I felt I had done my bit with bereaved nearests and dearests, and I didn’t see that the father, who had apparently kicked Wayne out of the house, was likely to know very much about what his son had been doing recently. Me, I took Charlie’s advice, and got on the phone to all the people who were in Bob Cordle’s book, or all of them who were available, which was perhaps about one-third of all the names. Most of the others, I suspected were in the middle of their near-perpetual workouts if they were male, or on the streets or in the lecture rooms if they were female. With most of those that answered I chatted, or arranged to have a policeman come around at some other time for a chat. There were only two conversations where my policeman’s instinct that Charlie had set such store by told me that something might be up. The first was when I rang a chap who was down in Cordle’s book as Vince. “Is that Vince?” “Yes. Who’s speaking?” “I believe you used sometimes to pose for Bodies magazine?”
