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One of the few concrete details to be unearthed and verified by Black hunters concerned that unusual cover quote from my father. I hadn’t been the only one to find a quote from Stanley Quinn surprising, and pulling on that particular thread yielded results for those hungry for details on the mysterious author.

Andrew Black had been my father’s assistant and, later, his protégé.

Chosen one. Heir apparent. Disciple. Take your pick from the press clippings. I’d seen spiritual son a few times too, which stung just that little bit more than the others, as you can probably imagine. My father was immensely proud of Black, and Black – by several published accounts – idolised my father in return. They were a team, a unit, a literary family of two. My father never revealed a single additional detail about Black, no matter how often he found himself pressed, but he happily confirmed the basics. Assistant turned protégé. Proud.

And here’s the thing – my father was right to be proud of Black. And yes, it sometimes hurts my insides a little when I think about it, but what does that matter? He was right.