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Tikva. And the very tall man he was addressing was his thirty-year-old son Baruch.
    “When Sam Morgan arrives, he will be bringing something of importance, so treat him with respect.”
    “ What will he be bringing?”
    The resentment in Baruch Tikva’s tone was palpable.
    “I do not want to put the evil eye on it by talking about it. You will see when it arrives.”
    “I don’t know why you trust that man. You should be very careful of him.”
    “Why? Because he is a gentile? You sound like the profane ones!”
    “I don’t mean because he is a gentile. I trust the Arabs more than the profane ones! But I trust Sam Morgan even less. He is greedy. And he has wormed his way into your trust. I mean no disrespect, but be careful of him my father.”
    HaTzadik’s tone was conciliatory.
    “You have nothing to be jealous of. You are my son and he… he is a stranger.”
    But the words did not heal the wound: they twisted the pain even more.

Chapter 8
    Daniel asked for directions from the girl tending the bar, but he had to ask several other people along the way as he navigated the village roads and paths towards the house. He walked rather than drove because he had been told that it wasn’t all navigable by car and it was easier to ask for directions on foot. SatNav was all very well, but how do you enter “the derelict house on the way to Partridge Hill” on a SatNav input?
    The last stretch of the walk was along a narrow dirt track lined with trees, hedges and bramble – much of it overhanging, creating a shelter of foliage along the path. The house selling arts and crafts was on the left, set back somewhat from the path and had a large garden and grounds all around it. He knew it was the right house from the sign on the gate announcing that arts and crafts items were for sale there. But that house held no interest for him. He had been told to come to the derelict house next to it that stood directly on the path, also on the left.
    The derelict house was in fact two semi-detached houses. The part farther along the path – to the right when looking at the house – had a brick façade. The upper bricks had been painted white, but the lower ones were still their native red. There was some foliage clinging to the exterior walls and the corrugated roof was dirty and bore patches of moss.
    But it was the other house – standing closer to the arts and crafts house – that appeared to be the derelict one. This one had a stucco façade, although little of it was visible beneath the thick blanket of ivy clinging to the surface. The roof was a horizontal, watershed lattice of wood. But as he moved round the house to the left side, he noticed that there was a part of the house that receded from the path and had no roof at all, just the long wooden beam at the apex that had once supported it. Even some of the upper brickwork was missing.
    This must be the place.
    He moved round it to find an entrance, eventually seeing a door that was ever so slightly ajar. Was Costa already in there waiting for him? Or was he late again? And was the door open simply because the house was abandoned and contained nothing of value that anyone would want?
    Daniel rapped on the wooden door with his knuckles.
    “Anyone home?”
    No answer.
    He pushed the door gingerly with his hand. It swung open slowly and then, even slower still, started to close again. That could have just been the way it was hung on its hinges. At any rate, he stopped it with his hand and stepped across the threshold. As he entered, he turned his head to survey the contents.
    He saw nothing untoward. The place was almost completely empty, save for an old dark wooden chest that seemed like some aging relic to remind people that that house had once been occupied. It was then that Daniel noticed a pair of feet protruding from beyond the wooden chest.
    He well knew the old classic film noir scenario in which the innocent man stumbles on the corpse only to be accused of murder.