'I see. Well, yes, it looks like murder. We're keeping it out of the papers, because publicity would impede the investigation at this point.'
'I want to retain you again, Mr. Snide. To find the murderer of my son.'
'Everything is being done, Mr. Green. The Greek police are quite efficient.'
'We have more confidence in you.'
'I'm returning to New York in a few days. I'll contact you as soon as I arrive.'
The trail was a month old at least. I was fairly sure the murderer or murderers were no longer in Greece. No point in staying on. But there was something else to check out on the way back.
Fever spoor
I stop over in London. There is somebody I want to see there, if I can find him without too much trouble. Could save me a side trip to Tangier.
I find him in a gay bar called the Amigo. He is nattily dressed, with a well-kept beard and shifty eyes. The Arabs say he has the eyes of a thief. But he has a rich wife and doesn't need to steal.
'Well,' he says. 'The private eye.... Business or pleasure?'
I look around. 'Only business would bring me here.' I show him Jerry's picture. 'He was in Tangier last summer, I believe.'
He looks at the picture. 'Sure, I remember him. A cock-teaser.'
'Missing-person case. Remember who he was with?'
'Some hippie kids.'
The description sounds like the kids Jerry was with in Spetsai. Props. 'Did he go anywhere else?'
'Marrakesh, I think.'
I am about to finish my drink and leave.
'Oh, you remember Peter Winkler who used to run the English Pub? Did you know he was dead?'
I haven't heard, but I am not much interested. 'So? Who or what killed him?'
'Scarlet fever.'
I nearly spill my drink. 'Look, people don't die of scarlet fever now. In fact,t hey rarely get it.'
'He was living out on the mountain ... the Hamilton summer house. It's quite isolated, you know. Seems he was alone and the phone was out of order. He tried to walk to the next house down the road and collapsed. They took him to the English hospital.'
'That would finish anyone off. And I suppose Doc Peterson was in attendance? Made the diagnosis and signed the death certificate?'
'Who else? He's the only doctor there. But what are you so stirred up about? I never thought you and Winkler were very close.'
I cool it. 'We weren't. It's just that I started out to be a doctor and I don't like to see a case botched.'
'I wouldn't say he botched it. Shot him full of pen strep. Seems he was too far gone to respond.'
'Yeah. Pen strep is right for scarlet fever. He must have been practically dead on arrival.'
'Oh, not quite. He was in the hospital about twenty-four hours.'
I don't say any more.
