‘No shit,’ she says, looking me up and down. ‘I know you haven’t got two hundred and fifty thousand dollars on you. But what happened to it? Where did it go? Speedboat? Renoir? Casino?’

‘You don’t understand. I kept it.’

Jan squints at me as if I have started speaking code.

‘Xander,’ she says, tilting her head. ‘What are you talking about? Kept it where, in an account?’

‘No. In a trunk. At Seb’s.’

She hears this and slowly sinks into a seat along the wall. ‘Xander. What are you doing to me? Please tell me it’s still there.’

‘I can’t. It’s gone.’

‘For crying out – okay. We don’t have time for this right now. You need to find that money before your trial or that guy in there is going to crucify you.’

‘I’m trying,’ I say. I think of Nina but have no confidence that she is going to help me. ‘But is it that important, really?’

She stands up again and looks at me. ‘You’re saying, why would I kill someone I love. They’re saying, a quarter of a million reasons.’

‘No, I get that,’ I say. ‘But what real difference does it make?’

‘Okay. Look. Did you take the money?’

‘You know I did.’

‘How do we know that you didn’t kill her for it? I mean how can we prove that?’

‘I didn’t kill her,’ I say, tumbling at the accusation. The words kill and murder are being slipped at me blandly like playing cards. Each time I hear them I see her face, frozen in the photo.

‘I know. Just humour me. How can we prove that you wouldn’t kill her for money?’

‘Because, look at me, money is the last thing that drives me. You couldn’t find anyone who cares less about money than I do,’ I say. I feel the heat rising up my neck. I look at her and she suddenly doesn’t seem like the ally I had expected her to be.

‘So how do we prove that money doesn’t interest you?’

‘Jan? Look at me. I’ve got a degree from Cambridge. I could earn money. I could have more money than I need. But it doesn’t interest me. I was walking away from all that. That’s what this is about,’ I say, showing her my stained hands.

Her gaze remains level.

‘And if you had a boatload of money, how would we prove that you have no interest in it?’

Finally, with that question, a glow perforates the darkness. ‘By showing it to them untouched after thirty years,’ I say with a sigh.

‘So, are we going to be able to do that? Or are we going no comment?’

‘I don’t know where it is. I know that sounds unbelievable, but it’s true. It’s gone.’