Davis Caldarola was sitting in a chair at the poolside, slouched down almost horizontally. He was in his fifties, just starting to put on weight. A ruby-red sports shirt and baggy shorts showed me limbs with dark tanned skin and a mass of fine greying hair. A tall glass was standing on the table beside him, rapidly melting ice cubes bobbing about near the bottom. I guessed at vodka and tonic. A second guess that it wasn't his first today. I made a conscious effort not to check with Eden.

He gestured roughly at a nearby chair, and I dragged it over to him.

«Ah, Eden's Chief of Police, himself. I'm honoured. I was wondering when you'd come calling,» he said. The voice was furry, not quite slurred, but close. In his state, I don't suppose he wanted to try holding his thoughts steady enough to use the affinity symbionts. «Your people have been barging round in the house for days.»

«I'm sorry if they're getting in your way. They were told to be as quiet as possible.»

«Ha! You're running a murder investigation. You told them to do whatever they have to, and bugger what—« He broke off and pressed his fists to his forehead. «Shit. I sound like the all-time self-pitying bastard.»

«I think you're entitled to feel whatever the hell you like right now.»

«Oh, very good; very clever. Christ Almighty.» He snatched the glass off the table and glared at it. «Too much of this bloody stuff. But what else is there?»

«I need to know what you can tell me about Penny, but I can come back later.»

He gave a loud snort. «I wouldn't if I were you. I'll be even worse then.» The last of the vodka was downed in a swift gulp. «What can I tell you? She was awkward, argumentative, obstinate, she wouldn't tolerate fools at all, let alone gladly. They all knew that, they all tiptoed around her. ‘Making allowances for her brilliance.' Like bollocks. They were jealous, all of them; her colleagues, her company staff, even that yogi master fruitcake Chong. She wasn't brilliant, she was a fucking genius. They don't call this Eden for nothing, you know, and it's her creation.»

«You're saying people resented her?»

«Some of them, yeah.»

«Anyone in particular?»

«God, I don't know. They're all the same, fawning over her in public, then stabbing her in the back once she's out of earshot. Bastards. None of them are sorry she's gone, not really. The only one who was ever honest about hating her guts was Chong's bimbo. The rest of them . . . they ought to hand out Oscars for the acting at that funeral.»

A servitor chimp came out of the house, carrying another tall glass. It put it on the table beside Davis Caldarola, and picked up the empty one. Davis gave the new glass a guilty look, then squinted over at me. «Have you got any idea who did it?»