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studying the cut on the neck. "A clean cut, don't you think?"
    "Too good," the pathologist answered. "The head rolled over there by the wall. Maybe yours should be there too, Aidan. You know how many head jokes I've been listening to? Can't say you detectives are that original."
    "I see you're still grumpy," Aidan said, extending his hand. The pathologist shook it with difficulty from the angle he was at. "Just as well you don't have to wait that long before you retire."
    "You'll miss me when you have to work out one of these without me. How you going with the shrink?"
    "Doesn't anyone forget my appointments with the psychiatrist? You never remember my birthday, old man. Come on, let's have a coffee and I'll tell you about it."
    They walked over to a corner of the room, next to the window that looked out over the street that was still full of journalists. Aidan assured him everything was going well with his therapy, trying to talk about it as if it was nothing, sounding bored, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Fletcher frowned most of the time he was listening, but didn't say anything.
    "Have we got the weapon?" Aidan asked, changing the subject.
    "No, it would seem that he took it with him."
    "Was it a sword?"
    "Could've been. It must have been very sharp, and the thrust would've had to be perfect. It isn't easy to cut a head off so cleanly with one slash of a blade. Unless, that is, the victim was standing still to make the killer's job easier, which doesn't make any sense."
    "Could he have immobilized or drugged him?"
    "We'll check for drugs in the laboratory," the pathologist answered. "But I can't see how he could have been immobilized. There are no rope marks. Besides, his wife saw what happened. She said it was a sword fight."
    Aidan didn't know what to think. It was strange enough that somebody would kill another person with a sword. To tell the truth, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen a real sword. He'd never worked on a case like this. Typical weapons were flick or kitchen knives. But swords? It seemed very strange. Nevertheless, the sword fitted the witness's description of what had happened. He decided to wait and hear what Lance had found out. It might have all been made up. Or maybe the wife had simply lost it from the shock.
    "Aidan," Wystan yelled behind his back. The Inspector's voice didn't sound exactly happy. "Come here."
    "Fuck!" Aidan said, gritting his teeth. "See you later, old man. I've got to see what's up with the boss."
    "Be careful, Aidan," Fletcher warned him. "The rumour's doing the rounds that they're putting a lot of pressure on him in this case, and that he's not happy with you."
    "Great. Then why did he give me the case?"
    Fletcher just shrugged his shoulders as Aidan turned around and walked towards Wystan. The Inspector's enormous stomach looked like it was going to burst the buttons of his shirt, and his usual poor dress sense was underlined today by the choice of the ugliest tie Aidan had seen this year or any other. It not only didn't go with the suit but the colour was so bright he felt like throwing up.
    "Fine place to meet," Aidan said when he made it to the Inspector.
    "I hope you're working on this," Wystan grumbled. "Taking it serious. This time I don't want to hear about any problems."
    "Nor do I. You can give it to someone else if you haven't got faith in me. But if things don't work out right it won't be my fault. You know who's going to be the lawyer this time?"
    "That's enough, Aidan." Wystan was tired of going over the same thing time and time again. "That's history. Whoever they assign to this case is irrelevant."
    "I don't look at it that way, Inspector. That imbecile ruined my investigation and made me responsible. I'm not going to take the rap for that. They don't crucify him when he loses a court case, but if I make a mistake…"
    "That doesn't justify what you did," Wystan pointed out.
    Aidan knew he was right. Six months earlier he'd