Nye made a couple of calls on the way, speaking mostly in code, it seemed, and when we got into London, he drove straight to Belgravia. I'd barely ventured into that part of the world. Even Edward's income didn't have enough zeroes at the end of it.

The underground car park Nye pulled into was filled with expensive cars—a Mercedes SUV, a Porsche, and an Aston Martin to name but a few.

"This is the safe house?"

"Like Fort Knox."

The owner probably had as much money too.

We took a lift to the ground floor, where a huge multicoloured chandelier dominated a luxuriously appointed atrium. Nye headed down a hallway to the left, led me past two closed doors, and knocked on a third. A man whose casual attire clashed with the opulent surroundings opened it, and I recognised the Blackwood Security crest on his jacket. A second man looked out the window at the street below.

"These guys will take care of you till I get back. Behave yourself, yeah?"

Nye gave my hand a little squeeze and then he was gone.

Gone for two movies, an episode of EastEnders, and a pizza delivery. Three large pepperonis, but I only ate one slice, and even that felt as if it was going to come up again. Luckily, the taller of the two men seemed to have a metabolism that allowed him to eat for three, because he got through two of the pizzas on his own.

Where was Nye? What was he doing? And, more importantly, was he okay?

"Do you know how Nye's getting on?" I asked Pizza Guy.

He dragged his eyes away from the television and shrugged. "Don't worry about him—he knows how to look after himself."

All very well for him to say.

By the time Nye walked through the door, totally unscathed, my mind had cycled through him getting in a fight, to landing up in hospital, to lying dead in a gutter somewhere.

I ran over and threw my arms around him. "You're all right! Thank goodness."

Nye blushed while the other two men chuckled.

"That's quite a welcome, mate," Pizza Guy said. "Wish my missus gave me that kind of greeting every time I got back from a job."

I mumbled an apology. "Sorry. I was just a bit worried."

"I think I got that." Luckily, Nye was smiling.

"Did you find what you needed?" Pizza Guy asked.

"Partly. But it raised more questions than I've got answers for."

"Always the way, ain't it? Do you need us for anything else?"

"No, I've got it from here. Thanks."

The men filed out, leaving us alone, and Nye reached straight for one of the leftover slices of pizza.

"What happened?"

I was dying of curiosity. Quite literally, if my mystery assailant had anything to do with it.

"I had an interesting chat with Ronnie's ex-cellmate."

"He talked to you? Like, voluntarily?"

Nye burst out laughing. "Don't look so worried, babe. What did you think I was going to do? Beat it out of him?"

Well, yes, but I couldn't exactly admit that. "Er..."

"We went out for a beer, and I bunged him a few quid. That's how it normally works."

Oh. That sounded almost civilised. Except it meant that Nye had shelled out yet more money on my behalf, which left me feeling guilty once again. I'd pay him back somehow, even if it took me years to earn enough.

"What did he say?"

"That Ronnie was a prick. No surprises there. But he did recall a conversation they had soon after they met about the families they'd left behind. The cellmate worried his wife wouldn't be able to pay the mortgage."

"Perhaps he should have considered that before turning to a life of crime?"

"Probably wouldn't have stopped him. They all think they'll never get caught. Anyway, Ronnie didn't seem bothered by money. He said he only had his mother left, and he'd made sure she had a good retirement plan. My contact got the impression Ronnie wasn't talking about a pension."

"That does make sense. Aunt Ellie bought all manner of things off the internet, and I never did work out where she got the money to do it."

"Eleanor only had forty pounds in her bank account when she died. I spoke to your mate, Mickey, and he swears there wasn't any other cash with the estate."

"I don't think Mickey would lie. So, how did she afford that stuff?"

"That, babe, is what we're going to find out. She could have kept funds in an online eWallet. PayPal or similar. I've got someone looking into that."

"Do we just wait again now?"

"No, we've got another visit to make."

"We?"

"Reckon this one'll be safe enough for you to come with me. Your presence might even help."

"Who are we going to see?"

"Ronnie's ex-partner."

"Like his girlfriend?"

"No, his partner in crime. Are you up for a road trip?"

With Nye? Always, and I trusted he wouldn't take me anywhere dangerous. "Where does he live?"

"About an hour north. Straight up the M1."

Edward had always insisted that conversation in the car distracted him from driving, but Nye was happy to chat away. Not only that, he held my hand the entire trip, and I snuck surreptitious glances at him while he concentrated on the road. My imagination began to run away with me. Maybe we could take a proper road trip together, driving across France, or even farther into Europe. Beautiful scenery, gourmet food, boutique hotels...

Olivia, stop it!

"Uh, was Ronnie's partner in prison too?"

"He never got caught. I don't even know for sure they were partners, but I've seen his name pop up a few too many times. Call it a hunch."

"But surely he won't admit to being a criminal if we just turn up and ask?"

Nye shrugged. "I'll play it by ear. I'm hoping he'll decide it's the right time to confess."

Confess? Who in their right mind... Nye pulled up outside a small cottage next to a church in a village that reminded me of Upper Foxford, all twee and a bit of a time warp. I got the chance to ogle his muscles when he swapped his leather jacket for a sports one in the boot.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

I took his hand and read the name on the gate as he held it open for me.

"The vicarage? Are you kidding? Ronnie's ex-partner's a priest?"

"Seems he saw the error of his ways. Either that or he's pilfering from the collection plate."

A man wearing a white collar answered our knock. Clean-shaven, wholesome-looking, in his late thirties at a guess. Not at all how I'd imagined Ronnie's accomplice would look. Could Nye have got this wrong?

"Have you come to request a hymn for the service on Sunday?" the vicar asked.

"Not exactly. Can we come in? It shouldn't take long."

"What's this about?"

"Ronnie Rigby."

I'd heard the expression "white as a sheet" many times, but this was the first time I'd seen it. The man matched his own collar. Score one for Nye's intuition. The vicar swung the door open and shuffled along in front of us to his kitchen, a condemned man on his trip to the gallows. He'd aged a decade by the time he took a seat opposite us.

"I knew this would come back to haunt me one day. I've begged God for forgiveness every day since I became a believer. If I had the money, I'd repay everyone, but I live simply now. And I do good work in the community—the church, the youth group, the local scouts."

"Relax, would you? We're not here to cart you off to jail. You answer our questions, we'll leave, and you'll never hear from us again," Nye said.

The man's shoulders rose a notch. "Really? That's it? Just a few questions?"

"I don't care what you did in the past. You're the one who has to live with yourself."

"I understand now that my actions were wrong, but back then... Every day, I pray for the Lord's forgiveness, but inside, the dirt still clings." He leaned back and sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"Olivia here lives in Eleanor Rigby's old house, and somebody's looking for something hidden inside it. They keep breaking in and threatening her."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

He did sound genuinely sorry, and his sympathetic eyes confirmed it.

"We need to find out what Eleanor hid so Olivia can get some peace."

"Eleanor died?"

"Popped her clogs in the middle of an online poker game, apparently," I told him.

"I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but..." He shook his head. "And poker? The old bag was working to the last, then. There's dedication for you."

"What do you mean, working? She played poker for a living?"

"Not exactly—the poker was a means to an end. Eleanor and Ronnie were every bit as dirty as each other."

"Define dirty," Nye said.

"We...we stole the goods, and Eleanor fenced them then laundered the proceeds. There was nobody better."

Nye seemed to be following, but I was lost.

"She used the poker games to clean the money?" he asked.

"Always did. That and the fixed-odds betting terminals inside the bookies'. She'd catch the bus with a handbag full of dirty money, stick it through those games machines, and come back with ninety-five percent of what she started with. Spotless."

"Son of a bitch."

"No, that was Ronnie. Eleanor was a cantankerous old biddy. She moaned like hell about having to trek into town to do his dirty work. Said it played havoc with her bunions."

"Did you only steal cash?"

"No, Ronnie wasn't fussy."

"What else did you take?"

"Anything Eleanor could flog. She auctioned it all off online, but Ronnie had a terrible job to stop her from buying as much as she sold. Still, it made a good cover. I don't think anyone ever suspected her."

"No, they didn't. So, any ideas what Eleanor might have tucked away in the house?"

"Sometimes Ronnie pinched expensive jewellery, even though it could be hard to sell. He made off with an engagement ring once, two names and the date engraved inside the band." The vicar shook his head, and a forelock of grey-brown hair flopped over one eye. "Stupid."

It felt wrong hearing a man of the cloth talking so casually about his criminal activities. It just went to show—never judge a person by what's on the outside.

"All the jewellery I found looked cheap. I didn't see any engraving," I said, although my chest seized. Had I accidentally sold someone's prized possessions for a fiver?

Nye squeezed my hand under the table. "Where in the cottage might Eleanor have hidden her stash?"

The vicar shook his head again, more emphatically this time, hands spread in a helpless gesture. "That place was a mess. I avoided it if at all possible. But it might not have been jewellery. Last time I saw Ronnie, he asked me to give an envelope to his mother. Said it was her retirement plan, so whatever it was, it had to be worth something."

"Did he elaborate on the contents?"

"No, and I didn't ask questions. I just assumed it was documents. It was only one of those small padded envelopes, so he couldn't have fitted much inside."

An envelope? I'd sorted through Aunt Ellie's piles of old mail, and most of it had gone in the rubbish. What if I'd thrown something important out?

"Any other insights?" Nye asked.

The vicar walked over to one of the cupboards and found a bottle of Scotch. His hands shook as he poured himself a generous measure and slugged back half.

"You know about the incident with Henry?"

Nye nodded.

"Well, a few weeks before that, Ronnie had one too many beers and let slip that he'd hit the jackpot. Easy money, he said, but he was nervous. Very nervous. He even cried off a couple of jobs, which wasn't like him at all."

"Any idea why?"

"No, but Ronnie used to do work on the side as well as with me. I figured he'd had a close call. Look, are we done here yet? I'm not the same man I used to be. Now it's my mission in life to stop young boys from going down the same path I did."

"Very admirable." The hint of sarcasm in Nye's voice went unnoticed by the vicar. "Here's my card. Do me a favour and call if you think of anything else?"

"Sure, I most certainly will."

He wouldn't. He couldn't show us out fast enough.

Back in the car, I tried to process what had just happened. A burglar turned vicar. I'd seen it all now.

"So, what did you think?" Nye asked as he slid behind the wheel and started the journey home.

"I can't believe it—the man's an ex-burglar, and now he's holding a position of such responsibility. Surely he should be in jail?"

"What good would that do?"

"Well, it would be a punishment for his crimes."

"Prison's supposed to help people see the error of their ways and stop them from reoffending. It seems to me like he's already done that."

"I suppose. I've never thought of it that way."

"And not only that, he's helping to keep kids out of jail too."

"I guess that makes sense. Do you always see the good in people? Spike? The vicar?"

"I've learned a lot working at Blackwood. If I hadn't had their support, I'd have ended up alongside Ronnie."

I half gasped, and then swallowed it into a cough. "You were a thief?"

"No, but I'd have landed in an early grave. I wasn't a good guy as a teenager, Liv."

"I don't believe that." Nye might have had a tough exterior, but that hid a heart of gold.

"It's true. I hated living at home, and I used to act out. But I met one of Blackwood's founders in a bar when I was eighteen, and he helped me to see the world differently. He gave me the chance to be myself."

I reached over and squeezed his hand, an automatic gesture. "I'm glad you got that chance. I like the man you've become."

Nye pulled the car over into a lay-by and killed the engine.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Kissing you."

And then he did.