A few seconds before the telephone rang I had been trying to write a long and probably over-complicated sentence. No problem – it happened all the time. I was realizing, halfway through, that it was too long and over-complicated, but to write it properly I had to finish it. After that I would go back and break it down into two or perhaps three shorter sentences. Then – Spoder.

It took me a few moments to focus on what he was talking about. A scattershot of events, motives and Willer/Waller, baseball bats and locked rooms. I had to pull back from what I was doing. I dredged around in memory for the names that were easier to identify. Lew? The other was called Dever? One killed the other, one of them was known as Willer, the other as Waller. I could not at first remember which. They had presented a fascinating puzzle at the time but they were not real people to me.

I had made notes. There they lay in my notebook, possibly of use one day.

A delaying tactic: ‘How is your ankle, Spoder?’

‘It turned out it was only a sprain. I took off the bandage yesterday, and the ankle feels sore but usable. But about the money—’

‘Can this wait, Spoder? I’m working at the moment. Come over here tomorrow?’

‘It was you who knew about the money.’ Spoder had no sensitivity to the fact that because I sat around all day staring at a computer monitor I was actually working. He went on in the same rush: ‘There was no mention of Lew Antterland’s money in the police file, and then five years later Dever was killed. Once again nothing was said or recorded about the money.’

‘Maybe money wasn’t involved.’

‘There must have been a huge sum.’

I reached across to the computer and saved the document I was working on.

‘Couldn’t it have been spent?’ I said. I was at last starting to connect with him. ‘Five years went by. Money doesn’t last forever if you’re determined to spend it.’

‘There’s been no sign of spending, though,’ Spoder said. ‘I’ve been doing some old-fashioned enquiries. Dever, the magician, was running that theatrical show for children, in a rundown amusement park. Not the sort of extravagant lifestyle some of those people in Ocean Domaisne enjoy. You’ve seen what his place was like. I made a routine search for his will, in case he had written one. In fact he had, and because all wills are published a copy of it can be viewed online, same as everyone else’s. According to that he left most of his estate to the amusement place, Bonnzo’s Holiday Park. It didn’t amount to much.’

‘Maybe he made the will before he stole the loot from his brother.’