“How could you tell that?”

“You get to recognize the signs when you do a job like mine. He’d come in now and then, usually after work, I suppose, sip his half pint of Pride and work on his crossword, then he’d be off. Just a bit of quiet time between the office and home. Most serious drinkers would down three or four double whiskies in the time it took him to do that.”

“How do you know he didn’t go home and knock back a bottle of whisky?”

“Well, like I said, I don’t, really. It’s just . . .” He shrugged. “He didn’t seem the type. That’s all.” He paused. “Anyway, why are you interested? Are you a reporter or something?”

“Me? No, nothing like that.”

“Police?”

“Do I look like police?”

“Not like any I’ve ever seen.” He blushed. “I mean . . . you know . . . they’re usually big burly blokes. I know there are women police, too, but . . .”

Zelda touched his arm briefly and smiled. “I know what you mean. And thank you.”

“What for?”

“For saying I don’t look like a big burly bloke.”

“Oh. Yes. I mean, no. But you haven’t answered my question. Why are you interested?”

Zelda didn’t really have an answer; she hadn’t planned that far. When all else fails, deflect. “Have the police been around here asking about him?”

His Adam’s apple was large and moved as he swallowed. “Yesterday. Two of them.”

“What did they want to know?”

“Whatever I could tell them. Which wasn’t much. It did seem odd.”

“Why?”

“Well, the way they were speaking, as if they didn’t think it was an accident.”

“Did they say that?”

“Not in so many words, no. But . . .”

“You get to recognize the signs?”

“Well, yes.”

“You’re a very perceptive young man.”

Someone called from the kitchen.

“I have to go,” the barman said. “Please sit down. I’ll bring your lunch to your table when it’s ready. Another drink?”

Zelda saw that she had almost finished her glass. “Why not,” she said. “Thank you.”

She went to sit at the table she had pointed out and took out the photograph of Keane she had copied from the file some time ago. When the barman eventually came over with her food and drink, she slid the picture toward him. “Actually, this is who I’m looking for,” she said. “Have you ever seen him?”

The barman studied the photograph. “That’s odd,” he said.

“What is?”

“This bloke. As a matter of fact, I have seen him. He was in here. With Mr. Hawkins. It’s funny because it’s the only time I’ve seen him here with anyone else. I always thought he was a bit of a loner.”

“When was this?”

“Couple of weeks ago. Not much longer. Is it important? You really are police, aren’t you? Or something like that.”

Zelda gave him her best enigmatic smile. “Something like that. I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” she said.