hold them for long.'
'They fled like the pages of a torn-up programme blowing down the street.'
'Yes, that's exactly it, blowing down the street ... staining the cold north wind with ... with ...'
'With the shadow of our passing.'
'Oh the shadow, yes!' He chuckled again.
'Happy days, Mister Marmalade.'
They chinked glasses.
'We've been through a lot, Seсor Rodrigo.'
'We've seen them all, we have, we've seen them come and seen them take their bow.'
A floorboard creaked beneath my feet. Mr Marmalade and Seсor Rodrigo suddenly stopped talking.
'Who's there? Who's that?'
'It's a peeping Tom!'
I pushed the door open. 'I heard a cry, so ...'
Mr Marmalade squinted at me and then put on his glasses. 'Oh, it's you.'
I walked in. They were seated on either side of a cheap coffee table with spindly legs sharing a tea. Next to the table was an electric bar-fire, but only the flame-effect bulbs were switched on and the bars were cold and grey like rods of ash. Mr Marmalade was in his undershirt and trousers, braces hanging loose by his sides. Opposite him sat his dummy, Seсor Rodrigo. He was wearing a pair of toreador trousers and a little matching jacket was folded neatly over the arm of his chair. He was also in his undershirt, thin wooden arms sticking out. They were sharing a tin of Spam, although Seсor Rodrigo had not touched his.
Mr Marmalade spoke, 'Heard a cry, did you say? No one crying in here. Did you hear anything, Seсor Rodrigo?'
'Must have been when you got that speck of dirt in your eye.'
'Oh yes! That would be it. I got a speck of dirt in my eye.' And then he added uncertainly, 'Honest I did.'
I took out the photo of Dean Morgan and held it out. 'I don't want to interrupt your party, I'm looking for this man.'
Mr Marmalade lifted up his specs to rest them on his forehead and brought the photo up to within five inches of his eyes.
'I don't think I know him. Is he your friend?'
'I'm investigating his disappearance. I'm a private detective.'
'I told you it was a peeping Tom,' said Seсor Rodrigo.
'Now, now,' admonished Mr Marmalade, 'there's no need for that.' And then, lowering the photo, 'I don't know him — is he in trouble?'
'He might be. He's just a harmless old man who might be mixed up in some trouble, the sort he probably doesn't know how to handle. I think he might be disguised as a ventriloquist.'
Mr Marmalade pulled a face. 'An impostor! We don't like them do we, Seсor Rodrigo?'
'They always mean us harm.'
I took out my card and picked up the photo. 'If you should see him, or if you know anyone who might know something, you can reach me at this address.'
On my way out the cleaner brushed past me and pressed a piece of crumpled paper into my hand. I waited until I had turned the corner at the end of the street and then read it. It said: 'Meet me tonight at the Game if you want to find out about your friend.' And then the inevitable Aberystwyth afterthought: 'Bring plenty of money.'
When I got back to the office, there was an empty police car parked outside. The two occupants were already waiting for me in my office. One was Police Chief Llunos, and the other I didn't recognise. Llunos reached out and shook my hand as usual, although maybe there was a strained air about him. The other cop just watched with a look on his face that suggested there was a bad smell in the room. I gave him a curt nod and without a word fetched three glasses from the kitchenette and poured out three rums on the desk. Neither of them made a move.
'Thirsty?' I asked.
The new cop said, 'It won't help you.'
I took a sip from mine and then said to Llunos, 'Who's the tough guy?'
He winced. 'This is DI Harri Harries from Llanelli. He's up here on attachment to ... er ...'
'To wipe your nose?'
'They said I'd have trouble with you,' Harri Harries said sourly.
'It looks like they were right.'
'No.' He walked up to me and positioned his face six inches away from mine and looked up. He was about seven or eight inches shorter than me and wearing the standard-issue CID crumpled suit and shabby raincoat. And he had been eating salami. 'No, pal, they were wrong. I told them no shamus ever gives me problems. Not twice anyway.'
Llunos sat on the client's chair. 'Detective Harri Harries will be helping me out for a while. I'd appreciate it if you'd give him all the co-operation you can.'
I ducked out of the way of the salami breath. 'He won't get anything out of me until he improves his manners.'
'Go on, cross my path, snooper, you'll be doing me a favour. I'm already bored of this dump, I could do with some entertainment.'
I looked at Llunos. 'Do they learn this dialogue in Llanelli?'
He shrugged. Harri Harries took a half-step to me until his coat was brushing lightly against my wrist. I could feel the heat from his body and detect the faint sour reek of Boots aftershave and unwashed ears.
'Llanelli, Carmarthen, Pontypridd ... fine towns. You want to know why? Because there are no peepers in any of them. There used to be, but I cleaned them all out.'
I turned to Llunos. 'What do you need him to help you for? You seem to be doing a fine job all on your own.'
Llunos didn't answer but the discomfort was evident on his face. Something had happened to make them send this monkey to sit on his back.
'Getting the whole town washed away in a flood is doing all right in your book, is it?' sneered Harri Harries.
'That's history.'
'Oh, you don't like history? How about something hot off the press? Like some cheap shamus busting into a private party and trying to put the frighteners on the Mayor?'
'Or what about the Mayor ordering his men to beat up the shamus and chuck him unconscious into the sea?'
Harri Harries paused for a second. It seemed Jubal had omitted to mention this aspect of the night's entertainment. I could see Harri Harries didn't like that. Didn't like the fact that the Mayor was handing out unauthorised beatings, or that he had pulled the wool over his eyes. He didn't like it, but he didn't like it less than he didn't like me being at the party.
'Shouldn't have been there in the first place, should you?' he snarled.
'Nor should the Mayor. They sent you all the way up here just for that?'
'No, there's this other thing.'
'What other thing?'
He stopped and looked at Llunos who stared solidly at his shoe.
'None of your business. Although I don't suppose you know what that phrase means, do you?'
'I could learn.'
'Oh you'll learn all right!'
He walked to the window. At the desk he picked up the photo of Marty.
'Who's this, your wife?'
I said nothing and Llunos jumped slightly. 'Hey, that's ... er ...'
The new cop held the picture close to his face and then turned it round and read the back. 'Hey, I know who this is, it's the schoolkid isn't? The one that died on the cross-country run -
I looked at Llunos who said simply, 'He didn't get that from me.'
