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answered questions about his past as truthfully as he
could, though at times he had to be economical with his words.
    A police car pulled up and he watched
the sole occupant get out.  He gave Grant a curious glance as he passed,
then walked into the house.  Through the open door Sam saw him cuddle
Alma, a little too passionately for his liking, so he polished off his food and
went inside on the pretence of grabbing a second helping.  Alma stopped
him on his way to the table and introduced the officer.
    “This is Lorenzo,” she said.  “We
went to school together.”
    Grant shook his hand.  “Sam,” he
smiled, wondering what it was they’d done together after school.
    “Lorenzo was just telling me that Arlan
wasn’t killed in a robbery.”
    The officer gestured for her to keep her
voice down.  “That’s what I believe,” he said softly.  “There was a
message attached to one of the other victims which tells me he was caught up in
a gang war.”
    “Arlan wasn’t in a gang,” Alma said with
indignation.
    “I know.  We think he was just in
the wrong place at the wrong time.”
    “What was the message?” Grant asked.
    “It said ‘Basilan belongs to Abu
Sayyaf’.”
    “Who’s he?”
    “Not a He,” Alma said.  “Abu Sayyaf
is a Muslim independence group.”
    “More like terrorists,” Lorenzo
said.  “And they want complete control of the region.  There have
been many gang killings in the last few months and we believe they want to
eliminate all of their competition.”
    “But why was Arlan’s death reported as a
robbery?” Grant asked.
    “Because certain members of the police
would prefer that Abu Sayyaf incidents are not reported to the mainland. 
It might affect their income.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “The senior police officers receive
payments from Abu Sayyaf and turn a blind eye to their activities,” Lorenzo
said.  “Their crimes are attributed to others and they are allowed to
operate as they wish.”
    “Are all policemen on the payroll?”
Grant asked Lorenzo quizzically, and the Filipino resented the suggestion.
    “No,” he said, a little too loudly,
drawing looks from others in the room.  He noticed the attention and
dropped his voice a little.  “Some of us actually believe in the role
we’ve been given.  That’s why I wanted Alma to know the truth.”  He
looked at both of them in turn.  “Don’t tell anyone what I just told you.”
    Grant and Alma nodded solemnly.
    “Where are you staying in Isabela?”
Lorenzo asked him, his voice back to its normal level.
    “I was hoping to find a hotel for a
couple of days,” Grant said, although sensing a history between these two he
was no longer sure he wanted to let Alma out of his sight.
    “I know a good hotel not far from here,”
Lorenzo said.  “I can take you if you like, but we have to be quick; the
reception closes early.” 
    Grant looked at Alma and she nodded at
him.  “Go, I’ll come and get you in the morning.”
     He grabbed his bag and followed
Lorenzo to the car, and as they pulled away he looked back at the house and saw
Alma in the doorway, offering a surreptitious wave which he returned through
the open window.
    “Alma tells me she works for you,”
Lorenzo said as they drove sedately through the evening traffic.  “What
does your company do?”
    “We build websites for online shopping.”
    The concept was lost on the policeman,
so Grant explained the principle.
    “Does it make a lot of money?” Lorenzo
asked.
    “At the moment we only make about a
million pesos a month, which is just about enough to break even. 
Hopefully we can start showing a healthy profit in the next twelve months.”
    Lorenzo whistled, impressed with the
figures although he didn’t appreciate the fact that it barely covered Grant’s
outgoings.  The numbers were still going round in his mind as he helped
Grant check in to the hotel, and after he made a mental note of the room number
he left his charge