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carrying a pile of clothes each. ‘Mr Sharman,’ said the one in the blue suit, ‘I’m Jeremy. I run the shop downstairs.’ The two other guys started laying clothes over the sofa and the armchairs. ‘You ordered a shirt.’
    â€˜Yes,’ I said. ‘Just a shirt and some socks.’
    â€˜I thought I’d bring you up some samples of our other merchandise. Firstly, of course, there are some shirts. I brought a couple of white ones and some alternative shades, maybe not quite so severe. There are half a dozen pairs of socks too. But I thought you might like to try on a jacket or two. Then there are some trousers, a few ties and a suit. Plus, of course, some shoes. Mr Lomax told me you have nothing with you. I also brought some underwear. I guessed your sizes from what you told me on the phone.’ He looked me over. ‘I think I was about right, but I can do alterations within the hour so there’s no problem. I’ll leave them with you. Please try them on at your own convenience. Naturally anything you don’t want I’ll take back.’ He stood, arms folded, with one finger under his chin. ‘But I don’t think I was wrong.’
    I was quite taken aback. ‘Do you want me to sign anything?’
    â€˜Oh no, Mr Sharman. Don’t sign until you’re satisfied you want the clothes. If you could stop by sometime and let me know what you want to keep, I’ll arrange for the rest to be collected.’
    â€˜That’s very good of you,’ I said. ‘I appreciate it.’
    â€˜Nothing’s too good for our guests.’
    The three excused themselves and left. I took a closer look at the booty strewn across the room.
    There were three jackets. The names on the labels inside were so close to the cutting edge of male high fashion as almost to be a danger to themselves. Nothing was priced. I took them into the bedroom and tried them on in front of a mirror. They fitted perfectly. I figured, what the hell? and tried on the trousers and the suit and a couple of shirts. I was like a kid let loose in a toyshop. I thought a pair of off-white cuffed strides teamed with a dark blue, double-breasted jacket with a paisley lining over a pale blue button-down shirt and patterned tie looked pretty good. I finished the outfit off with a pair of navy blue, thick-soled, American loafers I found in a box. I hung the rest of the clothes in the wardrobe, draped the jacket over the sofa, made another vodka tonic and turned on the TV. I sat in one of the armchairs and lit a cigarette and looked through the list of hotel guests Lomax had supplied. Frankly it got me nowhere, and I started watching a Robert Mitchum film. He was playing a private eye in Chicago in the fifties. It was deeply noir and I was getting well into it when the telephone rang.
    I cut the sound on the TV with the remote and picked up the receiver. It was Lomax. ‘What’s up?’ I asked.
    â€˜Nothing. Just checking that you were settled in OK.’
    â€˜I am,’ I said. ‘Nice place. Don’t bother with the decorators, I like it as it is.’
    â€˜Good.’
    â€˜I got some new clothes.’
    â€˜I told Jeremy to look after you.’
    â€˜He did.’
    â€˜Good, what’s next?’
    â€˜Dinner with Ninotchka.’
    â€˜I meant about Trash.’
    â€˜I’ll need to talk to him.’
    â€˜When?’
    â€˜Tomorrow?’
    â€˜Fine, I’ll fix it.’
    â€˜I’d like to speak to anyone who was with him that evening, and the rest of the band too.’
    â€˜I’ll speak to Trash’s wife. She’ll know who was around that night. The rest of the band are free at the moment.’
    â€˜I’ll start with Ninotchka tonight and slot some more in tomorrow.’
    â€˜I warn you, Nin and Trash don’t get on, so don’t pay too much attention to what she says. As for the rest of the band, just let me know when