𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐄.

I don't dispute that. But even the *cheap stuff* from abroad is a thousand times better than the cheap stuff they make over here, don't you think?

Here. Tell you what . . . I've got some money to burn. How about I prove my point to you? We can stick to spirits, I suppose.

Well said. I've got this theory myself . . . how do I put this? When it comes to our vices - tobacco among them - you can't skimp out on quality. I get all of mine imported. Like I say, the same's true for our booze. Sure, cheap bourbon does the job, but why compromise? We deserve nice things.

Perhaps you're trying the wrong ones.

Accomplishing nothing? I'm going to finish my book.

I'm between cars, that's all. My last one was buried in a cave, and I haven't had to replace it just yet.

Forget the fish. There's enough people - enough *girls* - sleeping with the fishes to open a hotel down there.

Sure, ( he says, clearly not a fan of the idea: ) I'll keep that in mind . . .

I've had enough of trawling through the docks to last me a lifetime.

Perhaps. What did you have in mind?

I'm missing her, alright. The whole world is.

Trouble is, the money's far too good to *quit*.

There are simply not enough cigarettes in the world for this.

"Good. Alright then. We're getting somewhere now, aren't we?"

Rathore thought for a moment. He frowned deeply, brow furrowed. "Who else in the bar might know anything about Peter? I might have an idea."

"Good, then we're getting somewhere. And did he have any enemies that you knew of? Anyone that wished him harm?"

Did Peter Saunders ever appear suicidal to you? Did he have any good reason, as far as you knew or heard anyone discussing, to kill himself?

I've considered the angle of his sexuality being outed, but I can't find any evidence it was going to be. Unless you know otherwise...?"

But it will all be in the name of truth. *That* is what Peter deserves. It's what he fought for, don't you think? Truth? That a man could truly say that he loved another man?"

He shifted. "So, let me ask you a question, and I want you to answer it honestly, not for me, for *Peter*:

about the case, and again, with good reason. But I can hardly make sure that justice is done if I can't see the crime, can I? Someone is going to have to start talking. That won't be pleasant. Things will come out that Peter would have preferred to stay unknown, not least his sexuality.

happen to the man, he deserves to have justice, don't you think? A kind, warm gentleman like that, who stood up for his beliefs, who included everybody, taken before his time? Those kinds of beliefs can get someone *killed*. I needn't explain that to you. Everyone I've spoken to has been very cagey

"Sam, forgive me for being frank. I'd love to beat around the bush, I'm paid by the hour, but I think for everyone's sakes we need to confront the truth face on: Peter Saunders is dead. Well and truly, dead and gone. I wouldn't be here otherwise. And if something strange *did*

all those little stones go rippling across the stream and come tumbling down on us, and then it's goodnight, Vienna...."

Rathore did not know if he had said this for himself or Sam. It certainly wasn't helping the man.

Not a *bad* analogy, I suppose. Most of us caught grappling in the dark, the scum at the top... But importantly, it's all very delicate. We create motion and currents which go on to trawl the whole pond, well beyond our scope of comprehension. And sometimes, fate decides to go skimming;

"It's normal to be shocked," Rathore said. "It *is* a big shock. I suppose we forget that, those of us in the dying business. People don't appreciate the... Brevity of life. Hm, you know, I knew a philosopher once. He was a terrible bore, but he once described life like a pond.

"What was he like? Your Peter? Everyone I've spoken to has nothing but good things to say about him."

After a few minutes (presumably in which he was finishing his cigarette) Rathore joined him, standing to the side of him He said nothing for a while, arms folded, head bowed, looking at the waste across from them.

He left it for as long as he felt Samson needed, before speaking.

He lit another cigarette. "Why don't you tell me everything you know about the man, and pour us both another brandy?"

This time, Rathore offered Samson a cigarette.

pardon the expression. You wouldn't have heard about it; his parents are keeping the whole thing very quiet. I've been hired to investigate Peter's actions, explore his old haunts, see if there's anything that might suggest foul play. Now..."

open-and-shut case of suicide. An altar boy turned flagrant homosexual unable to live with the guilt of his inclinations. His parents, however, Lionel and Clarissa Saunders, believe otherwise. About the suicide, that is, not his homosexuality. I'm afraid that's all, uh, come out now, if you'll

"You know him, then?" Rathore's glance was no less piercing, no more considerate of his concern. He'd seen it all before.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Samson, but Mr. Saunders was found dead three days ago. He hanged himself on Tuesday evening. According to the police, it's an

Does the name Peter Saunders mean anything to you? Aged 33, 180cm tall, blonde, well-off, had a bit of a lisp? I've got a picture of him on me, somewhere."

it's no concern of *mine* who is or is not a homosexual. Actually, in my experience, the ones who cry 'queer!' loudest are usually the most flagrant behind closed doors. I'm here on a case, and that's all. Since you're so insistent on getting involved, perhaps you might help.

Rathore closed his notebook and took a small business card out of his breast pocket as Samson spoke, letting the man finish with a face of impatience. "I'm a Detective. A Private Detective, as it happens," he said, tossing his card across the surface.

"I've already told you, *Samson*,