I stepped back and helped Miriam to her feet. She looked at the man. "No," she shouted. "I must see Jonah. You can't keep him like this. I must have him."

The man relaxed just a touch. "I am enjoying visitation rights." It was the first touch of humor-or of humanity-that I had seen in Grapper. "He is fine. I'm looking after him. We are having fun together. Now you are to walk straight back to your car. Get in and drive straight home. I shall phone you at your home number in fifteen minutes. If you are not there the consequences will be unpleasant. And I shall call you again on the cellphone tomorrow morning."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

We made it home in time to take the call, then we told Sarah what had happened.

"So you plan to raise half a million dollars in twenty-four hours?" Scorn infused her voice.

"Johnny, this is hopeless," said Miriam.

"You've done all you can," said Sarah. "And it doesn't seem to have gotten you very far. Now call the police, for goodness sake. This is kidnapping. And that man presumably murdered our dad as well. By the way, nice choice in foreign lovers, sis."

"Sarah!" cried Miriam, shocked at her sister's words. She looked close to tears.

Sarah jumped up and hugged Miriam. "Sorry, my love. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm angry and frustrated too. We all are."

I spoke. "He's made it clear that if the police are involved he will kill Jonah."

Sarah raised her arms in exasperation. "His own son?"

"He's really got nothing to lose."

"How on earth did Dad get us into a mess like this?"

"One small, small sign of hope," I said. "Go-Go Greene, the financial planner, he told me that your father still had something left in his account. Maybe twenty thousand dollars. It's a fraction of what Grapper's asking for, but if we can get hold of that it might keep him happy for just a little while. It will show him we are trying to get his money. A show of good faith. From what we can gather, the money is actually owed to him."

"But how do you get Greene to hand it over?" asked Sarah. "Today."

"I think it's worth a try." I looked at Miriam. "I'll drive back to Yarra Boss to talk to Greene. And where else can we look? Your father's bank account. Money was arriving there all the time from all his donors. We could arrange an online transfer of that to your account. If you knew how to get into his account."

"Which of course I don't."

"And he had a post office box in the city. He probably has cash donations arriving there. Did you ever have the key for that?"

"I probably did 11 years ago, but I don't now."

"Some of his keys might even have survived the fire. If we had a few days we could sift through the debris and look for them."

"But you don't have a few days," said Sarah, an edge to her voice. And I noticed that she said "you," not "we." She was separating herself from my actions.

"We don't have many options," I conceded. "I'm going to drive over and meet Greene. Miriam, you should phone everyone who ever had any contact with your father. Try and find out if there's any money anywhere."

Greene was alone in his office. He looked calm and unscathed, despite the assault of the previous day. I probably should have engaged in small talk about the attack, but instead came straight to the point. "Good morning, Brinsley."

He looked at me for a little while, before replying: "Ah, my rescuer. My knight in shining armor." Then: "Good morning," with a raised inflection.

"You don't mind that I call you Brinsley?"

Another pause. "That's my name."

"I thought your name was Go-Go."

"What do you want, Mr...? I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name. Jamie something, wasn't it?"

"Johnny. Johnny Ravine."

"What do you want, Mr Ravine?"

"Is your name Brinsley or Go-Go?"

"You came here to ask me that?"

"I came to find out what you're really doing here in Yarra Boss. A man of your background."

"A man of my background? I'm giving financial advice, which is what I have always done. I'm a licensed financial adviser. And, in answer to your next question, yes, my license was taken away from me for three years. My original name was Brinsley Greene and I ran a company under that name. Do you need the details?"

I shook my head.

"I thought not. Do you know why I lost my license? For being over-zealous on behalf of my clients. Or trying to influence share prices, as the authorities put it. This is all on the public record."

"But it's not something you boast about in the colorful pamphlets you hand out to your clients."

"After I got my license back I changed my name to Go-Go and opened up in Yarra Boss. I think if you talk to people around here you'll find that most of them have some idea of my background. And I'll tell you something amusing, because I have the impression that you don't know much about how the financial world works. They quite like it. People aren't fools, you know. They know that financial markets aren't really fair. They know they're rigged. And they want an adviser who can get them a piece of the action. They may not admit it openly, but deep down they appreciate someone who tries to get them a better deal. Someone who's prepared to stretch the rules on their behalf."

Stretch the rules? Break the law? Was there a difference? I wasn't sure. Whatever, my attempt to intimidate Go-Go and put him on the defensive had clearly failed. I changed tack.

"Pastor Reezall lost a big amount of money. It seems he probably owed it to the man who tied you up. And probably that's why he got killed. You told me there's still some money in the pastor's account. We need that money urgently to pay it back to that man."

"You think I'm going to release that money to you?"

"To his daughter."

"You helped me when that thug tied me up, and I'm grateful. Otherwise I probably would have been there all day until my wife came looking for me. But you're a private detective. You must know how these things work. When a client dies I just have to wait until the lawyers step in and the will is sorted out. I can't possibly release this money."

"But surely you could..." I stopped. I knew that I had come here hoping to intimidate this man into doing something unethical. Something that was probably illegal. I knew I was acting badly.

"The money is safely in a trust account, gathering interest," he said. "Tell Jim's daughter that. Whatever you might think about my ethics, or lack of them, I can't touch the money. If I do I'll end up in jail. Please tell her that."

"Yes, I'll tell her," I muttered.

Time to go to the police, I thought.

Miriam and Sarah were at the kitchen table drinking tea together when I returned. The atmosphere remained tense. I joined them.

"No news this end," said Miriam.

"No joy for me either, I'm afraid," I said. "I was a little too optimistic. We're not going to get any of your father's money."

The doorbell rang.

"The funeral people," said Miriam. "I called to say I can't go through with it right now. They're sending someone with papers for me to sign."

She went and opened the door, and I heard a scream.

I leapt to my feet and glanced down the hallway. A young man had thrust his way inside and had slammed the front door behind him. He held a gun and he was forcing Miriam back towards the kitchen.

I leapt inside the pantry and pulled the door shut.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

Through the pantry door's angled slits I had a distorted view out into the kitchen. I watched as the man pushed Miriam into the room and then ordered her to sit next to a terrified Sarah.

As best I could tell, he was tall and lean and probably in his mid-twenties, though even at that young age he had accumulated several scars on his face. He was wearing black trousers and a blue long-sleeved top.

He waved the gun. "Where is he?"

"Who? Who are you looking for?"

"Grapper. Where is he?"

The guy spoke with a rough, guttural accent. Ukrainian? Possibly. It wasn't an accent I recognized.

"Grapper has kidnapped my son," said Miriam. "Do you think we know where he is?"

"I need to find him."

"We want to find him too," said Sarah. "We don't know where he is. If you find him, please let us know. Miriam wants her son back. Now please get out." She spoke decisively despite the fear in her eyes, as if this should end the matter. She was an impressive woman.

Despite my restricted vision I clearly saw the man sneer. Then I froze as it seemed he was walking straight towards me. Could he see me? Surely not. Instead, I heard the refrigerator door open, followed by a rustling noise. The man moved back into view, munching on a leg of chicken.

I knew that my chances were going to be limited. If I didn't move soon I might have no further opportunities.

He had also taken a small bottle of orange juice from the fridge. He was now standing right before me. I watched as he placed his gun on the bench-clearly not worried about two scared women-and, chicken leg in one hand, unscrewed the bottle.

I swung open the pantry door and threw myself at him. I got an arm around his neck and tried to haul him to the ground. But he was young and agile and clearly an experienced fighter. In an instant he had dropped his food. He lunged for his gun, but with one hand I swept it to the ground. He rammed a knee into my stomach, but I maintained my hold around his neck, trying to pull him down.

He twisted his body and jammed an elbow up to my chin. I tried again without success to bring him to the ground. He was amazingly strong for such a lean man.

I pushed his head hard against a set of kitchen cupboards, then again wrapped my arm around his neck and tried to toss him to the ground. But he broke free and with a stinging karate kick to my knee sent me spinning to the floor.

He was about to leap on me when Sarah screamed, "Get out." I looked up. She was in a corner of the kitchen. She held the gun, and was pointing it at him.

"Get out," she cried again. "Get out now."

I was on my feet again. The man might have guessed that Sarah wasn't really going to shoot. She probably didn't even know how to use a gun. But he would have to take me on again if he tried to attack her.

He glanced between Sarah and me. As he did so I pulled open a kitchen drawer and pulled out a long carving knife.

The man turned and fled back down the hallway and out the door.

"Give me the gun," I shouted and grabbed it from Sarah. My leg was aching. I limped after him, but was far too late. I saw a small red Honda Jazz speed away.

I walked back to the kitchen. Sarah was shivering.

"I can't take this," she said. She started crying. "I'm going back to Sydney. I'm sorry, Miriam. It's too much for me. I wanted you to call the police..."

"We have to call the police," pleaded Miriam.

"No," I said. "Grapper's going to call tomorrow. And you are going to tell him that we have his money, but he has to bring Jonah."

"But we don't have the money. He'll kill Jonah."

"No he won't," I said. "Because now I have a gun."

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

Miriam and I drove Sarah to the airport for a night flight home to Sydney, happy to have a chore that filled a good amount of time. It was around nine o'clock the next morning that the call from Grapper came.

Miriam spoke as I had instructed her. "We're getting money. We have some. But you must bring Jonah."

"I'll decide what happens," said Grapper. "Drive to Yarra Boss, then take the Marysville road north-east. After about one-and-a-half miles you'll come to a school. Stop right outside and wait. Be there in thirty minutes." He rang off.

"Thirty minutes," I exclaimed. "Yarra Boss is twenty or twenty-five minutes. Come on."

We ran out to Miriam's car.