tell me you’ve got this lot up in your place.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you that.”

“Come on, Silv, where are they?”

Silver had to tell him. He had to tell him and explain. He wouldn’t have put it past Jonny to go calling at 4E and perhaps try some blackmail, always supposing anyone let him in. He told me, he was bitterly regretting ever having befriended Jonny, and the worst of it was that at the time he had thought it dashing and rather smart to have a friend who was a burglar. And the consequence was that he found himself plunged into crime in that foul room at two o’clock in the morning, Jonny’s grin cold and his expression full of contempt. So much for friendship, so much for having an open mind.