They asked him all their detailed questions about everyone they’d seen in the pub, but he could only provide scant detail. They explored Ripper connections with him and asked if Sighted cities ever turned against the rich, if one could push the powers of a place too far. ‘It is said,’ he replied to that, ‘that it’s hard for a rich man to enter Jerusalem through the gate they call the Eye of the Needle. That’s where the proverb comes from.’

Sefton for the first time wondered if Gaiman was making it all up; that didn’t agree with what he’d read. ‘I thought there was no such gate.’

‘That’s true,’ said Gaiman, gently, ‘unless you have the Sight. More honey?’

Chapter Eleven

ELEVEN

Brian Tunstall had been shocked by his experience of being on remand in Brixton jail. He’d been on G wing, with a bunch of others awaiting trial, in a cell with, thank God, a very quiet man who had just shaken his head when Brian had attempted to introduce himself, as if he could deny the whole experience of being here.

Brian hadn’t been able to deny it. While he was inside, and when he’d got past the shock of that terrifying, impossible thing that had happened to Michael Spatley, he’d started to mull over the idea that he deserved to be there. To his brief, because he didn’t see how DI Quill’s weird belief in what had really happened could help him in court, he’d maintained his other story: that a protestor had somehow got into the car. So to two different people he’d maintained two different fictions.

He’d started to feel he’d deserved to be there, and then they’d let him out. He’d gone back home, to Angela and little Alee. He’d spent a lot of time at night, woken by terrible dreams, troubled by his conscience, doing what he was doing now – sitting watching Alee asleep in her cot.

Tomorrow, DI Quill was going to visit to talk to him again. He must know something new, something that pointed to Tunstall’s real part in Michael Spatley’s death. Tunstall had been thinking all day about how good it would be to tell Quill everything. He didn’t see how he could possibly face a charge of conspiracy to murder. Though there would, of course, be lesser charges, he might be able to do a deal. Quill had indicated that he’d believed the impossible bits. He would have to tell them about the money.

Yes, he thought now as he looked at his baby girl’s face. Yes, I’ll be a good example to her. I just want to be able to keep seeing her face, to be here for her.