“No.”
“Would you recognize him if he passed you in the street?”
“No.”
“And finally, Sir Giles, has he ever contacted you in your capacity as a Member of Parliament?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Sir Giles, you have passed the first part of the test with flying colors, but I must now move on to another series of questions that are just as important, but this time, the only acceptable answer is yes.”
“I understand,” said Giles.
“Does this man have good reason to loathe Don Pedro Martinez as much as you do?”
“Yes, I believe he does.”
“Is he as wealthy as Martinez?”
“Most certainly.”
“Does he have a reputation for honesty and probity?”
“As far as I’m aware, yes.”
“Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, do you think he’d be willing to take a serious risk?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“As you have answered all my questions satisfactorily, Sir Giles, perhaps you’d be kind enough to write the gentleman’s name down on the pad in front of you, without allowing anyone else around the table to see who it is.”
Giles jotted down a name, tore a sheet off the pad, folded it and passed it to the lawyer, who in turn handed it to his father.
Cedric Hardcastle unfolded the slip of paper, praying he’d never come across the man before.
“Do you know this man, Father?”
“Only by reputation,” said Cedric.
“Excellent. Then if he agrees to go along with your plan, no one around this table will be breaking the law. But, Sir Giles,” he said, turning back to the Rt. Hon. Member for Bristol Docklands, “you must not make contact with this man at any time, and you cannot reveal his name to any member of the Barrington or Clifton families, particularly if they are shareholders in Barrington Shipping. Were you to do so, a court might consider that you were in collusion with a third party, and therefore breaking the law. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” said Giles.
“Thank you, sir,” the lawyer said as he gathered up his papers. “Good luck, Pop,” he whispered, before closing his briefcase and leaving the room without another word.
“How can you be so confident, Giles,” said Emma once the door had closed behind him, “that a man you’ve never even met will fall in with Mr. Hardcastle’s plans?”
“After Jessica had been buried, I asked one of the pall bearers who the man was who had wept throughout the service as if he’d lost a daughter and then hurried away. That was the name he gave me.”
* * *
“There’s no proof Luis Martinez killed the girl,” said Sir Alan, “only that he desecrated her paintings.”
“But his fingerprints were on the handle of the flick knife,” said the colonel. “And that’s quite enough proof for me.”
“As are Jessica’s, so any half-decent lawyer would get him off.”
“But we both know that Martinez was responsible for her death.”