My brother Peter always loved beautiful things ' fine ornaments, delicate carvings, anything made from gold or silver. That was the image he liked people to see. What they didn't know was how he really found most of those treasures. He used to slip into houses around Upper Hutt, at night, quiet as breath, moving through rooms like a shadow and slipping out again with whatever gleamed brightest. One afternoon he pulled a heavy wooden chest from under his bed and cracked it open for me. Inside were two Japanese swords wrapped in old silk, their handles worn smooth with age. 'Worth about ten grand,' he said, almost casually, as if he'd bought them from a dealer and not taken them from someone's home. I never told anyone. I still haven't.