Furneaux looped his handkerchief from his pocket, wiped himself. "Mr Curwen, your father travelled quite voluntarily to South Africa. He chose to involve himself with a terrorist gang, and it is, and from the very beginning was, more or less inevitable that he will pay a high price for his actions." the file was gathered against Furneaux's chest.

"I'm sorry for wasting your valuable time…" Jack said.

"Mr Sandham, would you show Mr Curwen to the front hull."

Jack heard Furneaux's heavy tread clatter away down the corridor.

He said, "I don't understand. My father is a British citizen living in South Africa for years, suddenly turns up in a murder trial, but your man has a pretty ancient looking file on him an inch thick. How's that?"

"Don't know." Sandham bounced his eyebrows.

Sandham took Jack to the front hall, asked him for a card so that he could contact him if there were developments.

* •*

He saw the young fellow walk away, threading between the official cars. He noted the athleticism that couldn't be hidden by the disappointed droop of his shoulders. He went back up the three floors to the South Africa desk. Smoking too damned much, and his chest was heaving when he made it to the open plan area where he worked.

He thought he knew the answer to the question that Curwen didn't understand. He was old enough, and passed over often enough not to care too much what he said and to whom he said it. He knocked at Furneaux's door, put his head round the corner.

"That chap they're going to hang, Mr Furneaux, is he a bit complicated?"

"Too deep water for you, Jimmy."

***

"I really don't want to talk about him."

"I have to know about him, Mum, everything about him."