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though. Feeling guilty, I sent money to Cathy, to help her and her child, who by that time would be grown and perhaps in need of a start in life. You may ask me why I didn’t offer this same financial support to my own wife and family; the answer is, I don’t know. I suppose we were married very young – mere children - and anything I had found alluring about her I later found irritating. If it is any consolation, I will take the guilt of abandoning them to my grave. Along with everything else, that is.
    I was the town sheriff, and when the questions came from Kinloch, it was easy for me to dismiss them as the ramblings of men in a distant land. How could Archie McMunn, Sherriff and doer of good, ever have been responsible for such a thing? The folks here in Wantage used to joke about it, while my blood ran cold.
    I feel guilt, real guilt; not for the man, but for the crime. I had no love for the real Archie McMunn, and still don’t. He was a brute, and the world was better off without him; but as for murder, I feel it in my soul every waking minute. I am leaving strict instructions for those who come after me, so I suppose that now you are reading this, the body of Archie McMunn has been discovered on Dalintober beach. I have made financial provision for him to have a proper Christian burial with a headstone. I want it to bear his real name: Archibald McMunn. It is a small price to pay in return to the man whose very name – whose life, in truth – I stole.
    For me, I await God’s judgement. Ultimately, it is all that really matters. I seek forgiveness from no other.
    The name I append to this letter seems entirely foreign to me now. It is as though it is the calumny, not the reverse.
    Yours, most sincerely,
    William Cardle

XII
    The shouting from the cells of Cardle and McMunn was audible as DS Scott opened the door to Daley’s office.
    ‘Here, Jim, this has just come in from forensics. They tested that pair’s DNA, and it turns out they’re related in some way. Aye, an’ neither have any connection to oor man in the barrel. How’s that possible? They tell me you were the man who put them onto it.’
    ‘It was just a hunch, Brian, but now there’s no doubt. We’re about to reunite long-lost cousins,’ replied Daley, getting to his feet.
    ‘Eh?’
    As Daley bent down to close the email from Wantage he noticed the corporate logo of McMunn Inc. It was a whisky barrel.