vicar delivered his eulogy, Nick recalled one of his father's expressions, which he invariably repeated whenever they had attended a regimental funeral in the past-"The padre did him proud."
Once the chaplain had offered closing prayers and the priest had administered the final blessing, the congregation of family, friends, representatives of the regiment and locals gathered in the churchyard to witness the burial.
For the first time, Nick noticed the massive figure of a man who must have weighed more than twenty-five stone, and who didn't look at home in Scotland. He smiled. Nick returned his smile and tried to recall when they had last met. Then he remembered: Washington, D.C.; the opening of an exhibition at the Smithsonian to celebrate his grandfather's eightieth birthday, when his fabled stamp collection had been put on display to the public. But Nick still couldn't recall the man's name.
After the coffin had been lowered into the grave and the final rites administered, the Moncrieff clan departed, without a single member offering their condolences to the deceased's son and heir. One or two of the locals whose livelihoods did not depend on his uncle Hugo walked across and shook hands with Nick, while the senior officer representing the regiment stood to attention and saluted. Nick raised his hat in acknowledgment.
As he turned to leave the graveside, Nick saw Fraser Munro talking to Jenkins and Pascoe. Munro came across to him. "They've agreed that you can spend an hour with me to discuss family matters, but they'll not allow you to accompany me back to the office in my car."
"I understand." Nick thanked the chaplain and then climbed into the back of the police car. A moment later Pascoe and Jenkins took their places on either side of him.
As the car moved off, Nick looked out of the window to see the large man lighting a cigar.
"Hunsacker," said Nick out loud. "Gene Hunsacker."
***
"Why did you want to see me?" demanded Craig.
"I've run out of gear," said Leach.
"But I supplied you with enough to last six months."
"Not after a bent screw's taken his cut."
"Then you'd better visit the library."
"Why would I go to the library, Mr. Craig?"
"Take out the latest copy of the Law Review, the leather-bound edition, and you'll find everything you need taped to the inside of the spine." Craig closed his briefcase, stood up and headed toward the door.
"It won't be a moment too soon," said Leach, not moving from his seat.
"What do you mean?" asked Craig as he touched the door handle.
"Aunt Maisie's friend has signed up for a detox program."
"Then you'll have to wean him off it, won't you."
"That may not solve your problem," said Leach calmly.
Craig walked slowly back to the table, but didn't sit down. "What are you getting at?"
"A little bird tells me that Aunt Maisie's friend has started singing like a canary."
"Then shut him up," spat out Craig.
"It may be too late for that."
"Stop playing games, Leach, and tell me what you're getting at."
"I'm told there's a tape."
Craig collapsed into the chair and stared across the table. "And what's on this tape?" he asked quietly.
"A full confession... with names, dates and places." Leach paused, aware that he now had Craig's undivided attention. "It was when I was told the names that I felt I ought to consult my lawyer."
Craig didn't speak for some time. "Do you think you can get your hands on the tape?" he eventually asked.
"At a cost."
"How much?"
"Ten grand."
"That's a bit steep."
"Bent screws don't come cheap," said Leach. "In any case, I bet Aunt Maisie doesn't have a plan B, so she hasn't got much choice."
Craig nodded. "All right. But there's a time limit. If it's not in my possession before May thirty-first, you won't get paid."
"No prizes for guessing whose appeal will be coming up that day," said Leach with a smirk.
***
"Your father made a will, which this firm executed," said Munro, tapping his fingers on the desk. "It was witnessed by a justice of the peace, and I have to advise you that however you feel about its contents, you would be unwise to dispute it."
"It would not have crossed my mind to oppose my father's wishes," said Nick.
"I think that is a sensible decision, Sir Nicholas, if I may say so. However, you are entitled to know the details of the will. As time is against us, allow me to paraphrase." He coughed. "The bulk of your father's estate has been left to his brother, Mr. Hugo Moncrieff, with smaller gifts and annuities