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He went back inside the apartment, a tiny studio on the fourth floor. His bed was unmade.
    "I need to feed the kitten first," he said.
    Axel followed. He slammed the door shut.
    "Forget about the kitten," he said. "Have you gone mad? We need to leave now. The situation is getting a bit tense," he added. "The police are all over this with a diligence I've never seen
before. You would think it was our fault Jon ended up in the lake."
    "Perhaps it was," Reilly said.
    He went over to the kitchen counter. He filled the kitten's bowl with fresh water and opened a tin of cat food. He mashed the food, which consisted of chunks of meat in gravy, with a fork until it turned into a smooth gray and brown mush. He carried out these simple tasks with great care and he did not permit Axel to interrupt him.
    "Now don't pee on the carpet," he told the kitten. "Do your business in the litter box."
    "Snap out of it," Axel said. "We need to go."
    Reilly leaned against the kitchen counter. His long hair was unwashed and hung in thin strands over his shoulders.
    "I don't know what to say," he said. "You go on your own. With your big mouth you can do the talking for both of us."
    Axel grunted irritably.
    "I can't do everything," he said. "I'm exhausted. Now get a grip."
    Reilly put on his long coat. He threw a last, worried glance at the kitten and followed Axel. The old stairs creaked as they walked down to the ground floor. Shortly afterward they were driving through the town in Axel's Mercedes, scarab green with gorgeous white leather seats. As always it was newly washed and polished. Reilly watched the world through its windows and the people they passed. We're not like them, he thought, we lack decency. We lack a normal sense of justice.
    He pondered these things for a while.
    "What do you think it is about us?" he asked.
    "What do you mean?" Axel said.
    "I mean, that we did what we did. Does it mean that we're not quite right?"
    "What are you talking about now?" Axel asked.
    "Well, you know, there's something called emotional intelligence," Reilly elaborated. "Empathy. Understanding. Conscience. Remorse. The ability to comprehend the consequences of your actions. Some people have low emotional intelligence."
    This caused Axel to brake so abruptly that the tires screeched. He pulled over and stopped the car.
    "Are you saying that there is something wrong with me?" he said. "That I don't have feelings like other people? Are you saying that I'm not grieving? That I have low emotional intelligence just because Jon threw himself into the lake?"
    Reilly retreated slightly. "To be honest, I'm not really sure," he said.
    "There is nothing wrong with my emotional intelligence," Axel snapped. "Jesus, what an idea! You've got to quit that reading of yours, it's doing your head in."
    "But most people would not have acted the way we did," he wailed.
    Axel checked his mirror and pulled out into the road again.
    "Most people don't end up in that kind of situation," he said, "and I won't listen to any more talk like that."
    "But I've got such a bad conscience."
    "I don't understand this fuss about conscience," Axel said. "It's not like you can take a clear conscience with you to your grave."
    Reilly felt like saying something about conscience. It stays behind after we die, he thought, like light or like shadow. And those who come after us grow up in that shadow. The sins of the fathers, he mused. But Axel would not understand these things. Axel would ask if he was thinking of getting married or having kids since he was going on about future generations. No one will want a scruffy old hippie like you, he would say. And he might be right.
    "Our society is based on important values," Reilly said out loud.
    He held up three fingers.
    "The rule of law, truth and justice. But we've made our own rules."
    "There isn't one set of rules which apply universally," Axel declared. "You understand that, don't you? Such notions depend on culture. And history. And religion.