‘I think I know that rather better than you. Here’s what you have to do. Call my father.’

‘Your father? This is getting more ridiculous by the minute.’

‘Anton, if you don’t stop interrupting I’m going to hang up. Tell my father he has to call Mrs Motlantshe – I’ll give you her number in a minute. He must remind her that he interviewed Josiah and he’s sorry to hear of their sad loss. He must tell her that his daughter is in South Africa and has a message from a man Lesedi met on the day he died. She must meet me at Francis Xavier Church tomorrow morning. I’ll be there by ten. Tell her that her son had some information he wanted to make public. She must bring any papers that he kept, maybe his phone or a laptop, maybe a key to a safe where he might have hidden something he wanted kept secret. Most important, she must not tell anyone.’

‘Why don’t you call your father yourself?’

‘Because I don’t want to use this phone any more than I have to. This call has already gone on for too long. Don’t try to call me back. It’ll be turned off. Anton, trust me. I know what I’m doing.’ Lindi read out the numbers. And then, as an afterthought, ‘Tell my parents I’m fine.’

‘Hello, is this Mr Seaton?’

There was enough in those few words for Harry to know that the caller was South African. His heart pounded. They hadn’t heard from Lindi in three or four days. He’d wanted to call her but, incredibly, it had been Helen who’d dissuaded him, saying Lindi was probably just busy. But he knew, both of them knew, it wasn’t like her not even to send a text message. The only difference between them was that Helen was better at hiding her concern. And then, just this morning, even she had relented. It was the green light he’d been waiting for. He’d called her number over and over again and every time it was the same: ‘The number you have dialled is unavailable.’

‘Yes, this is he.’

‘This is Anton Chetty from South Trust and I’ve—’

Harry didn’t let him finish. ‘What’s wrong?’ Helen heard him and moved closer, threading her arm through his. ‘We haven’t had a word from Lindi for a few days. It’s most unlike her.’

Helen tugged on his arm and whispered, ‘Let him speak.’

‘She has been very busy.’

‘So she’s okay?’

‘Oh, she’s absolutely fine.’ At the other end of the line Anton was struggling, struggling to find his bedside manner. It was a useless endeavour. He didn’t have one. His range of conversational skills went from blunt to rude. He relayed Lindi’s instructions. ‘So you got that, Mr Seaton?’