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“Is he an accomplice?” asked Finney, when they got back to their hotel room.
His partner shook her head.
“I did think,” she said, dropping her American accent, which had been shaky anyway, “when we went into those caves, that he might be intending to retrieve the jewels – that’s why I suggested we bury Parker there, to give him a reason to go back – but it seems he really was just looking for those skeletons. He isn’t a cowboy, though.”
“What makes you think that?”
“After Parker was shot, he said he didn’t suspect you because – and I quote – ‘Alexander was too quick to point a finger at the Devil’s Hole gang’.”
“Did he now? That’s interesting. And why would our young friend believe so strongly in the innocence of a group of notorious outlaws?”
“The answer’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“It does rather confirm my suspicions, yes. Did he say anything else?”
“Apart from that one slip-up, I couldn’t get a word out of him. Not even when I told him I suspected you because you’d never been to Boston in your life.”
Finney grinned. “Not to mention all your other tricks. Well, if you couldn’t crack him open, I don’t suppose anyone can. It’s none of our business anyway.”
“It isn’t, is it? Since it seems he wasn’t in cahoots with Alexander after all.”
Finney, who knew his partner only too well, raised an eyebrow. “You’re sorry, aren’t you?”
She laughed at that. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t have minded having another go at him. But do me a favour, would you, Kevin? Before you leave, let him know we saw through him. I wouldn’t want him thinking he’d managed to pull the wool over our eyes. And now would you mind taking yourself off to the bar, or somewhere? I can't wait to get out of these filthy clothes.”