“Put yourself in this guy’s shoes,” said Condley. “You’ve been on the run inside Viet Nam for four years, doing everything you can to keep from being caught by the American authorities. You killed a guy in cold blood over a blown drug deal before you went AWOL. You rendered aid and comfort to the enemy, probably in order to survive. And you killed another guy in cold blood so you could steal his identity and finally get the hell out of the war zone. Once you’re out of the war zone, the last thing you’re going to do is take the kind of risk that will cause you to be recognized by western authorities. What are your priorities? Not getting caught, that’s your first and maybe only priority. No airports, no crossing the border into new countries, and no getting into any trouble where western police or diplomats are going to be called upon for assistance. Not only that, but you’ve been in the jungle or on the run for four years. You want to unwind. In other words, you’re going to burrow in and hide for a while. Celebrate your escape, learn the new terrain, choose how you’re going to operate in it.”

“You stay in Bangkok,” said Muir.

“You definitely stay in Bangkok. Particularly in the early seventies, when there is still a steady stream of American GIs flying in and out of Bangkok from Viet Nam for R and R, not to mention the Air Force weenies who are in and out of here all the time from their bases at U Tapao and U Dorn. Unplugged young Americans in Bangkok aren’t anything unusual. You can float along the edges of the underworld, live for almost nothing, and nobody pays you any never-mind.”

Archer nodded slowly, again and again, alternating his look from Condley to Muir. “Logical,” he said. “Actually, more than logical. Visceral. I would have to agree with your instincts. But unfortunately, the fact that he was very likely here thirty years ago still means nothing when it comes to how I conduct my work.”

“So you’re saying there’s nothing you can do?” asked Muir. From his expression, Condley sensed that the professor was actually relieved, as if the entire journey might now, thankfully, be over and he could return to his quiet world of skeletons and DNA.

“I respect you gentlemen, please understand me. But it’s almost like you’re on more of an archaeological dig than a criminal investigation. I’ve got my hands full with real-life problems.”

Archer checked his watch. “Traffic is a fire-breathing dragon in this city.” Reaching into his briefcase, he pulled out a small black leather folder and opened it, taking out two business cards. He stood, handing one to each of them. “In any event, happy hunting, gentlemen. And if you find somebody to charge with a crime, I’m only a heartbeat away.”