“Obviously something had to be done. There was a crisis meeting of the Heavenly Council. We had to figure out how to speed up the passage of people through the Gates. We had to streamline our operation, to make it . . . what was that expression . . . best practice. It took over a week to sort things out, but in the end the solution we came up with was these procedures.”

“So that’s how you ended up becoming a celestial paper pusher.”

“I suppose I am,” said Peter as he pushed more paper. “To be honest, I never particularly liked the procedures, right from the beginning. I don’t get anywhere near the job satisfaction that I used to. I miss the personal aspects, the chance to meet and talk to the people as they come through. These days, all I seem to be doing is filling in charts and spreadsheets, and making sure quotas are met. Or, more likely, fixing other people’s mistakes. I mean, just look at this.” Peter waved a sheet in front of my face. “They’ve completely messed up the date of birth section. Apparently this person, who has just died, isn’t due to be born for another thirteen years.”

I looked over the sheet. “That’s nothing. According to this, he had no children, but somehow he was blessed with seventeen grandchildren.”

Peter looked at the sheet again. “Yes, but one of those grandchildren is his father, and another three are his great aunts.”

“Now it’s starting to make sense.”

Peter shook his head. “It might sound funny to you, but to me it’s no laughing matter. Do you know there’s already been one serious mistake? We’ve actually allowed someone totally undeserving to pass through the Gates and into Heaven. A nasty little journalist called Alby Stark.”

“I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr Stark.”

“So you know the story. Believe me, it never would have happened in the old days. You wouldn’t believe the kerfuffle it caused.”

“But thanks to God’s son Phil, Mr Stark got to stay in Heaven. How did you feel about that?”

“Relief, mostly. The whole episode was highly embarrassing to me. Otherwise, I can’t say I felt too strongly. Not like that angel, Sally.”

“Sally didn’t like the decision?” Now this was starting to get interesting.

“Not at all. It seems she has some pretty strong ideas about the sorts of people who should be allowed into Heaven.”

“She has a particular problem with scruffy private investigators.”

“So she’s been at you too,” said Peter. “She’s trouble, that one. I don’t understand why God puts up with her. I guess only He is capable of seeing her inner beauty.”

“I suspect the outer beauty has a bit to do with it.”

Peter put a finger up to his lips. “Such talk is not worthy of us. All I will say is she gave me quite an earful over it. But I got off lightly compared to Phil. You should have seen her ranting and raving at him. To this day, I don’t think she’s forgiven him. Not that any of it seemed to bother him. Have you had the chance to meet Phil? You seem to have met just about everybody else.”

“I haven’t actually met him yet, but I’ve heard so much about him that I feel like I know him.”

“He’s a smart kid. Most of the procedures we decided upon at the crisis meeting were his idea. He’s got a great head for that sort of thing.”

“So Phil is the one you have to thank for making your job so much less rewarding?” As I asked the question, I watched Peter’s face carefully to see what he might give away.

Peter wasn’t rising to any bait. He frowned and put the papers down. Then he answered, speaking slowly and carefully.

“I don’t blame Phil for any of this, if that’s what you’re suggesting. No one more than me recognises the need for these procedures. I’m not denying that I preferred it the old way, but I also know you have to move with the times. Things are always changing and you have to be able to deal with them. If it wasn’t for Phil, I don’t know how we would have coped.”

“So you’re not upset with Phil?”

“Of course I’m not upset with him. He’s a great kid. I wish I could have more chances to catch up with him. Apparently he’s even more snowed under than I am.”

At that moment, the phone rang. Peter picked it up, and as he listened his face dropped like an elephant on a paper glider. He put the phone down and looked at me.

“Bad news. A plane’s just crashed with a couple of American rock stars on board.”

“Difficult customers?”

“The worst. It’s going to need my personal attention. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

I stood up. “That’s okay. I don’t want to get in the way of your work.”

Peter and I shook hands. “I feel so bad,” he said. “I spent the whole time talking about myself. You didn’t get a chance to tell me anything.”

“There’ll be other times,” I said.

“I hope so.”

Peter led me back down the stairs and out of the Gates. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you,” he said. “You really are a breath of fresh air to me.”

“It’s nice to hear it,” I said. “Most people just say that I stink.”

As I walked away from the Gates, Peter called after me. “If you are on a case, I’d be happy to help. Just call on me if you need anything. I’d love to work with a real detective.”

* * *

Back in the streets of Heaven, I made my way to The Loaf and the Fishes. I went in and sat at the bar. Alby wasn’t there.

“Is there anything I can get you?” asked the barman, in a voice that was clearly hoping the answer would be no.

“I’m looking for Alby Stark. Do you know where he might be?”

The mention of Alby’s name caused an invisible hand to grab the barman’s face and squeeze it, ever so gently. “I doubt that you’ll find Mr Stark up and about at such an unearthly hour. But I’m sure that if you wait, he will eventually drag himself from his bed and stagger in here.”

“I’ll wait,” I said.

I sat at the bar and waited. And waited and waited and waited. Hours ticked by, yet still there was no sign of the wayward journalist. Even the barman, as he passed me my fifth lemonade, expressed surprise at his tardiness. Finally, when I was about to down my last glass and abandon all hope, Alby strolled in looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Not one for an early start,” I said.

“On the contrary, this morning I was up with the dawn. Can I get you a drink?”

“I’d better not. If I have another lemonade, I think my teeth will sue me.”

“As you wish. My usual please,” he called to the barman, before turning back to me. “As I was saying, this morning I rose with the dawn, repulsive though I find that concept.”

“I’m sure the dawn wasn’t so keen on rising with you either.”

“Don’t act smart with me. I have the information you were after.”

“Then don’t keep it to yourself. Didn’t anyone tell you that it’s nice to share?”

“Keep that up and the only thing I’ll be sharing will be this drink over your head,” said Alby as the barman handed him a glass. He took a sip, screwed up his face, and then began.

“I’ve spent my morning at the library. The historical records section, to be exact. And I’ve discovered a number of things that are highly interesting.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, did you know that the police force in Heaven is extremely new?”

“Of course I did. The history of Heaven was my major in high school.”

“In that case, you must know whose idea it was to set it up.”

“I must have skipped that class. Can you just cut to the chase? Tell me when the police force was set up, who wanted it set up, and why they wanted it set up.”

Alby took another sip of soda water, swirled it around in his mouth, and swallowed loudly. “The Heavenly Police Department, or HPD, was set up almost exactly a year ago. Just after I arrived in Heaven, coincidentally enough. Previously, there had been no police force of any kind, and as far as I can tell, absolutely no need for one.”