Then again, at this particular moment there seemed to be far more important things to worry about—such as, who was the man in Sally’s house? And where did that stairway down which he’d disappeared lead? And would Frying Pan be able to figure out how to unlock the cell door again? I wasn’t sure I would like the answers to any of those questions.

Some hours later, after a long series of scuffling noises outside, the door did open. Frying Pan stood there, looking like a schoolboy who’d just gotten a scolding. He motioned me out. I was more than happy to oblige him.

Lizard Neck was standing by the desk, a telephone in his hand. He looked like he’d gotten a thrashing on top of the scolding.

“Okay, Clarenden,” he said, “I don’t understand how, but apparently you’ve got friends in high places. You’re to be released right away.”

I thanked both policemen for their kind hospitality and walked calmly to the door. Before I managed to exit the place, Lizard Neck had some parting words.

“Just remember this, Clarenden. You might have friends, but we’re still the law.”

“Yeah,” added Frying Pan. “So you better not mess with us again.”

“Gentlemen,” I said, “you can count on it.” Then I left. It felt good putting distance between myself and the police station. Any cop house, even an ersatz luxury one, is no place to spend the night.

* * *

It was evening as I trudged back towards my place. As I approached, I noticed a light just outside my front door. This was odd, as I didn’t recall a streetlamp being there before. As I got closer, I realised it wasn’t a streetlamp. It was a person who shined in the gathering darkness. Obviously, this was no ordinary person. It was an angel, and the name of this particular angel was Jessie.

“Good evening to you, Angel,” I said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a second visit in two days?”

“I have something for you,” she said softly, glancing around to check that we were the only ones on the street. Assured that there were no observers, she reached under her robe and handed me a small bottle. It was the Holy Grail; manna from Heaven; nectar of the gods. The label on the bottle said Gold Star Premium Bourbon.

I looked lovingly at the gift cradled in my hands. “I am your servant and your slave,” I said. “Whatever you want from me, I am yours to command.”

She almost smiled at that. “Can we go inside?”

“After you.” I opened the door for her.

As she passed through, I couldn’t stop myself from taking one quick nip from the bottle. The alcohol stroked the back of my throat, then dived down into my stomach where it lit a bonfire that radiated through my body. Suitably reinvigorated, I followed her in.

I ushered Jessie into the kitchen and pulled out two glasses from a cabinet. While I was pouring, I looked up at her and realised she was shaking.

“Angel, what’s the matter?”

She looked at me with wide eyes. “It’s Raphael. He’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Gone. Disappeared.”

I put the bottle down. “Do you know what happened?”

“Nobody does. His place has been ransacked.”

“Who could have done something like this? Do you have any idea?”

She half nodded and half shook her head. Tears were beginning to well in her eyes.

“You must tell me, Angel,” I insisted. “Could it have anything to do with Sally and a tall man in a dark suit?”

“What do you mean?” she said. If her eyes were wide before, they were now like two full moons staring out of her face.

I quickly told her about my encounter with Sally. When I finished, I looked at her. She wasn’t scared any more. She was now absolutely terrified. She let out one short, strangled moan. And then she fell senseless into my arms.

Chapter 8

I PICKED JESSIE UPAND CARRIED HER into the bedroom. I placed her on the bed and then lay beside her. She didn’t say anything, but she grabbed hold of me and clung on for dear life. Her breath came in gasps, and her whole body shook like a chandelier in a thunderstorm.

After a short time, she seemed to relax. Her trembling ceased and her breathing became more regular. She still clutched on to me, but there was a new urgency to her grasp. Her face came close. Her eyes were closed as her lips sought mine.

I untied her robe and lifted it off her. For a seemingly lightweight garment, it felt surprisingly heavy as I tossed it onto the floor. But I had other things on my mind as Jessie wrapped her arms around me and pulled me to her. For the next hour, I finally felt like I really was in Heaven. She might have been an angel but . . . I think you can guess the rest.

Afterwards, she slept, but I couldn’t. I lay awake, listening to her breathing and wondering. Wondering what, if anything, the disappearance of Raphael had to do with my current case. Wondering why Jessie was so terrified of the mysterious man I had seen at Sally’s house. And, in particular, wondering how long I could resist temptation and ignore the bourbon that sat out in the kitchen.

At least the answer to the third question was obvious—not long at all. I got out of bed and tiptoed into the kitchen. I downed both glasses and then tried to sneak back into the bedroom, but I wasn’t quiet enough. As I slipped into bed, Jessie rolled over and raised her head.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t sleep, Angel,” I said. “There’s too much on my mind. Too many things that don’t add up, and too many people who aren’t what they claim to be.” I looked pointedly at her as I said it, but as the room was dark, it probably didn’t have the effect I hoped for.

“Does it have anything to do with Raphael’s disappearance?” she said.

“I don’t know. It might. Can you tell me about him?”

Jessie sighed. “I guess he means well. It’s just that he really gets on everyone’s nerves. He’s always trying to set up community groups and charities that nobody else is the slightest bit interested in.”

“Including you?”

“I suppose so. I try to be nice to him, but every so often, well, you just can’t help yourself. When he has an idea, he won’t let it go. Every day he comes up to you. ‘Can you help set up a secondhand clothes collection drive? Will you sponsor me in a read-a-thon? Would you like to become a member of my harp band?’”

“I would have expected harp bands to be pretty popular in these parts.”

“I doubt that harp bands will ever be popular in any parts. But look, I really don’t dislike him. I’ll always try my best to be friendly to him, I guess because that’s just the way I am.”

Just the way she was. So gentle and caring. Her words had all the sincerity of a beauty pageant finalist.

I said, “I have a confession to make, Angel.”

“What would you need to confess to me?” As she spoke, I had to admire her. She really had that sweet and innocent act nailed.

“Do you remember that picture in my office? The one sitting on the desk?”

“The picture of your wife?”

“That’s the one. Only she wasn’t my wife.”

“She wasn’t?” The surprise was genuine. “Then who is she?”

“I have no idea. The picture came with the frame. I picked it up in a shop yesterday, mainly to decorate the office. The truth is, I’ve never been married. There was no wife. No smooth-talking shoe salesman.”

“And your arches?”

“They rise with the best of them.”

“So what was the point of that story? Why would you deceive me?”

“What was the point of that story,” I repeated, speaking very slowly for effect. “I can give you a one word answer to that question. Credibility.”

“That makes no sense. How does telling a lie increase your credibility?” The voice was still soft, but it had acquired a harder edge. One I hadn’t heard before.

I said, “One of the keys to being a successful private investigator is to be an absolute screwup in pretty much every other aspect of your life. Nobody would trust a detective with a happy home and family. They would have no credibility.”