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York?”
    “Working. I’m here on business.”
    “What kind of business?”
    “Telecommunications.”
    “And is that why you were out on the street last night, David? You were doing telecommunications work?”
    “Of course not. I’m a consultant, not an engineer.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “It means I work with corporate clients. Give them advice. Help them with strategy, overcoming operational problems, that sort of thing.”
    “What kind of problems were you overcoming last night?”
    “None. I wasn’t working last night. I’ve just finished a contract and I don’t have to be back in the U.K. until tomorrow, so I was taking a night off.”
    “What kind of contract was it, you just finished?”
    “Government.”
    “No offense, but why would the government hire a British consultant? Don’t we have plenty of our own?”
    “Not your government. The British government.”
    “If it was the British government, why are you in the United States?”
    “I was working for the Foreign Office. I started at the embassy in Washington and then moved on to the consulate here in New York.”
    “Where were you before Washington?”
    “On another job. In Paris.”
    “Paris, France? You came directly from there?”
    “That’s right.”
    “When?”
    “Six weeks ago.”
    “Then you came directly to New York?”
    “Right.”
    “When?”
    “Three weeks ago.”
    “Been here ever since?”
    “Haven’t set foot outside Manhattan.”
    “And your contract finished, when?”
    “Yesterday.”
    “Yesterday was Sunday.”
    “So?”
    “What time yesterday? Morning? Afternoon?”
    “Late afternoon. The project owner’s based in London, so I had to wait at the consulate until sign-off came through.”
    “What time was that?”
    “Five-thirty.”
    “People can verify that?”
    “Of course.”
    “Good. ’Cause we may need to talk to them. We’ll come back to you for names if we do.”
    I shrugged. It would be a pain, but I could find some people to say the right thing if he really insisted.
    “Now, let’s see if I got this,” he said. “Five-thirty, you’re at the consulate getting a sign-off on your project. Midnight, you’re in an alley with a corpse.”
    “That’s right,” I said. “Six and a half hours after finishing work, I was unfortunate enough to discover a dead body.”
    “Fill in the gaps.”
    “I left the consulate, obviously. Went back to my hotel. Had a shower. Got changed. Went out for a meal.”
    “Where?”
    “At a small restaurant. Fong’s, it was called.”
    “Who with?”
    “No one. I went on my own.”
    “What about the receipt?”
    “What about it?”
    “It wasn’t with your things.”
    “So?”
    “So where is it?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Why not? What did you do with it?”
    “I paid cash. I didn’t keep it.”
    “Convenient.”
    “How is it convenient?”
    “Anyone see you there? Staff? Customers?”
    “Sure. Try eating out alone and not getting stared at.”
    “Maybe we’ll go ask. OK. What else?”
    “I finished my meal. Started walking back. Saw the body. It was in an alley off Mulberry Street. I checked to see if I could help the guy, and was on my way to call 911 when your colleagues arrived.”
    “Why not call on your cell phone?”
    “Don’t carry one. I don’t like cell phones. They fry your brain.”
    “So, you just found the body lying there?”
    “That’s right.”
    “It was already there when you went into the alley?”
    “Right.”
    “Already dead?”
    “Afraid so. I did check, but it was too late.”
    “And that’s it?”
    “That’s it.”
    “Doesn’t quite add up, does it, David?”
    “Doesn’t add up how? That’s what happened.”
    “Think about it. You’re a businessman. A consultant. A respectable citizen enjoying a well-earned night off. And with all the wonders of New York City to pick from, you choose to spend your time in a shit-filled alley where there just happens to be some bum’s body, still warm, full