The man who signed your book is called Eddie Jones.’ Jay’s head was down. He seemed to be finding something fascinating on the scarred surface of the old pine table. ‘He was one of my first associates. There was a mix-up when we presented research papers together at a conference in Berlin. A news service used his picture instead of mine.’ Jay’s voice had no intonation, the flatness of exhaustion. Madison flopped into a chair. This sounded like the truth. ‘Big conferences – they were never my thing. I preferred to press on with the work. Eddie was good at putting stuff over to large audiences. The next big event …’ He shrugged. ‘We just kept up the deception. At first it was kind of a joke – seeing if anyone would notice. It worked, and it seemed like a good idea, so … from then on, Eddie became the face of Jayston Creed.’ ‘But there were other pictures, from the trial,’ she objected. She saw him flinch. Had he really expected that she wouldn’t know?
