Reaching the hotel, I decided against looking about to see whether Sykes was loitering in the grounds, waiting to hear about my encounter with Joel. Having squeezed in so many tête-à-têtes, we would be in danger of raising eyebrows. I was not in a hurry to see him. Once a policeman, always a policeman; he had been out of the force for several years, but never quite shook off his desire to put a hand on a person’s shoulder and say, ‘Come along with me, chummy.’ I believe his biggest regret in moving into private detection was the lack of a pair of handcuffs. I did not want to hear the word manslaughter in relation to a young lad who would live forever with the nightmare of having caused his friend’s death. If Joel insisted on repeating his story and someone went to the police, then so be it. I would do my best to see that he was well-defended. Cummings was standing in the hotel doorway, staring across at the smoke. He touched his cap, held the door for me, and then followed me into the foyer.
