‘So how did you fake it?’ De Corrado sounded disgusted. ‘All those things about Forest’s childhood?’

Forest shrugged. He wasn’t proud of how he’d gone about it, but it hadn’t been difficult either. ‘There’s endless news articles from back then. And Ahab has the family photo albums in his room . . .’

There was a spark of recognition on De Corrado’s face. ‘You little cocker.’

‘. . . and I’ve been friends with the real Forest Dempsey.’

‘Inserting yourself into a family desperate to believe it’s all true . . . It’s evil. Genius, but evil.’

‘I’m not evil,’ spat Forest. ‘I was just trying to help him.’

‘And who the hell are you?’ said Frankie. She came back into the room with two steaming cups. ‘Here, detective. Thought you might need a coffee. I sure do.’

De Corrado took the coffee, sipping it distractedly. ‘You’ve been playing us like puppets on a string! Tell me how you met the real Forest. Tell me everything.’

‘You have to promise me you’ll help find him.’

‘Obviously! Now tell me.’

‘He’s tall, he’s got dark hair. I can help someone sketch a picture. He can’t have gone far, if we spread his picture around . . .’

‘It goes without saying you’re in big, big trouble for this. And so is anyone who’s helped you.’

He looked at the ground. ‘No one helped me. I did this alone. None of the Dempseys know.’

‘I might even believe that.’ She looked up at him, but her eyes seemed unfocused. ‘Putting two and two together . . . Davey killed himself because you . . . Which raises more questions than . . . but . . .’

There was a dull thud as De Corrado’s coffee cup hit the carpet. She slid out of her seat, convulsing.

Forest sprang to his feet, shouting for help, just as Frankie screamed, ‘Now! Grab the kid!’

Two men ran into the room – one clamped a sweaty hand over Forest’s mouth, then roughly pulled his arms behind his back and zip tied his wrists together.

Forest panicked, struggling to pull away, but the men were massive. He bit the hand covering his mouth and the tall redhead released his grip with a curse. Forest screamed for help.

‘Shut up, kid,’ said the other man, delivering a blow to the back of Forest’s head that left him seeing stars. ‘Fuck me, can we kill him now, Frankie?’

He felt far, far away. He slumped to his knees, struggling to focus.

Frankie was on her phone. ‘Blackbeard? Yes, Tranquil and Vance are here. The kid told De Corrado the truth, but it gets worse – he said the real Forest Dempsey is alive somewhere!’

‘No . . . no, don’t . . .’ Forest tried to right himself. The man with the gold chains pressed his knee into the back of his neck.