She sought out Ahab’s eyes. ‘Was he in pain, at the end?’

So Linda had told her . . . at least Shelby had known to leave her out of whatever came next.

‘It happened in an instant,’ said Ahab. ‘He wouldn’t have felt a thing.’

Davey howled, but Ivy snapped, ‘Shut up, Davey.’ Tears had pooled in her own eyes. ‘Just . . . just shut up!’

Under the table, he finally cut through one of the ties binding De Corrado’s arms. He passed her the knife and she quietly began sawing at the other tie. Ahab felt sweat pouring down his sides – if they saw what she was doing, Ivy wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.

‘Pass me the butter, please,’ Shelby said to Mackenzie, as she took a bun from the centre plate. What was she doing, playing along with Ivy’s game?

Mackenzie didn’t move. His eyes were firmly fixed on the other man’s gun.

‘Mack! Sit down.’ Shelby slammed the table with her fist.

‘You too,’ said Ivy to her henchman.

Slowly, Mackenzie eased into a chair beside Shelby, still holding the shotgun. His eyes were flicking around the room now – an edge of uncertainty. Ahab was praying the way he was holding himself now wouldn’t translate into him doing something rash.

The henchman sat down beside De Corrado. He put the gun flat on the table, but left his hand resting on top of it.

‘Pass me the shotgun, Mack,’ said Shelby.

Mackenzie hesitated.

‘Mack . . .’ said Ahab. ‘Don’t.’

‘Relax, Ahab,’ said Shelby. Though her face was a mask of anguish, her voice was collected.

Mackenzie handed the shotgun over.

‘There we go. Calmly now,’ said Shelby. ‘Thank you, Mackenzie. Now please pass me the butter.’

Davey folded his arms across the table, lowered his head into them, and began to cry in heaving sobs.

Mackenzie looked as puzzled as anyone, but he did as Shelby asked and handed her the butter.

She put the shotgun on the table in front of her and began to spread the butter on her bun. The smell of melting butter was warm and inviting.

‘Who killed my son, Ahab?’ Her voice was light, conversational, but her hands were shaking so much she had to put the knife down.

‘One of Blackbeard’s men,’ said Ahab. ‘Vance.’

‘And who is Blackbeard?’ said Shelby. ‘Do we know now, at least?’

‘Yes,’ said Ahab.

Ivy observed Shelby closely. ‘I . . . I will make sure that man is executed. I’ll have him tortured to death. I’ll do whatever it takes.’

‘So you are Blackbeard?’ said Shelby, not sounding all that surprised. She must have suspected as much. The detective tied up at Ivy’s dining table was probably a good indicator.

‘Yes,’ said Ivy. ‘I’m the Dread Pirate Blackbeard.’

‘For how long?’ said Shelby.

Ivy shrugged casually. ‘I started the rumour seven years ago.’

‘So, do you traffic children? Do you kill people?’ said Shelby.