Page 41 of His Worst Crime

Owen just rolled his eyes. There was silence between them for a while. Finally David picked up the two empty glasses and the bottle Owen had uncorked, and went to wash them.

“Fine, I’ll ask Ned,” Owen said. “He’ll be on board.”

“You’ll get that asswipe to come and rob your own family?”

“That’s why you have to help me. Come on, it’s our money too. Our Mam left this place to us as much to him. And he’s just drinking it away.”

“It doesn’t matter, Owen. It’s not right and I want no part of it.”

“If we have to wait until you turn thirty, Ravenscragg’ll be in the hands of the bank. You can kiss goodbye to your dream of training horses.”

“I’ll find a way… legally.”

“Good luck with that.”

David wiped down the bench and tossed the empty bottle in the recycling.

“I’m going to bed. The answer’s no, Owen.”

Owen said nothing, but he got up and, taking one of the glasses David had just washed, grabbed another bottle of their dad’s booze and settled back at the kitchen table, corkscrew in hand. David left him like that. As he walked along the hallway, the sound of their dad’s snoring reached him from the master bedroom. Instead of turning in immediately, he stepped outside and across to the home paddock. It was black as pitch, cloud cover overhead with just a few stars poking through, but he knew the way without needing to see. At the fence, he waited and, as he expected, a couple of shadows soon appeared out of the darkness, one with a splotch of white that was soon blocked out by the other. Smart Alec, pushing ahead of Blaze, as always. His two babies. He gave them treats, and spent some time scratching their necks and foreheads.

Owen’s plan was ridiculous, and they’d end up getting done for theft. He was right that their dad was running Ravenscragg into the ground. But their mam’s will had been clear: Owen and David wouldn’t come into their controlling share until David turned thirty. That was what incensed Owen the most, that he wouldn’t have a say before David did. But their mom was no fool, ensuring they had a thirty-three percent stake each, with their dad as caretaker until that moment arrived. She just hadn’t been able to foresee their dad’s drinking, because when she was alive he hadn’t drunk. Thirty years teetotal, and then he’d started again at the funeral. Apparently he’d been a total hell-raiser as a young man, but he’d stopped when he met her. Then the moment she was gone, he’d started again. What a life. Now Owen was following in his footsteps. But Owen was right: they wouldn’t have Ravenscragg anymore if they had to wait until he was thirty. All they needed was cash to keep on paying the bills.

Smart Alec nuzzled him, pushing her nose into his chest, wanting more treats. He gave her one more.

“Come on, yous, time for me to be in bed, and you girls should be sleeping too.”

Blaze pushed her nose in, demanding her treat too. He gave her one and and then put the packet away.

“That’s enough. Bedtime.”

He turned back and looked up at Ravenscragg’s dark outline, the hill appearing like a sleeping dragon behind the farmhouse. What to do?

Owen’s goal was simple: a single memory stick, locked in their dad’s safe. It contained just three strings of alphanumeric characters, the keys. Whoever possessed those held the keys to three bitcoins, bought by their mam for a pound each fifteen years ago. When bitcoin first appeared, she was curious, and bought them more as a joke than anything. But their mam had been canny, in a way neither of the boys nor their dad were. Together, those strings of data were now worth over a hundred and fifty thousand pounds.

“She said they were for us, one each,” Owen insisted, “and if we just take them, we won’t have to touch anything else. We’ll have enough to keep going, plus some. The bank won’t take the farm off us.”

Owen was a meathead, David thought, stealing from his own. But on the other hand, what else were they going to do? He wasn’t going to try and figure it out now, not while his head was muddled from the half-bottle of wine he’d consumed. But in the morning, he’d think about it, and try and figure out what to do. Time for bed.

twenty-four

When Ramon came in from the police yard, Jaume’s expression alerted him that something was up. His mind was on Estel, whom he’d just spent the last half-hour riding in the yard. The satisfying smell of horse permeated his hands and clothes, while his mind had been filled with plans of getting back into the saddle on patrol.

“So… some news came in,” Jaume told him, his face a frown.

Ramon’s heart dropped like a stone. It had to come, sooner or later.

“About… Dav—the Howard bloke?” he croaked, dropping his rucksack next to his desk, turning away from Jaume to switch on his computer, not trusting his face to keep his feelings masked.

“Yep. He was in an accident.”

Ramon spun around.

“What? Where?”

“Northbound on the AP7. A truck tipped over. It’s been blocking all the traffic for hours. Luckily they found his passport among his stuff because…”

“Why? What do you mean?”