It’s late, nearly midnight, and the street is empty. His Volvo is parked under a lamppost, the halo of light illuminating the rain. He slides behind the wheel, slamming the door against the bad weather. The sound of the rain hammering on the car roof is deafening and he’s soaked through, exhausted, as he turns on the engine and whacks the heating up. He’s just about to pull away when his phone vibrates in his wet jacket.

He fishes his mobile from his damp pocket. An unrecognized number flashes up on screen. Who would be calling this time of night?

‘Hello,’ he says tentatively.

‘It’s me.’ His father’s voice is gruff at the other end of the line and Theo is so surprised to hear from him that he can’t speak for a couple of seconds.

‘Hello. Are you there?’

‘Yes. Sorry, Dad. I’m here. What’s wrong?’

‘I’ve been arrested.’

So it’s finally happened. His dad hasn’t been able to wriggle his way out of this one. Even so he still feels sick.

‘That bastard Davies is trying to pin everything on me. All his crimes.’

Theo’s stomach plummets. All his crimes? How many have there been? The realization sends a jolt of shock through Theo. ‘You mean he’s confessed? He killed those two people in Beggars Nook in 1980?’

‘Yes. No. Not that. Other stuff.’

The dark night seems to close in on Theo as he sits in his car, the rain slashing against the windows. He shivers. ‘What, exactly?’

‘He’s trying to imply that I’m responsible for your mother’s death.’

Theo feels like he can’t breathe. He pulls at the collar of his top. ‘And?’ he manages.

‘Of course it’s not true. I’ve done nothing wrong. I was at work that day. You know that. I’ve got an alibi.’

The alibi obviously doesn’t hold up, thinks Theo, if they’ve arrested him. He could have pushed his mother in an argument perhaps, then snuck off to work and pretended he’d been there all day.

‘Why would Davies know if you killed Mum or not?’ Something doesn’t add up about this. Did Davies find out somehow and hold it over his dad? Or did Davies help him cover it up? Davies was working for his dad back in 2004 in myriad roles. He’s been introduced as his dad’s legal adviser, accountant and head of security over the years. And now, suddenly, he’s a private detective. Theo has never been able to work out what his actual role is.

‘And now . . . now they’re questioning me about Cynthia Parsons’s suicide. They think it could be foul play.’ He doesn’t sound sad or remorseful: he sounds furious. ‘But I had nothing to do with that.’

Theo rubs his hand across his face, rage bubbling inside him.