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Ross’s office and read through it again, trying to find a starting point for a quiet probe into the shooting. The police had canvassed people who worked at the bar, but nobody had seen or heard anything. The shooting happened after hours. None of the staff had seen Leaman or Scott in the place that night. Nobody in the file could, or would, identify any connection between the two men. If either of them had been selling drugs to the other, there was no reference to that in the material we had before us. There was a police report indicating that Leaman and Scott had never been incarcerated in the same institution at the same time. Leaman had spent considerable time in the addiction treatment centre; Scott had never been treated there. Iscribbled a note about Wanda Pollard being a possible witness. But something else struck me while I was reading through the file: the one piece of hard evidence that might be traceable was the gun. The Luger was an antique. It had almost certainly been stolen. The police had tried various gun collectors but had not found the owner. I wondered whether it was a souvenir brought over from Germany after World War Two.
    I picked up the phone and dialled. “Up for a game of darts tonight, Burke?”
    â€œDarts? You’re at loose ends for something to occupy yourself, I’m thinking.”
    â€œA beer then. I want to head out to the Legion for a bit of detective work. Thought I’d start with the one on Cunard Street.”
    â€œAnd what do you hope to find out at the Legion?”
    â€œI’d like to trace a piece of German weaponry. Namely the Luger that was used in the Fore-And-Aft shooting. I’m hoping to reassure myself this was really a suicide.”
    â€œI thought it was one of your partners who was doing the work on this.”
    â€œI’m doing a little sleuthing to convince myself we have a case. Ross is a true believer, if you’ll pardon the expression. He sees gold within his grasp. I, however, tend to think
fortuna vitrea est; tum cum splendet frangitur
.”
    â€œIs that you, Collins? I thought I heard someone speaking to me in the language most dear to my heart.”
    â€œWhy should that surprise you? Have you heretofore regarded me as an unlettered buffoon?”
    â€œNot at all, at all. So. Fortune is like glass; it glitters just at the moment of breaking. That’s how you see your case?”
    â€œThat’s how I see all my cases, Brennan. But, yes, I’m particularly suspicious of this one. I intend to investigate a little further.”
    â€œAh. Come by and pick me up around nine-thirty. I’m giving a seminar at the theology school before then. High Christology in the Gospel of John. I didn’t see your name on the registration list.”
    â€œSo give me the crib notes.”
    â€œThat would be a start. See you tonight. How were the Rankins?”
    â€œThe Rankins were great. You should have hung on to that ticket.”
    â€œNah. You know how it is when MacNeil wants something.”
    â€œNo, I don’t actually. All I know is when she doesn’t want something.”
    â€œDon’t be telling me that. You banjaxed it again?”
    â€œLater.”
    I had just put the phone down when Ross Trevelyan called, to remind me that we had a witness coming in. I picked up the file and headed for Ross’s office. We chatted about other matters while we waited for the psychologist who had treated Corey Leaman at the Baird Centre. Ross’s secretary brought him in, and we stood to greet him.
    â€œDoctor Swail-Peddle? Nice to meet you. I’m Ross Trevelyan. This is my partner, Montague Collins.”
    â€œHi. Call me Gareth.”
    I shook his hand. Gareth Swail-Peddle was short and slight with a small face nearly hidden by his salt and pepper beard. Tiny dark brown eyes were magnified by huge glasses. He sat in the chair beside mine, and relieved himself of a large canvas shoulder bag.
    Ross