The bicker of mynah birds awoke Emmanuel and he rolled out of bed. The morphine had taken him to the briny deep but daylight brought real problems and serious consequences for failing to solve them.

Zweigman's bloodied postcard was placed neatly on the bedside table. Last night it had been on his chest. He checked the room quickly. A pale lemon two-piece suit hung from the back of the chair where yesterday's cream silk jacket had been.

Emmanuel crossed the room. The police ID, van Niekerk's money, the morphine tablet, the Buick car keys and the new race ID card were arranged in a neat row along the top of the oak dressing bureau.

Hélène Gerard had been into the room. The idea of being observed while asleep made Emmanuel uncomfortable. Angry also. The dawn intruder could easily have been Detectives Fletcher and Robinson. Or maybe someone else? He still couldn't be sure if the man sitting by the dresser last night had been real or a drug phantom.

No more morphine then.

The IDs were laid out in the same manner as the contents of an evidence folder awaiting a signature to verify that all was present and accounted for. Hélène Gerard had not stolen or tampered with a thing but Emmanuel was sure that she'd looked over the cards.