Ice Cold in Aldgate  
By John Lane

   Is there any classic character who represents the American detective more splendidly than Columbo? Perhaps Jim Rockford or Andy Sipowicz might aspire to the crown -- pardon me, the presidency? A flock of hard-boiled private eyes thundered onto the scene well before the lieutenant ever donned his rumpled raincoat. Joe Friday was walking the L.A. beat two decades before the honorable lieutenant's cases reached the tube.

But Columbo in its way is the essence of the American ethic: The hardworking, blue-collar common man proving his mettle to the aristocracy, demonstrating that common sense and logic can prevail in the face of wealth, elitism, and avarice.

  Columbo nonetheless owes its challenging plotting and style to Mother England, the land of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, and those other knights of the classic whodunit. Even the "inverted" mystery -- Columbo's specialte du jour -- was basically invented by Britain's R. Austin Freeman, whose Dr. Roger Thorndyke, pathologist and forensic scientist, frequently shared Freeman's narratives with superbly arrogant and self-assured murderers.

How appropriate that as we introduce our first international author, we find Columbo revisiting London and his old New Scotland Yard friend, Inspector Durk. And what an homage to Freeman, the father of the how's-he-gonna-catch-him: We find Columbo investigating a truly British murder amid Thorndyke's medical contemporaries. You are invited to watch the American Poirot, the Yankee Sherlock Holmes, ply his trade in the land that cultivated the modern whodunit.

John Lane was born in the late seventies in the East of London or the West of Essex, depending on your point of view.  As a writer, his work has included a short one-person playlet , Camden Girl, and a reading of Blood and Water.  John wrote and performed Walk Now? as part of End of the Century:  Stories from the Cities.  John’s creative activates are chronicled on his website, at www.djarra.co.uk..

“Dr Slone, can you report to reception?”

The voice crackled the command over the intercom. Slone registered it, looked up, and signaled to the nurse to come to him. She walked over with a grin on her face.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Nurse, I want you to take Mr. Smith’s blood pressure, then take his temperature and write it up. If the BP is higher than the last time I took it, page me. If it is about the same, don’t bother.”

“Okay, Doctor.”

Slone walked out of the ward and down the long Victorian corridor to the reception. As much as he loathed traveling to Whitechapel every day, the architecture of the Royal London Hospital was pleasant enough. When he arrived at reception, he got a bit of a shock. Albert Drake, the head of surgery from Kings College, was standing there.

“Albert, what are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

Drake regarded Slone, and offered his hand to shake. Slone refused the invitation.

“I’ve just come from the ward.”

“Okay, look, John, is there somewhere we can talk?”

Slone realised Albert’s tone was dark -- the usually jolly man seemed bothered. He picked up a clipboard from the reception desk and looked through the records.

“Consulting room three in outpatient is free. Of course, there is my office, but Dr Singh shares that.”

“The consulting room will be fine.”

This worried Slone: Whatever Drake had to say, he didn’t feel he could say in front of Singh. Slone had known Drake for almost twenty years, having tried under him as a houseman. In all that time, he had never known Drake to be this mysterious.

He guided the old man towards the room. Once inside, Drake sat heavily at the desk. Suddenly, he looked his age -- at seventy, Drake was a legend, having performed surgery for 40 years. The British Medical Council had given him more honours that anyone else in history. To Slone, he had been a hero. Someone to look up to. But suddenly Drake seemed old and frail. He had something on his mind, something that couldn’t wait and needed privacy. Tentatively, Slone sat opposite the old man.

“You look worried, Albert. What is the matter?”

“This is the matter, John.”

He reached into the breast pocket of his suit and took out a sheet of paper. He folded it into thirds and handed it to Slone. It was a photocopy of a letter.

“What is this, Albert?”

“Read it.”

Slone read the letter, and his heart sank. He knew now why Drake was so upset. The letter was a copy of an affidavit written by a woman Slone had known ten years before. Julie Dark, she had called herself.

Of course, that wasn’t her real name. He’d met her near a nightclub in Covent Garden. The Blitz or something. They had talked and got on. She had just turned 16, and was getting bored with the New Romantic scene. Like many others in the early ‘80s, she migrated into the improvised Jazz clubs around Soho. Along with some of her friends, she started to see Slone as a bit of a guru.

They were happy that someone of the old school would give them the time of day. Slone always had an eye for a pretty face, but Julie was stunningly beautiful, like a young Brigitte Fontaine. Slone was more than flattered that she seemed to find the attention from a successful thirtysomething doctor a turn on. She fell pregnant by him and he helped her get rid of it -- it was the only termination he had ever performed. He gave her the money to get to Australia, and that was the last he’d herd of her till now.

“What is this, Albert? You don’t take it seriously do you?”

Drake shook his head.

“I don’t know, John. I have to take it seriously. So do you.”

“Come on; it’s ludicrous. She must be some kind of nut. Watched that documentary I did about transplants, and thought there could be a bob or two in blackmailing me.”

Drake looked at Slone.

“I need proof, John, that you never knew this girl. Right now, only you and I know about this letter. The original is locked away in my safe at home. If you can prove that you’re innocent, then that will be the end of.”

“Look, I can try and find my journal for 1981, but it’s ten years ago. I guess there would be records of my shifts...”

“John, I take this seriously. I’ve done a lot to help your career over the years. I like you; I think that you are a good medic. Can you get proof to me at home on Saturday?”

Slone sighed.

“I’ll have to look through some stuff, see what I can dig up.”

The old man stood up. He suddenly looked as frightening to Slone as he had two decades ago when he addressed the anatomy class at Kings.

“Albert, thank you for not going straight to an investigation with this nonsense.”

“Don’t thank me yet, John. If I’m not satisfied with what I see on Saturday, I shall make sure you are struck off.”

**

Walking back to his office, Slone mused on the meeting with Drake. Could he get together enough evidence to convince the old man that her story was a fiction? Probably, but would he believe it?

Drake could be stubborn. It wouldn’t be the first time he had brought down a career. For even less than this. James McNish had been a promising doctor trying to specialise in gynecology at Kings. Just three years before, he had a brief affair with a nurse. Drake took him to task. The last Slone had heard ,McNish was working as a GP in the Gorbles area of Glasgow.

As he walked into the office, Dr. Singh looked up from his notes. He smiled at his colleague.

“Still at it, Sanjeev?”

“Yes, seems to me that I have to fill in more insulin orders every week. Did old man Drake catch up with you? He said he wanted a word when he came in for his appointment.”

This puzzled Slone. Why would Drake have an appointment with Dr. Singh?

“I didn’t know Drake was consulting with you, Sanjeev .”

“He isn’t, the diabetic clinic at Kings has closed, so a lot of there patients have been transferred to me. Drake comes in once a month.”

Of course, Slone thought. Drake’s diabetic.

“I guess I thought he’d have private treatment.”

“No, you know Drake -- he believes in the NHS. If it is good enough for the man in the street, it is good enough for him.”

Dr. Singh stood up, looking in the mirror he adjusted the wrap of his turban. Took his white coat off the hook and headed to the door.

“I have a ward round now, and home visits tomorrow. So that’s me for the week. You coming out for a drink on Saturday, John?”

“Sorry, Sanjeev , can’t make it.”

“See you Monday, then”

**

As Dr. Singh left, Slone sat at his own desk, and took the copy of the letter Drake had given him out of his pocket. Rereading it, he noticed something. The letterhead had started to bleed off the copy, but was just about visible. Slone took his magnifying glass from the top pocket of his white coat and tried to make out the words.

‘Warracknabeal State Prison, NSW.’

Slone contemplated this, then looked at the name under the signature. This, too, was almost bleeding off the page, but he could just make out a series of numbers. She must be in prison, he thought to himself. Which would explain why she didn’t phone Drake or the BMA.

A thought entered Slone’s head. He walked across the office and looked in the trolley of medical records that Singh had put out ready to be filed back away. After a couple of seconds, he located Drake’s file, and had a look at the last page. Sanjeev had upped the dosage of insulin by 10 %.

“What if the old man accidentally doubled his dosage,” Slone mused to himself. “Perhaps on his way to bed after a couple of double scotches with an old student, one Saturday night.”

**

Pulling up to Drake’s large house in Highgate , Slone had a touch of nerves. He felt like he had when reporting to Drake’s office as an eighteen-year-old first-year med student. He carefully drew his Jaguar up next to the old man’s BMW and took a swig from the hip flask he had in his inside pocket. He reached over to the glove box and took out the leather wrap with all the things he needed. A syringe, a swab and a 500mg dose of insulin. Then he pulled on some clear surgical gloves. They were a new product from America. The thinking was that patients prefer the contact of real flesh. So gloves that mimic real flesh visually are better than normal ones.

Getting out of the car, he walked slowly to the door, each step careful and measured. The crunch of the gravel under his feet an even tone with each step.

Walking to the door, he pressed the bell. Within seconds, Drake was there to greet him. The old man seemed a bit more cheerful than he had at the hospital. As he greeted Slone, the slight scent of fine single malt could be detected on the old man’s breath.

Good, thought Slone. He’s already been at the bottle.

Drake steered Slone into the study. Sitting in the fine, high-backed leather club chair, Slone felt comfortable. He almost forgot what he was here to do. Looking up at the walls, he noticed something odd. A plaque that he had never seen before. The writing on it was in Greek. Though he couldn’t read the words, he knew what they said. Hippocrates’ oath -- the same oath that all doctors took across the globe. An oath that states that they shall do no harm.

As Drake handed Slone a glass, he took a deep breath realising that this would the first time that he would ever break that oath.

“So do you have something for me to look at, John?”

The old man got straight to the point. Slone took a swig of his drink and placed it carefully on the table.

“Straight to the point, Albert.As always. I brought my journal, and my secretary was able to get the roster from files for that week. It shows where I was.”

Slone stood and walked towards his coat on the rack. In the pocket was the syringe that he had filled in the car. He deftly picked it up and took the plastic sleeve from the needle with his right hand while his left removed some papers from another pocket in the coat. He walked toward Drake, and handed him the papers. Drake looked at them, then looked up at Slone. The old man didn’t like to be crowded and didn’t appreciate Slone placing his hand on the back of his chair and looking down on him.

“You’re in the light, John,” he said bitingly.

With a swift movement, Slone jabbed him with the syringe in the left leg, and discharged the lethal dose. Drake dropped the papers all over the floor, and slumped down in the chair. He looked up at Slone and took a deep breath. He tried to say something, but his heart gave out.

Mr. Albert Drake, Head of Medicine and Surgery at Kings College, London, since 1960 was dead.

**

Slone had to work quickly. The first thing to do was move the old man. With the experience of moving patients from bed to bed, it was easy to move Drake into the chair closer to the fireplace. Then Slone moved to the wall. A portrait of Drake which had been commissioned when he accepted his post was hinged to conceal the safe. Slone carefully dialed in the number 12-0-7-19-6-0 -- a version of the date when Drake had been made Head of Medicine and Surgery and made history as the youngest man ever to take the post. For now. The safe was to store patient records, and every houseman who worked with Drake would have known the combination.

It was never changed.

On opening the safe, Slone saw it was crammed full of surgical files and documents. But one thing was out of place: A small manila envelope with a stamp on it. The picture on the stamp was of Ayes Rock. The postmark Melbourne. A quick inspection of the contains showed Slone that it was what he had been looking for. He shut the safe up and put on his coat. Taking the syringe out of Drake’s leg, he checked to see if the old man was dead. There wasn’t a pulse. Leaving the house by the front door, he shouted behind him.

“Don’t bother to come out in the cold. I can do the gate myself.”

Slone shut the door and drove off. Five minutes down the road was a bar. Quiet and full of locals. He went in and got a beer. He slowly drank while watching the soccer footage on the TV in the corner of the bar. Then he left.

Driving down a side road, he had to walk about half a mile back to Drake’s place. Taking the back door key that he had taken from the hook in the hall, he let himself in. The study was just how he had left it. He pulled on a pair of more standard surgical gloves and checked the temperature of Drake’s corpse.

Still warm, he thought to himself. The fire was dying out, and he carefully shoveled the ash to make it die out almost completely. Then he picked Drake up in a fireman’s lift and took him to the bathroom. Sitting him in a chair, he undid the old man’s trousers and pulled them down a bit. Before  looked around for something. Finally his eye fell on a yellow storage bin. On the side was marked in red letters ‘Medical Waste - Hazard - Sharp.’

A syringe bin. Slone opened it and took out one of the used needles. Holding it gingerly so as not to smudge any of Drake’s prints, Slone half filled it with a lethal dose. Sticking it into Drake’s leg he pushed down on the plunger and then ripped it away, letting it drop on the floor.

Slone placed everything back where he had found it. On leaving the room, he almost switched the light off. Then he corrected himself. As the old man lived alone, there was no lock on the bathroom door, so Slone just shut it on. The back door didn’t need to be locked by a key -- that was only to open it from outside. So Slone replaced it on the hook from which he had taken it earlier in the evening.

**

Once back in his car, Slone looked at the clock. It read half past one in the morning. He let out the breath that he felt he had been holding since seven. He took the letter from his pocket and looked at it. Along with the original of the letter which Drake had given him was a second letter. This was from the Prison Governess. It detailed how Julie had been having nightmares of the abortion, and the prison psychiatrist wanted to verify the story. The psychiatrist was another King’s Alumni and so knew Drake.

It also detailed Julie’s sentence. She had fifteen left to serve for abducting a baby, with possible parole in ten.

I won’t have to worry about her for a while Slone thought to himself.

**

Monday morning was just like any other. But at lunchtime was the visit he had been half dreading. Walking into his office, Dr Singh was chatting to a well-dressed man in a dark overcoat.

“Here he is now,” Singh said, gesturing to Slone.

The man stood up and reached into the breast pocket of his three-piece suit. And showed Slone an ID card. Above it were two silver badges. One was of a crown and the second a small diamond-shaped shield.

“Detective Chief Superintendent Durk, Scotland Yard.”

Slone sat in the armchair that he and Singh had procured for their office some months back from the patients lounge.  

“I need to ask you a few questions if I may,” the policeman continued.

“Do you need me to leave?” Dr Singh asked.

Durk shook his head.

“No, this is informal. I’m afraid that I have some bad news. Dr. Slone. Albert Drake died on Saturday night. He took the wrong dose of insulin.”

Slone looked over to Singh. Then up at Durk.

“You think it was murder?”

“No, accidental death -- he had been drinking and wasn’t perhaps in control of what he was doing. I’ll need a statement from you as you were the last one to see him alive. Can you drop into my office some time?”

Durk handed Slone a card and stood up.

“I’ll bid you good day then, gentlemen.”

Durk left the room.

**

“Sorry, sir; my fault -- can’t see where I’m going.” Looking down from the Arrivals board, Durk saw the man he had been waiting for. Carrying a very battered old brown leather suitcase, a blue dog bed, and a brand new hard case. His rain coat slung over an arm, Lieutenant Columbo of the Los Angeles Police department struggled with his load to get across to the Arrivals board.

“Columbo”! Durk called to his friend, The lieutenant looked up and raised his left hand to signal that he had spotted Durk. As he did this, the battered brown suitcase fell to the floor. As the lieutenant bent down to pick it up, he dropped the dog basket.

“Let me give you a hand with that, Columbo,” Durk said as he approached.

“No it’s okay, I got it all...” The other suitcase fell to the floor.

“Oh, no; Mrs Columbo has some breakables in that one.”

Durk carefully picked it up. Looking around for the lieutenant’s wife, he realised that he wouldn’t know her if he saw her. He had spoken to her on the phone once or twice, but never met her.

“Why didn’t you get a trolley?”

“Well I was going to get one at LAX, but you have to put a coin in. I guess they’re the same here. I don’t have any coins. Just American ones.”

Durk grabbed a empty trolley, and put the case he was holding on to it.

“No, they seem to be free here.”

Columbo unloaded his baggage onto the trolley and started to push it.

“Where is your wife?”

“Mrs Columbo, she had to go to the Animal Reception place to get Dog. I mean, the trouble it took to get him over here. She has to go through some paperwork. I’m telling you, though: It took us six months and three vet visits to get the passport for him.”

Columbo pulled the lever on the trolley, making it brake suddenly.

“We’re going in the wrong direction... I said we’d go to Gate 3 and meet her there.”

With a swift movement that almost knocked over a few people, Columbo swung the trolley around and headed off in the opposite direction. Durk eventually managed to catch back up with him.

“Gate 3, here we are.”

Columbo stopped the trolley and looked around. But there was no sight of Mrs Columbo. Or Dog.

“I guess she isn’t here yet”

Durk sat down on one of the seats to wait. Columbo sat next to him.

Durk was just about to ask Columbo how his flight had been, only to be interrupted by the tannoy.

“Could Lieutenant Columbo please go to the information desk at Gate 3, Lieutenant Columbo to the information desk at Gate 3.”

“Was that me they wanted?” Columbo asked. “It was, wasn’t it? Can you mind the bags for me?”

“Yes, of course,” Durk replied.

Columbo went up to walk toward the desk. After taking a couple of steps, he turned back to Durk.

“I think I can trust a Scotland Yard commander with a few bags”

Columbo laughed, and Durk smiled.

**

Clara Jane Smyth was just about to page for Lieutenant Columbo a second time when a shabby-looking man in a raincoat came up to the information desk.

Not another one, she thought. Although the airport didn’t encourage it, some people with the airlines and the food outlets would insist on feeding the homeless people that found their way to Heathrow through the tube.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any food for you. Perhaps you could try Costa Coffee.”

The man in the raincoat looked around to see who she was addressing before he realised she was talking to him.

“Oh, no, ma’am. I’m not looking for food. You paged me just now.”

He made a wild hand gesture to single that the sound of the page had come from above.

Reaching into his pocket, he produced a small leather wallet. Inside was a American police shield, Clara Jane recognised it from the various police shows her boyfriend would make her watch. Also there was a photo ID, with a picture of the man.

“I’m Lieutenant Columbo.”

Clara Jane looked at the ID -- she could just make out the word Columbo, but the lieutenant’s thumb concealed the rest of the name.

“Oh, I am sorry,” Clara smiled at the shabby-looking detective.

“Your wife is on the phone, from Animal Reception.”

Clara Jane handed Columbo a phone, and motioned that he should pick it up. She then transferred the call from AR.

“Hello, you there. Oh, yes, you are,” Columbo said into the phone, giving Clara Jane a thumbs-up signal. “You have to wait for what ?...Ticks, I spent $300 on getting him checked for ticks, how can he have ticks?...Oh, I see, they have to check him again? Okay, Honey; I’ll have to work something out.”

Columbo replaced the phone and handed it back to Clara Jane. He then put the back of his hand to his forehead, patted the top of his head, and clicked his fingers. Looking up at Clara Jane, he said, “Thank you very much.”

He turned on his heel and headed off.

**

Having gone a couple of paces, he turned back.

“Excuse me miss, can I just ask? What time does the last bus for central London leave?”

“01:30 hours, sir”

“01:30, that would be half one in the morning?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you very much.”

This time, the lieutenant walked out of sight.

**

Durk looked up and saw Columbo heading toward him. He looked slightly worried and was scratching his head.

“Is everything all right?” Durk inquired.

“Yes, it will be. My wife, she has to stay at Animal Reception while they check for ticks. Dog, that is. Mrs Columbo doesn’t have ticks. Can you drop me at the hotel as we planned, then I can check in, get the train back here, and pick my wife and Dog up.”

Durk nodded.

“I’ll take you to the hotel to check in and I’ll bring you back to collect Mrs Columbo. I wouldn’t hear of you spending your first few hours of holiday shuttling around on trains. Besides, we can talk shop while we drive.”

Columbo made a wide gesture with his hands and collected the trolley. Slowly, they walked off toward the car parks.

**

As Durk was helping to get the luggage into the back of his Rover 75, he couldn’t help but ask his friend why he had one seemingly brand new case, and one that looked like it had been about a bit.

“Well you see, the brown one, that’s mine. Back when I left New York to go to the LAPD, the boys in the precinct got me that. I don’t want to change it. Mrs Columbo, well, she likes to shop and she likes her clothes.” Columbo shrugged his shoulders in a expressive way. “What can I say? She gets a new case each time we go away, then she gives it to her sister.”

Durk smiled knowingly.

They got into the car and after a bit of time with traffic out of the airport. As they sped down the M11, Columbo opened his eyes for the first time since they had pulled out of the parking space. He looked across at Durk.

“So tell me, now that you’re a commander, what does that mean, exactly?”

Durk thought for a moment.

“Basically, it’s the same job as I was doing before. Just with a bit more responsibility. I have my own division now.”

Columbo nodded.

“You said something to do with cold cases.”

“Yes I run the new Cold Case Division at Scotland Yard. Reporting straight to the Government Committee.”

Columbo made a impressed noise as he exhaled.

“That’s a pretty high-powered job. Although don’t you find that cold cases can be a bit frustrating?”

“Sometimes, yes. When you know that someone is guilty but you can’t get the evidence.”

Columbo reached into his jacket and took out a scratched and battered Altoids mint tin.

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

Durk looked across to see that the tin contained about five short cigars and a beaten up matchbook which had the logo of Bachelors World magazine.

“Not at all,” Durk replayed with a smile. Bachelors World -- the name meant something, he couldn’t quite place it. Then he realised. The last case he and Columbo had worked on together was when the co-owner of the magazine had gone missing on her way to a business meeting in London.

“Urm, hang on. Oh, where is the window thing?”

Durk pressed a button on the steering wheel and Columbos window opened about halfway. Columbo then bit the end off his cigar, and spat the derbies outside before lighting a match. At 70 mph, the breeze from the window extinguished the match before the lieutenant could get the match to the end of the cigar. He was about to try again when Durk put up the window.

“Don’t worry with the matches. Use the lighter in the dash.”

Reaching down Durk pushed it in, and a green light shone in the gloom.

“You know, in my car, I don’t have a lighter,” the lieutenant said. “They gave me one of those lights to put on the roof, so they know I’m a cop. I can’t use it.”

The lighter switched off and Columbo was finally able to light the cigar.

“Well, all the police over here use these at the moment,” Durk explained. “They come kited out from the factory. I have lights behind the grill at the front, and a siren.”

Columbo looked impressed.

“So you were saying, about how frustrating things can be in Cold Cases. I mean, boy, I know what you mean. When you know the guy’s guilty but you have to prove it.”

“Exactly. Of course, the advances in forensics in the last 20 years have helped us close a lot of the books. I think at times, I have more pathologists working for me than I do constables.

“Ain’t that the truth. I had one case, you remember. Nine years, four months. Then right at the end, I get something that had been stored in the basement rechecked with some new fangled doodad. Bam, I got the evidence to convict. See, if he’d committed that murder now, I’d have got him.” Columbo transferred his cigar from his right hand to his left and held up his right hand to click his fingers. “Just like that.” As it was, he had spent almost ten years wrapping the case.

Durk nodded.

“I know just what you mean, Columbo. I like to feel that even if it is a bit late, my department can bring justice and closure for the victims.”

Columbo nodded his agreement as Durk continued.

“Right now, I have a case, very interesting. Originally, ten years ago, I investigated it. Pathology said accidental death. It all seemed to check out. So that was that. Then last week I got given a letter. It had been addressed to the Commissioner. Took almost a year to get through the system. From a girl who had been in Australia. She believed that this death was a murder.”

Columbo exhaled a large puff of smoke deep in thought.

“And you believe her?” he asked.

“I don’t know, you see that’s the thing. She can’t be found. Officially, I can’t reopen an investigation on the strength of a letter. I’ve pulled in some favours with Missing Persons to try and find this girl, but so far no luck. The address the letter was sent from was a hostel in Aldgate. Just up the road from the Royal Hospital. And she disappeared from there over six months ago.”

“I can tell from the sound of your voice that you think her disappearance is suspicious.”

“I do. In the letter, she accuses a doctor of misconduct and of murdering to cover it up the last time she reported it. This doctor is now a consultant liver surgeon at the Royal Hospital.”

Columbo took a long drag on the cigar as he thought.

“It’s a sticky one, all right.”

**

After arriving back to his rooms at the club at just past midnight, Durk poured himself a glass of scotch. It had been a long day. The trips out to the airport had been very exhausting. Perhaps more so, as the second trip was for nothing. By the time they returned to the airport. Mrs Columbo had left by tube for the hotel.

As he sank into his chair, he thought back on the case that he had mentioned to Columbo. It was a puzzler. Somehow he had never quite believed Dr. Slone’s story. But he had no evidence to pursue a murder inquiry at the time. He hadn’t even had a motive to start with.

Now he had a perfect motive, but no witness. He thought back over the initial investigation. Slone’s story had checked out, apart from one thing that he had never understood. Why Slone went to a bar to watch the football that night. He’d watched the whole match, according to witnesses, He could easily have driven home between the time he left Drake’s house and the kick off. It just seemed odd.

Finishing his drink, Durk started up the stairs to bed. It had been a long day, he thought. Instantly falling into a deep sleep.

Suddenly, the sound of the phone woke him. Looking at the clock on the night stand, he saw that it was only 5:30. Picking up the phone rather grumpily, he barked into the receiver.

“Commander Durk.”

The voice on the other end of the phone sounded shaky and not a little scared.

“Sorry, to wake you, sir,” It was D.S. Morley, one of Durks subordinates.

“What do you want at this time in the morning, Morley?”

“They have found a body in Aldgate. From the clothes, they think it might be Julie Knight, the Australian girl we were looking for.”

“I’ll be right there.”

As he got ready to leave the house, he couldn’t help thinking that it was strange that a new development in the case would come up just after he had discussed it with Columbo.

Perhaps he’d have something interesting to tell the lieutenant when they met up the following day for a trip on the London Eye.

**

As he drove down the Commercial Road, Durk was greeted by a young uniformed officer. He showed his badge, and the young constable blearily jumped out of his skin as he stood to attention. He’s probably never seen a Commander before, Durk thought. He was guided into a car park next to the old London College of Furniture building. The College had long since been eaten up by London Guildhall University, although now it seemed to be braking away from the new Metropolitan University.

The car park was really just a muddy patch of undeveloped land. Durk guessed that once, the row of Georgian shops and flats had continued to this block. But it had been bombed out during the second World War. It was surprisingly common to find deserted bits of land like this in the centre of the city. After the war, no one could find out who owned the land, or if they could, the owner couldn’t afford to rebuild and didn’t want to sell. Usually, the car parks and such that sprung up on these sites were illegal.

Spotting Morley talking to a DC and a pathologist, Durk walked up to them.

“What do you have for me?” he asked.

“Female, mid-thirties, died of an overdose of something. Drug user, you can see the marks on the arm.” The pathologist, Steptoe, used his pen to raise her arm so that Durk could see the scarring.

“I would guess that she overdosed with her ‘friends’ and they brought her here, about a week ago.”

This puzzled Durk.

“She’s very well preserved?”

“It’s the clay in the soil, it acts almost like a preserving agent.”

“How come no one noticed her till now?”

“Well sir, there was a pit in the surface and an abandoned car was parked over it. Although some attempt had been made to cover her with earth,” Morley replied.

“Who’s car was it?”

“It had been stolen about a month ago,” Morley looked at his notes. “June the 24th. It was stolen from the hospital car park and dumped here.”

“Do we have the owner?”

“No sir, the car was owed by a Armud Basra, but he had died while undergoing treatment at the hospital. The car was reported missing, but nothing was done about it.”

Durk nodded.

“Okay Morley, you can go to the hospital tomorrow and find out everything you can about Mr Basra. I want to know when he checked in, when he died, and whom his doctors were. Steptoe, I want you to tell me exactly what she died of, and if possible, when she died.”

They both gave Durk a positive ‘Yes, sir,’ and went off on the business. Durk got back into his car and contemplated this new turn of events. He was convinced that it was a murder, and he had a fair idea of who the killer was. This time he wouldn’t let Slone slip through his fingers. But he would need to be clever.

He couldn’t reopen the Drake case, as that was closed. Maybe Columbo could help him get to the bottom of both cases.

**

It was a hot August day when Durk arrived at the London Eye. So hot that he had left his jacket in the office and was down to his shirtsleeves. At the base of the large Ferris wheel that had become one of the newest and tallest structures on the London skyline, he saw Columbo. The lieutenant was looking very agitated, and perhaps more than a little warm.

“Columbo!”

Durk called to him. The lieutenant looked round and gave him a Roman salute. As he got closer, Columbo looked up at the wheel.

“I didn’t think it would be so high.”

“It is the largest one in the world, you know.”

Columbo just nodded at this and shook his head.

“Is Mrs Columbo not with you today?” Durk inquired.

”No, no she had to go and do something more important.” Columbo ran his hand through his hair. “Last night, we were watching the TV, and you know she saw a piece about the pet centre in Harrods. So today, she’s taken Dog there to get a wash and stuff.”

Durk smiled to himself. They moved toward the queue to get into the bubble for the Eye.

“This thing is safe, isn’t it?”

Columbo had a slightly worried tone in his voice.

“Yes, quite safe. You needn’t worry. You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

“Well, yes, sir; a little. I mean, sometimes I’m okay. When there is something to distract me. But most of the time.”

“Well, I might have the perfect distraction for you.”

“Oh, really, what’s that?”

There has been a interesting development in that case I was telling you about the other day.”

Columbo realized that he had to get the ticket out of his pocket and started to go through all of the pockets of his raincoat, suit, and trousers. Durk calmly took the tickets from his pocket, and handed one to Columbo.

“Oh, yes, that’s right -- I got them sent to you at Scotland Yard to save risking them getting lost mid-Atlantic”

The girl in the booth took the tickets, checked them off on the computer, and said, “You’ll be in group C -- Just wait over there, by the sign.”

Durk and Columbo thanked her and moved to the sign to wait for the rest of their group.

“Are you not hot in that coat?”

“Oh, well, not really. I’m used to the heat -- it’s usually a lot hotter than this in L.A. I mean, I’m not that keen on it. Now, Mrs. Columbo, she can take the heat. But me, I prefer the shade. I guess that came from growing up in New York. Well, you know what it’s like there.”

Durk nodded. He had only spent a month on detachment with the NYPD, but had found the city to be very much like London when it came to the climate.

As they were talking, five other people joined their group, which made the maximum number of eight, and then a guide came to help them to embark.

**

Julian Childes walked up to Group Three, the second group that he would be taking on the Eye that day. He looked over the eight people who would be in the car. Mostly the normal-looking tourists with their cameras and “I love London” hats.

At a guess, there were a family of three from the U.S. and a slightly smarter-looking couple whom he could hear were speaking in French. A teenager wearing a German soccer shirt, and then two men who looked very out-of-place. One was quite tall and stood upright and properly. He was wearing a smart shirt and trousers, and had a small and very well kept mustachio. Something about the way he looked made Julian think that he might be a policeman.

With him was a shorter man, with a unruly mop of dark hair. He stood in a very slouched manner, and for some reason was wearing a very grubby raincoat. They looked a slightly odd couple. Julian guessed perhaps the taller man was actually a prison warder, and the shorter man in the raincoat was on a day release to rehabilitate him into society. Standing on his box next to the sign, Julian got into character and started his spell.

“Okay, Group Three. We are in the next but one capsule, so I have to go over the procedures with you. The wheel itself is the world’s tallest freestanding observation wheel. From you can see up to 25 miles in each direction with views over some of the world's most famous sights, including St Paul's, the Palace of Westminster, and Windsor Castle. The wheel itself is in constant motion, so the ride is smooth and uninterrupted.”

Moving the group to the dock, Julian continued.

“There will be plenty of time for you all to get on and off the wheel. You do not have to jump. Once we get inside, I will explain some of the other features of the wheel and point out interesting places that you will be able to see. Are there any questions?”

“Yessir, I have one.”

Julian looked to see that the man in the raincoat wanted to ask something. He had a deep gravelly voice and a very American accent.

“What happens if the whole thing breaks and we’re stuck at the top?”

“So far, that hasn’t happened. If the main motors were to stop, the backup could be used. Other than that, the fire brigade have equipment to get the wheel turning and get everybody out safely. We have a drill with them once every three months.”

“Oh, okay, thank you.”

Just then the capsule came up behind Julian and the doors opened.

“Okay, would everyone like to climb on board.”

**

Once they had got into the capsule, Durk and Columbo found themselves seated by one of the edges. Durk looked across at his friend, who was looking quite nervously out the window. Because of the speed of the wheel, which took a full hour to rotate, it took about ten minuets for them to feel as if they were off the ground.

“You know, this isn’t so bad,” Columbo commented after about five minutes. “Although I could do with a cigar. When ever I feel a bit nervous, I like to have a cigar. Helps relax me. But all the things that make me nervous are places where you can’t smoke. Like the plane on the way out here.”

Durk smiled to himself as Julian started his talk.

“Now, ladies and gentleman, if you look to my right.” He held out his right hand “You can see the new Greenwich housing development, which had been designed by the same architect who designed the London Eye. It is due for completion in 2005.”

As Julian went on with his spiel about the various sights visible at this height, Columbo turned to Durk.

“So you said you had some interesting developments in the case that you’re working on.”

Durk nodded. “Yes, we found the body of the Australian girl I was telling you about. She had all the signs of a drug overdose, and was dumped on waste ground.”

“But I get the impression that you don’t think it was a drug overdose that killed her.”

“Well, she did die of a overdose of morphine, there is no doubt about that. But my pathologist said that she showed none of the usual signs of being a long-term user. Apart from needle marks in her arms and thighs.”

“Track marks?” Columbo enquired.

“At first, that is what we thought, but she had spent time in a institution in New South Wales where she was regularly given a sedative, via a needle.”

Columbo clapped his hands together and shook his head.

“This sounds like a real tricky one -- you have to prove that it is actually a murder, then you have to try and find who did it.”

Durk nodded.

“That is half the problem. Right now, I’m looking for people who may have given her drugs. But I want to investigate the doctor she accused. Right now, I can’t get near him. And I have to move fast.”

“Oh why is that?”

Just then a gust of wind jolted the capsule, Columbo instinctively made a grab for something to hold on to. Finding the edge of the seat and Durk’s right leg.

“Sir, this thing isn’t going to fall, is it?” he called to Julian.

“No sir, it is quite normal to get a bit of buffering at this height. We are now at the two o’clock position, or from the south, the ten `o’clock position. If you look north, you can see Lords Cricket Ground, the home of cricket. And to the south, you can just make out The Oval, the largest cricket ground in England.”

Columbo resumed his normal sitting position, and turned to Durk.

“You were saying you had to move quickly?”

“Yes. At the end of the month, Mr Slone will be leaving to take up a three-year residency in the USA.” Taking his notebook from his shirt pocket, Durk read. “The New York Hospital of Queens.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do you know that hospital, Columbo?”

Columbo breaks into a big grin and claps his hands a couple of times.

“Do I know the Queens Hospital. I was born there, in that hospital.”

Durk smiled. “Really. Well he is to go there at the end of the month. I would like to eliminate all suspicion from him.”

Columbo nodded. “Do you want me to try and talk to this guy? He might give something away.”

“I can’t authorise anything. Officially he isn’t a suspect.”

Columbo nodded.

“Well, maybe I could unofficially talk to him. I mean, perhaps someone with a connection to the Queens Hospital wants to do some checks.”

Durk nodded.

Julian stood back up and made a wide gesture with both of his hands.

“Now, ladies and gentleman, we are at the very top of the London Eye. From here on this beautiful clear day, you can see for a distance of approximately 25 miles.”

Columbo looked out the window, then quickly turned his head back to the floor.

“That’s a long way down,” he commented.

**

Sitting in his large leather chair, Slone closed his eyes and using the remote control switched on the CD player. The sound of John Coltrane’s saxophone filled the air as Slone tried to shake off the fatigue from a long day in surgery.

Since getting the seat with the Royal College of Surgeons and becoming the Royal London Hospital’s chief Consultant in Liver Surgery, Slone hadn’t felt like he had a day to himself. Not that he was complaining: The money was good, and it had afforded him the opportunity to go to New York for a three-year residency.

Part of the reason he was so tired just now was that he was trying to finish the urgent case on his files and, at the same time, hand the remaining cases over to his replacement, Mr. Clark. Clark was from Glasgow Royal Infirmary. The top man in the field in Scotland. And was looking to spread his wings. Slone liked Clark, although the commuting that he had put in to Glasgow and back while getting ready to hand his surgery over was starting to get him down a bit.

That and the business with Julie Dark.

Slone didn’t like killing. After he was forced to kill his mentor, Drake, he had sworn to himself that he would never again take a life. Even when a terminal patient on his ward had asked him to leave her drugs in easy reach so that she could end her suffering. He hadn’t done it. Before that day in 1991, when he had killed Drake, Slone had been a mild supporter of the Double Effect approach to euthanasia. Now it left him cold. But Julie’s reappearance couldn’t have come at a worse time for him.

The negotiations with the Queens Hospital in New York were tricky. There was some difference in working practice, and he had to make sure that he was up to speed with how things were there. At the same time, they had run some very intrusive checks into his background. When he had laughed off the record of his being drunk one Christmas, the Hospital Director had looked at him with total contempt, although it seems that the actions of a 19-year-old student wouldn’t be a factor in his not getting the post.

The reappearance of Julie Dark, telling her little tale of woe, on the other hand could have seriously messed up his chances. He had tried to reason with her, offer her money to keep her mouth shut, but she wouldn’t take it. So, eventually, he had to silence her. It had been easier than the first time. Which bothered Slone.

He had noticed that she had track marks on her arms. He didn’t know weather this was from an addiction or tranquillizers that she had been given while serving her sentence. He suspected both. It had been easy to administer the lethal dose of morphine. She had died quite quickly.

Then it was just a case of getting rid of the body. One of his patients had died on the table, but his car had been left in the hospital car park. It had been easy for Slone to steal it, and no one would   suspect anything. Especially as five other cars in the car park had been broken into that night and one other taken by joyriders.

It was for that reason that Slone parked his own car in the commercial road. The car park wasn’t great. Really just a sand-covered scrap of earth where a row of shops had stood until one night in 1940, when the Luftwaffe had flattened them. Since then, strange legal problems meant it was deserted, and someone had set up a small car park there. But it was safer than the Hospital one, as during the day, till about seven in the evening, there was always someone there.

Slone had no trouble getting into the car park, as the only barrier that prevented people from getting in at night was a traffic cone. He had noticed a few days ago that there was a small ditch forming. A goods vehicle had been parked there when it had rained and the ground had started to subside. Slone dumped Julie’s body into the ditch and kicked some sand over her. Then he parked the car on top of her. Taking a rock from the ground, he smashed the windscreen of the car. He would have broken the rest o the windows if something hadn’t distracted him. A yell from the University building

“Oi!”

Slone at first froze, then hid himself from view.

“Oi!” came the shout again, this time there was a reply.

“What?”

A scruffy looking kid in the street, wearing dark glasses even though it was gone midnight and a black motorcycle jacket, was looking up at an attractive young woman with raven black hair and the most amazing almond eyes who was leaning out the window.

“Have you got the keys to the rooms?” She shouted.

“Yes.”

“I forgot mine. Can you wait for me?”

“Okay I’ll go to the entrance.”

With that, the kid walked off back to the Commercial road, and out of Slone’s view. But this had rattled Slone. He didn’t bother with the car any more. Just got out of the car park and started to walk. Not straight back to the hospital, but back along the back streets through the factories and back that way. As he got to one junction, the two students he had witnessed shouting at each other were messing about in the road. Slone guessed they had been drinking. They paid him no attention, which he took to be a good sign.

It had been almost a week before the police had found the body. Slone had started to ride his bike into work. On the pretence that in New York he would have to, as there wasn’t any parking. He hadn’t been back to the car park since. The police had found the car had belonged to one of his patients but that had been dealt with by his secretary, who had a call from a young Detective Sergeant. As far as Slone knew, that would be the end of that.

His only worry now was a meeting he had scheduled for this afternoon, with a man named Columbo. Something to do with the Queens Hospital supporters. Slone had thought that he was done with the checks and questions. But he guessed that the elected body of fundraisers wanted to check up that the money they raised for the hospital was going to pay for a good surgeon. Though why send someone all the way to London to talk to him, when he cold have answered all the questions on the phone? That was a puzzler.

But he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now he was going to get some lunch.

**

Returning from lunch, Slone was surprised to find someone sitting in his office. A scruffy looking man with unkempt hair, wearing a raincoat.

“Can I help you?” Slone enquired of the man.

“Yes sir. My name is Columbo. I’m here from the Beneficiaries Fund for the Queens Hospital.”

Slone nodded his head, took off his jacket and hung it on the hat stand before walking round the desk to sit.

As he sat, the man seemed to notice something.

“You wear a pocket watch, sir?”

Slone looked down slightly confused by the odd observation.

“Oh yes. It is easier to read than a wristwatch. Plus, sometimes, I have to use both hands and keep the time.”

“That looks like a very beautiful watch, antique.”

Slone took the watch out of the pocket of the waistcoat and opened the case to show Columbo.

“Well, will you look at the from the outside it looks old, but inside there it’s all digital”

Slone smiled as he put the watch back in his pocket.

“The case is indeed antique, I brought it without a movement in an auction. The digital part is a watch and a stopwatch. It has other features that are useful to me professionally.”

Columbo looked suitably impressed.

Slone leaned back in his chair and looked at the man. There was something about him that he couldn’t quite place. A certain air of observation. Slone reached over to the large box on his desk and took out a cigar. He knew that smoking wasn’t the best thing in the world. But like most of the medical profession he didn’t seem to bother about it. He offered the box to his guest, not expecting the man to take one, and was a little annoyed that he did.

“Can I smoke in here?” the man asked. “When I came in, there were all these signs, so I put mine out.”

Slone offered Columbo the cutter, but he waved it away.

“If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll save this one for later.”

He then produced a small half-smoked cigar from his pocket.

Slone looked at this with a cocked eye as he passed Columbo the lighter.

“Can I ask you something, though, sir?”

“Yes, of course”

“Where do you get your cigars from?”

Slone pondered the question.

“I think that they are from Virginia, although I am not sure where they are rolled. I just get the boxes sent to me.”

Columbo nodded. “Only I’m only here for a couple of weeks, and I was looking for somewhere to buy cigars. Of course my wife, well, she would be happier if I did run out all together. You know, she wanted me to get a pipe. But I said...”

“I hate to interrupt this, but I only have an hour till my afternoon clinic. Could we get to what you wanted to discuss?”

Columbo made a hand gesture of apology.

“I’m sorry, sir, I got a bit carried away.”

“That’s quite all right.”

Columbo fiddled about in his pocket for a moment and came out with a small folder with some papers in.

“It’s just to go over some small details.”

Slone nodded.

“About ten years ago, you were a suspect in a suspicious death. A Professor Drake. You had been drinking with him the night he died.”

Slone went cold, but he had his cover story. The hospital director hadn’t mentioned Drake. This was a bit of a shock.

“It was a terrible thing to happen. Drake was a diabetic, he had to take insulin. Unfortunately, that night, he took slightly too much and it caused a embolism in the heart.”

“But the police seemed to think you had something to do with it,” Columbo asked.

“Yes, they did. Perhaps, in a way, they were right. I do partly blame myself for Drake’s death. We were drinking and he was perhaps too drunk to see what he was doing with the insulin.”

Columbo nodded and made a gesture “So it was just an accident.”

“A tragic accident.”

Columbo made a note, then looked up at Slone.

“Did you benefit at all from Drakes death?” he asked.

“No, all of his money went to a charity -- he was a great man, a friend and a colleague. Are these questions relevant?”

Columbo held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Perhaps we could reschedule for later. I have to get ready for my rounds.”

Columbo got up and walked towards the door.

“I don’t think that I need to talk with you again, for now. Perhaps someone in New York will phone you.”

He left the office, then opened the door and walked back in.

“I’m sorry, could I use your ashtray?”

Slone pushed the ashtray towards him, and Columbo proceeded to put out the cigar he had been smoking.

“Were you smoking cigars that night with Mr. Drake, sir? A few whiskeys and a couple of cigars, a ball game on the TV?”

“No. We just had a few drinks. I left early as I wanted to watch a football match. Or as you would say, a soccer match. I went to a bar to watch the match.”

“I know what you mean, it’s much better to watch a game, er, match in a bar. Well, I’ll leave you to get on with things.”

He again left the room. Only to knock a moment later.

“I’m sorry, sir, Just one more thing?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a car, in the parking lot here?”

“What has that got to do with anything, Mr. Columbo?”

Columbo held up his hands.

“It’s just that I noticed the police were looking at cars here. On my way in. I thought you might want to check your parking.”

“I’ve started to ride in on bicycle. Good for the heart.”

With a wave, Columbo finally left.

**

At the door to the hospital, Durk waited for his friend to emerge. His team were busy checking the cars in the car park, hoping to find something to tie one of them in with the car park down the road.

Columbo came out of the door. Looking puzzled.

“How did it go, Columbo?” Durk enquired.

“It was interesting, I see what you mean about him. But you won’t find his car here. I asked him. Said he was biking in.”

Durk nodded his head.

“Did you ask him about Drake?”

“Yes, that I did. He gave me a very convincing reply about that night.”

“So you don’t think that he had anything to do with Drake’s death.”

Columbo shook his head.

“No, it was like playing poker with my wife’s brother. That guy, he’s the worst bluffer ever. Spends hours in the bathroom perfecting his look in front of the mirror. But you can tell when he’s bluffing. It’s nothing obvious, nothing you can fix in front of the mirror, but you can tell.”

Durk looked puzzled.

“And you think that Slone was bluffing?”

“That story he had about that night ten years ago. Man, I can’t remember with that detail what I was doing June 1990. Probably the Barsini case. But Slone, oh, he had it all worked out. He’d rehearsed it.”

Durk nodded. He usually trusted his instincts, but in this case, Slone had a very good alibi and no real evidence against him. It was reassuring that Columbo had come to the same conclusions about Slone as he had.

**

The man from New York, Columbo, had rattled Slone. There was something about him that he didn’t like. He couldn’t put his finger on it. But it was the questions that he had asked.

He had ‘way too much information about that night. It reminded him of that policeman whom he had spoken to at the time. Detective Chief Superintendent Dick or something or other. Pulling on a white coat over his suit, Slone prepared for his round of the liver ward. He liked to keep in touch with the patient. Some people, once they made consultant, left the ward duties to the others.

Walking down the corridor, Slone noticed something out of the window that shouldn’t have been there. A blue light.Columbo was right. He thought. The police must be here.  He looked out from the window and saw a van and a couple of cars. Then he noticed Columbo in his raincoat talking to another man. This man was taller and even from the back familiar to Slone. But he couldn’t place him.

After a few moments, Columbo made a large gesture with his hands. Slone had noticed that he seemed to communicate half by gesture as well as by verbalisation. Neither of them seemed to spend too much time getting to the point. This hand gesture seemed to communicate that didn’t know something. But it forced the other man to get out of the way.

He turned to the window slightly, and Slone could see who it was. The policeman who had interviewed him ten years ago. Durk. That had been his name. He seemed to know Columbo well. They eventually got into the same Rover and speed off.

Slone thought about this. He didn’t like it. Was Columbo actually some ruse on the part of Scotland Yard to get to the bottom of the Drake case? He had always suspected that Durk had suspicions about him. But no evidence, and therefore no case.

But he had been careful when talking to Columbo. Careful enough. He knew his story well enough to be confident that he could fool a Scotland Yard detective, and Columbo was probably a civilian worker that they got to play a ruse to see if they could squeeze a confession out of him.

It wouldn’t work. And in three weeks, Slone would be in New York. Which should mean that Scotland Yard wouldn’t be able to peruse him on the grounds of speculation.

Slone headed off on his round and tried to put the strange man from America and Detective Chief Superintendent Durk from his mind.

**

Eventually, after a long round, Slone felt the need to go for a walk. Just down the road from the Hospital was a small park. Not very big. It was where a church had stood before the war, and after the bombing, it had been left as parkland.

It was nice to get out of the hospital for an hour or so before going back to wade into the paperwork that the day had thrown up. Slone doubted that he would get home before 10 p.m. The last month or so, he felt like his hours were back to what they were when he was a houseman.

But with the move to New York coming up, he had to get everything in order here. It was worth the extra hours. Settling in a seat, Slone opened his copy of The Lancet, and was just about to start reading when he heard a familiar voice shouting.

“Sir; oh, sir?”

Looking up Slone saw that it was Columbo. Still dressed in his raincoat, and with what appeared to be a rather tired basset hound. As Columbo walked toward Slone, waving, the dog sat down on the grass, refusing to move. Columbo walked over to the hound and tried to get it to walk by offering it a doggie treat from the pocket of his coat. This not working, Columbo gave up and bent down to pick the beast up.

This the dog didn’t seem to like much. It struggled, and started to walk toward Slone with Columbo in tow.

Smiling to himself, Slone wondered as to whom was in charge in that relationship.

“Wow, this is a nice little park. I thought I would get air, and walk the dog.” Columbo said.

“Yes, I noticed your hound. What is his name?”

“Oh he doesn’t have a name. I mean we’ve tried a few but he just doesn’t like them. I wanted to call him Beethoven, but, well, he didn’t seem to like that.”

Slone smiled. “Perhaps he didn’t like the pun with that name”

Columbo looked confused by this.

“Pun? No, I didn’t see there being a pun there.”

“Well what with Ludwig Von being deaf, and your friend here’s impressive set of ears?”

Columbo clapped his hands together and smiled.

“You know, I never thought of that. My wife, you know, she wanted to call him Lennon, because she thought the ears made him look a bit like that guy from the Beatles. But he didn’t like that one either. Well, in the end, we’ve just given up and we call him Dog.”

Slone smiled -- somehow the simple statement of what he was suited the animal. It seemed in keeping with the way his owner presented himself to the world.

“Did you want to talk to me about anything in particular, Columbo?”

“No, no -- I just happened to be here with the dog and, well, I saw you there. I thought that I should come over and say hello.”

Just then the sound of a loudspeaker cracked on, and the call to prayer started to ring out.

“What’s that?” Columbo enquired.

“It’s the call to prayer from the Mosque down the road. They have five a day. Apparently, the students from the University building in the Commercial Road use the lunchtime one to know when to head back from here to get to afternoon lectures”

Columbo nodded his head.

“But, now, as I was saying, I didn’t come out here looking for you. I just thought I would say howdy. But there is one thing. Earlier on, you said you’ve started biking to work. Does that mean you used to drive?”

“Columbo, you are starting to sound like a policeman.”

Columbo looked at the ground and waved his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Well, you have got me there, I am a cop. I’m a lieutenant with the LAPD. I just happen to be over here on holiday.”

“So you don’t have any connection with the Queens Hospital?”

“Oh, yes sir, I have a lifelong connection with the Queens hospital. I was just taking time out of my holiday to do some work for the fundraising committee.”

Slone nodded his head.

“So you are a representative of the committee, then.”

“My wife, you know, she does a lot more fundraising work than I do. But I like to do my bit. Can I just ask, how did you first become involved with the Queens?”

Slone was caught off guard by this. He had been just about to ask Columbo of his connection with Durk.

“Well, lieutenant, it was about ten years ago, one of the research people there was trying out some new surgical gloves, and I volunteered a trial of them here. They were invisible, so they offered the same protection as normal gloves but patients were reassured that they were getting contact. They didn’t last long, though.”

Columbo nodded. “And after that, you kept in touch with them there?”

“I went to a few seminars and got to know Dr. Mendez, the head of the liver department there. When he decided to go to Mexico, he recommended me.”

“Oh, well, I see.”

Columbo was about to say more, but was interrupted by Dog, who upon spying a squirrel barked loudly.

“Well sir I’ve taken up enough of your time. I think I’ll have to get back to the hotel. My wife she wants me to go shopping this afternoon,” Columbo explained.

“Harrods?” Slone enquired.

“No, no -- she went there the other day. She has it all planned out, though. We’re going to do the whole of Oxford Street, ending up in a place called Selfridge’s. Apparently, she thinks she might be able to get me a new coat. I mean, I told her I don’t need one, but I guess it can’t hurt to look.”

Slone smiled. “Well, Columbo, be sure to visit the Cigar Department on the ground floor of Selfridges. I’m sure that you will find something there.”

Columbo clapped his hands together.

“Thank you, sir, I shall.” Another clap of the hands ending in a wave. “I should be going.”

After a couple of tugs on the lead, Dog followed Columbo, and they walked together to the exit. Slone picked up his magazine and tried again to read the article, only to be interrupted.

“Sir; oh, sir.”

Columbo was calling to him.

“Yes, Columbo?”

“Do you know where I might get a cab?”

Slone looked up to see Columbo was near the wall of the park just opposite the mission. As he was about to tell him to go to the hospital and use the pay phone to call a taxi, one pulled up behind him to drop someone off.

“Columbo, one just pulled up behind you.”

Columbo turned around and saw the black vehicle.

“This black car?” he called back.

“Yes”

“Thank you very much!”

And with that, Columbo and Dog hurried to the exit and down the road waving at the taxi. Fortunately for him, the previous occupant of the cab was an elderly lady who was taking a bit of time departing the taxi. Columbo had plenty of time to get himself and his hound into the cab, which sped off.

**

“Where to, Guv’nor?” Andy Willis asked his latest customer, a scraggily-dressed American with a dog.

“Well, do you know Baker Street?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Right. I need to go to 108 Baker Street.”

Willis turned right off Whitechapel High Street and back into the Commercial Road via Chapel Lane. The police were directing the traffic, and he had to stop while a van backed out of the small car park at the end there.

“Sorry about this -- apparently there was a murder here the other night. Not uncommon round here though, mate. `Undred years ago, Jack the Ripper sliced up one of his victims just over there”

Columbo seemed to ponder this. “Jack the Ripper. They never got him yet, did they?”

Willis laughed. “Nah. I mean, I had this lady writer in the back of here `bout a year ago. Patricia Cornwell. I’d never heard of her, but I got a right rollicking off the missus when I got home, cause I never got her a autograph. Anyway, this lady, she thinks some artist was the Ripper. Me, though, I’m pretty sure it was Albert Victor.”

“Albert Victor?” Columbo asked.

“Yeah, ‘e was the Duke of Clarence, and old Queen Vic’s grandson. Nasty bit of work, by all accounts. They sent him off in the Navy to get rid of him. That’s when old Jack stopped his killing.”

Just then, the police car moved out of the road and the taxi could continue through.

“108 Baker Street, that’s the Sherlock Holmes Hotel.”

“Yes, that’s right”

Willis nodded his head

“Now, old Sherlock. `e could have got the Ripper, had he been real, that is.”

Columbo nodded his head. “Well, you know Arthur Conan Doyle, I think he had the best theory about The Ripper!”

“Oh, what was that?”

“Well, he said that perhaps there were a couple of murders done by the one guy. The others were just the guy’s getting rid of ladies of the night after having read the newspaper reports of the Ripper murders. These days, the people who look into it say only five of the original 17 murders they blame on the Ripper are genuine Ripper murders.”

The taxi pulled past Tower Bridge and onto the main road.

“You over ‘ere investigating the Ripper?”

“Me, no, I’m on holiday. My wife would raise hell if I were to start doing any work.”

“What line of work are you in, then, guv? Journalist?”

Columbo laughed. “No I’m a cop. Or as you guys would say, a bobby.”

“No, you’re pulling my leg, ain’t ya? You’re not a policeman.”

Columbo started to fiddle in his pockets for his ID, Dog noticed this and thought he was looking for a doggie treat, which made him perk up a little. Columbo located his badge and leaned forward so he could show it to Willis.

Willis turned around slightly to see the ID. It looked just like the American police IDs he had seen on the telly hundreds of times, although it also had a laminated photo card. Lieutenant Columbo, it read. Los Angeles Police.

“Okay, mate; I believe you -- you’re a copper. So what are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

Before Columbo could answer, Dog worked out that he wasn’t about to get a doggie treat and decided to show his displeasure about this fact by barking quite loudly.

“Oh, what’s up with you?” Columbo asked him. “You want a treat, don’t you. Yes, you do.” Columbo reached into his pocket and produced a bag of small doggie treats and fed a couple to Dog, who upon having gotten his treat was happy enough to lay back down on the floor of the Taxi.

“Sorry about that. You know I try and get him to be like a guard dog, you know. But the only time he’ll ever bark is when he wants some treats.”

“I know what you mean, guv. I got a couple of Staffs myself.”

Columbo thought about this before asking.

“Staffs, is that a breed of dog?”

Willis laughed, and reached into the central column on the taxi to produce a picture of his dogs to show Columbo. The lieutenant took the picture and looked at the two white dogs with muscular shoulders and tight clean lips.

“Well, you know, they look like they should be good guard dogs.”

“Year you’d think that wouldn’t you. But they’re big softies, really. The one on the left, that’s Barda he’s won awards. The other one’s Junior. Well, we’re taking him to his first show soon.”

Columbo handed the picture back to Willis

“You know, this old boy here, he won an award, at the Basset Picnic.”

Willis looked impressed.

“Best in show?”

“Oh, no -- nothing like that. We just got an award because he was from the pound. But I tell, you if they gave awards for love, then he would win it hands down.”

“I don’t know, mate, I think my two would give you stiff competition.”

Columbo smiled and looked out of the window. They were just pulling into Baker Street and up to the hotel.

“Here we are, mate.” Willis said as they stopped.

Columbo looked at the meter. “How much is it?”

“Fourteen quid.”

Columbo looked a bit confused, but then thought about it

“Quid, that’s like a pound right?”

“Yes, mate”

Columbo got some cash from his pocket -- a £20 note -- and handed it to Willis, who reached into his money pouch to get the change.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Columbo told him as he started to try to get Dog to leave the car.

“Okay; cheers, mate,” Willis said.

Dog finally decided to exit the taxi, and Columbo wished Willis well with his next dog show. The taxi sped off.

Columbo walked across the road and into the hotel.

“Now, you be good today. I know you don’t like shopping, either -- that’s why I took you to the park. But I have to go. So don’t you make a fuss, okay?”

Columbo waved at the receptionist and started to walk up the stairs.

**

Durk met Columbo outside Slone Squire Tube station. The Lieutenant was enjoying a cigar as he watched the crowds of people go past. Looking up, Columbo gave Durk a big wave.

“They sure done some work on this place since I was last here,” Columbo said, nodding toward the Royal Court Theatre.

“Yes,” Durk replied. “They were refurbishing it for about five years. It reopened last year, just in time for the Millennium.”

As they started to walk across to the theatre, Durk looked around.

“Mrs Columbo not with us, then?”

“No she was out shopping all day. Well, she felt a bit tired, so she’s going to have a early night. I think it’s the jet lag catching up with her. Me, you know, it didn’t effect me at all. I think after all these years of odd hours, I’m immune to it.”

Durk smiled; he knew exactly what Columbo meant. In 35 years on the force, he couldn’t remember more than a handful of uninterrupted nights’ sleep.

As they arrived at the large glass doors to the Theatre, Columbo took a look up and gave a impressed whistling sound. “They really did make this place look good.”

After putting out his cigar, they entered and turned right into the Royal Court Bar and Food area. Walking into the bar, they saw the walls were dominated by large windows at one end and posters of various triumphs of the theatre’s history, plus a few film posters, as well. Nestled between an original bill for the 1956 production of John Osbourne’s Look Back in Anger and the original bill for the 1996 debut of Sarah Kane’s Blasted was a frame with had a bill advertising Sir Roger Haversham’s 1972 production of “The Scot’s play.” As well as the bill, there also were some press clippings of the murder that had overshadowed the production.

“Well, will you look at that,” Columbo exclaimed, squinting at the picture.

“There we are ‘way back then”

Durk walked up to the picture and looked at the clipping. It was a grainy picture of the outside of the theatre as it was then. Showing the bills and Marquee for the play, and in the doorway standing talking, he could just make out himself and Columbo. Columbo had his arms raised in a gesture while Durk was standing as he normally did. If you looked even harder you could almost make out the shape of other people behind Durk. He couldn’t tell who it was -- just the impression of a crowd.

“This must have been taken just after we left them laying in state,” Durk surmised.

Columbo smiled. Durk couldn’t help having a smile to himself. Over the years, he had aged more than a little. As had Columbo. But really, the lieutenant looked just the same, even down to the raincoat.

They found a seat by a movie poster advertising a German film. Wings of Desire.

“Was this all here when we were last here?”

Columbo asked.

“No, I don’t think so. It’s difficult to know, really -- they did so much work here.”

The waitress come up and handed them some menus. Columbo thanked her; Durk just smiled.

As he looked at the menu, Durk couldn’t see much to take his fancy. Mostly more modern type of things -- fajitas and such. Not his type of thing at all. He looked over at Columbo, who was fiddling with the pockets of his coat, which was now hung on the back of his chair. Eventually, he removed a pair of reading glasses. Something struck Durk as being odd about these, but at first, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Then it struck him.

“I say, Columbo if you don’t mind me asking. But those glasses?”

Columbo looked at him. “Yes, I’ve had them awhile now. I just need them for reading and such like.”

Durk nodded. “Yes, but they have two lenses, and you only have the one.”

Columbo clapped his hands, interrupting the commander.

“Oh these aren’t proper glasses. Nooo, I brought them at the drugstore.”

“Oh, I see,” Durk smiled.

“You know, Columbo, a colleague of mine has a chap in Covent garden who makes monocles.”

Columbo laughed, as did Durk. Neither of them could see the lieutenant wearing a monocle.

“Well, I think I’ll just stick with these. I tend to break them every once in a while, so nothing fancy. I break these too much --, I get a new pair for $5 at Walgreen”

Durk nodded his head and got back to the menú .

“What are you going to have?” he asked Columbo.

Columbo took a look at the menú and quiet quickly decided. “Well, I’ll just have the chili.”

Durk looked and saw that they did indeed have chili. He thought that he might as well have that, as well. Turning to the back page, he realised that the best thing to go with it would be a glass of beer.

He put the menú down and looked around to see if he could catch the eye of the waitress. She was standing at a till not too far away, and as soon as he looked up, she came over.

“Can I take your order, gentlemen?” she asked in what sounded to Durk like an American accent.

“Yes” Durk replied.

“We’ll have two orders of the Chili, and two pints of…” He looked across at Columbo. “Hoegaarden all right with you?”

Columbo made a hand gesture to signal that he would be okay with Durk’s choice of beer.

“And two pints of Hoegaarden.”

The waitress wrote it down and filled in some other bits of her pad before reading the order back. When she was done, Columbo put his hand up.

“Excuse me miss, could we have some crackers with the chili?”

The waitress smiled. “Well, you know, I’ve looked all over. But you just can’t find the right sort of crackers over here. But what I’ll do for y`all is the best I can. Popadoms.”

Columbo smiled at the waitress.

“Oh, well, that’ll be fine”

With that, she smiled, made another note on the pad and walked to the kitchen.

Durk watched as Columbo took off his glasses and put them back in the pocket of the coat.

“So you agree with my theory about Slone then?” he asked.

Columbo nodded.

“Oh, yes, I think you’re right. He killed Drake, there’s no doubt about it. I’m guessing he mocked it up to look like an accident.”

Durk nodded.

“I just can’t prove it conclusively.”

Columbo nodded.

Just then, the waitress returned with the two glasses of Hoegaarden. As she placed the large hexagonal glass on the table in front of Columbo, the lieutenant looked slightly confused.

“Your food should be along soon,” she said with a smile.

Durk smiled as he realised Columbo didn’t know what to expect from the Belgium beer which they had both ordered. The traditional glass with which it is served is a handful to start with, and perhaps a slice of lemon in beer isn’t something that happens everyday in LA.

“Is this beer always served like this?” Columbo asked as he picked up the glass.

“Yes old chap, it’s a Belgium beer. Not a true trappist mind, but it is very refreshing all the same.”

Columbo gingerly took a sip of his beer, followed quickly by a more confident mouthful.

“That’s a very nice beer. Refreshing. I’ll have to see if I can’t get me some of this to take back home with me.”

Durk smiled. “I’ll get you a few bottles myself.”

Columbo put the glass down and looked back up at Durk. “So what is the view of the Dark case at Scotland Yard?”

“Well, we have hit a bit of a brick wall there. I’ve got the case, but the forensics are inconclusive. I’m investigating it as a murder.”

“Do you think that you can tie it in with the Drake case?”

Durk shrugged his shoulders. “I think I can. I think that were I to get Slone for the Dark murder, he would confess to the Drake case.”

Durk took a sip of his own beer before continuing. “It is just a case of proving the link between them and giving him the means and opportunity.”

Columbo rubbed his hands together. “But what about immigration, have they said anything now that he is under suspicion?”

Durk nodded. “I have been talking with Grosvenor Square: They want to supply a liaison officer. But they don’t have anyone who is experienced in the country.”

Columbo put his hand on his forehead and rubbed it. Before looking up and clapping his hands together.

“Yes they do, William. Me.”

“You.”

“Why not me? I’m in the country, I have experence of homicide, and I’ve worked with Scotland Yard before.”

Durk thought this over. It would be good to have a man like Columbo on the case officially, but at the same time, could he eat into his friend’s holiday like that? It would be asking a lot.

“Do you think they would let you?” Durk asked.

“If you request me and I tell them I want to take the case, I’m sure they will. I’ll go down to Grosvenor Square tomorrow morning.”

With that, he smacked his forehead with his hand as if he had forgotten something.

“Well, actually, make that tomorrow evening. I promised Mrs. Columbo I’d take her to the Wax Museum tomorrow morning.”

Durk smiled. “If you are sure that working on this case won’t eat into your holiday too much…”

Columbo shook his head. “You know, Mrs. Columbo, she can do the whole holiday thing. Me, I get bored quickly. For me, working with Scotland Yard again and investigating a case here, that will be holiday enough for me.”

Durk smiled: He knew exactly what Columbo meant. He wasn’t really a holiday person, either.

Just then, the waitress returned with there two bowls of chili and a plate of Popadoms. Columbo thanked her and started to break up one of the Poperdoms into the chili. Durk just ate his with the fork that was provided, only to find that the chili was a little bit hot for his liking. He took a swig of beer and noticed that Columbo was already halfway through his chili.

“This is the best chili I’ve had for a while,” the lieutenant said. Durk wasn’t sure about that, but he would try and eat it all the same.

**

Joe Damitries had just come back from lunch. Putting his hat on, he was about to reassume the security post in the lobby, when there were a terrible pandemonium. Barking and shouting.

Running from the office into the lobby, he saw the ambassador’s wife ,  Mrs Farish, in a heated exchange with a scruffy-looking man in a raincoat. Fred, the ambassador’s pet basset, was barking, as was another basset. As he walked closer, he could hear what the man in the raincoat was saying.

“I’m sorry, ma’am he’s not usually this excitable. Maybe if you go that way...”

Joe walked up behind the man in the raincoat and addressed Mrs. Farish.

“What seems to be the problem, ma’am?”

“Oh it’s nothing. Just a bit of high spirits. We’ve managed to get our leads caught up.”

At that point, the man in the raincoat managed to untangle his lead.

“That did it.”

The two bassets regarded each other quietly before both decided to lay on the floor.

“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am” he said.

“That is quite okay; these things happen,” Mrs Farish replied.

“I’m, ah, Lieutenant Columbo,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his raincoat and producing an LAPD badge.

Columbo, Joe thought to himself -- Now, that names rings a bell. Suddenly, he remembered where he had heard it, back when he had been with the LAPD himself.

“We worked together on the Nelson Hayward protection, sir.”

Mrs. Farish looked at Joe. “Oh, you know each other.”

“Well, not really,” he replied “I was just a officer then. Lieutenant Columbo, he’s famous. Solves the crimes others can’t solve.”

“Oh I wouldn’t go that far, Demetrius,” Columbo said while trying to hide the fact that he was reading his name from his ID tag.

“I just do my job, best I can.”

“Well what brings you and your lovely pet, I didn’t catch his name, to London?” Mrs. Farish asked.

“Oh, he doesn’t really have a name. We just call him Dog. He seems to like that. But, well, I was over here on holiday.”

“Well, London is a nice place to visit, and I am glad to see that you are taking advantage of the PETS Scheme”

“Oh, yes, ma’am, absolutely, you know my wife she doesn’t like to go away and leave this old fella behind. I mean, her sister, well she looks after him well, but he misses us and everything. So it’s great that we can bring him with us.”

MrsFarish smiled. “What brings you to the embassy, though?”

“Oh. Well, I have a meeting with the ambassador in about five minutes. Just a small matter.”

“Oh well, you had better be going -- my husband doesn’t like tardiness”

Columbo put his hand to his head and snapped his fingers. “You must be Mrs. Farish, then. Well, it’s been nice meeting you.”

With that, Columbo started to walk off, as did Mrs. Farish, only Dog decided to try and follow Fred out of the door. Eventually, he gave up and trotted behind Columbo up the stairs.

Joe sat behind his desk and thought about the last couple of minutes. Lieutenant Columbo in London. Who’d have thought it.

**

Arriving at the top of the stairs, Columbo walked into the outer office of the ambassador’s office. The secretary regarded him with a look of contempt until he introduced himself.

“Oh, the ambassador will see you now, Lieutenant.”

“Do you mind if my dog stays out here? He won’t be any trouble.”

Before the secretary had any chance to protest, Columbo lifted up the leg of one of the chairs and slipped the loop of the lead around the leg. The dog seemed very disnterested and just lay down and seemed to go instantly to sleep.

The secretary just shrugged her shoulders and buzzed Columbo through.

**

The office of the ambassador was a traditional, high, wood paneled room. The large desk was framed by two flags -- a British Union flag and the Stars and Stripes.

The ambassador beckoned Columbo to sit down. Looking at his notes to see who he was. “You have requested to liaise with Scotland Yard investigating Mr. John Slone?”

“Yes, sir; that’s right. I think it would be in the public interest.”

The ambassador nodded. “Immigration matters are a little out of your remit, Columbo.”

“Well, sir, yes, that is true. But in a Homicide investigation, we need to work fast: The murder happened on Thursday, and it is Monday now. By the time you get someone in from the states and they are briefed and everything, it will be almost a week.”

The ambassador nodded, and picked up a pen from an ornate desk ornament in the shape of an eagle.

“Commander Durk has already discussed the case with you?”

“Oh, gee, the commander and I, we go back along way. We swap ideas about cases all the time. Sometimes it’s good to get a completely fresh perspective on things.”

“Well, Durk seems to hold you in high regard, as well. I’ll approve this, but I want you to have someone from the embassy staff with you.”

As the ambassador signed the paper, Columbo clapped his hands together. Taking his copy of the form, he shook the ambassador’s hand and moved to leave the room. He had just set foot out side when he turned around.

“Mr. Ambassador, could you assign Officer Demetrius from your security staff to work with me?”

“Why Demetrius?”

“Oh, well, way back he was with the LAPD, he worked with me on a case. He knows my habits.”

“Very well, I shall have him report to you at Scotland Yard.”

Columbo waved as he left the room again. Before once more returning.

“That is a mighty fine hound you and your wife have.”

For a moment this statement caught the ambassador off guard, before he realised that Colombo must have run into his wife as she took their basset hound Fred out for a walk in the park. “Yes he is. Do you have a dog?”

“Yes, sir, I have a basset as well. My dog and yours’, we managed to get their leads all caught up. They were just saying hello. But I better not take up any of your time.”

And with that, Columbo left the ambassador’s office, shutting the door behind him. In the outer office, the secretary was looking rather worriedly at Dog, who had just fallen asleep and hardly seemed to be moving or breathing.

As soon as Columbo re-entered the room, he stood up in a lethargic way. After retrieving the end of the lead from under the leg of the chair, the pair of them walked off.

“Thank you very much for keeping an eye on him.”

The lieutenant said as he left the room.

I guess it is true what they say about people ending up looking like their dogs, the secretary thought to her self.

**

Slone was in a good mood: He had just finished the last surgery he would have to do before the move to New York. He felt happy, as it had been a complete success -- the patient could look forward to a complete recovery, and he had felt in complete control of the technique.

On getting back to the office, he thought a small celebration would be in order. The copy of Music Now Ensemble 1969’s Silver Pyramid, which he had finally got from an online source. He could play that at full volume and lose himself while listening to the improvisations of people like Sonic Arts Union, AMM, and eEven Parker. Playing live in 1969. A good cigar and some nice jazz. That is the way to properly celebrate.

Opening the door to his office, his head filled with thoughts of jazz, and improvisation. Musing that he would be able to go to all the great shows at the Knitting Factory in New York that until now he could only read about. Thoughts of how he might even dust off his horn and try to sit in on some sessions. Slone was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted him when he entered his office. Lieutenant Columbo and Chief Superintendent Durk.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” Slone asked, trying not to let his voice betray the annoyance of having his mood broken by the policemen.

Durk reached into the breast pocket of his coat and removed a small wallet. He opened it to show Slone. Inside, there was a silver badge, two crossed swords and a garland.  Next to that, a photo ID card marked Scotland Yard.

“Commander Durk, Scotland Yard,” Durk said by way of an introduction. Slone realised that since their last meeting, Durk had got a promotion.

“Lieutenant Columbo, you already know.” Durk continued. Colombo gave an exaggerated salute in Slone’s general direction. “The lieutenant is now working as a liaison with Scotland Yard, on dispatch from Grosvenor Square.”

This threw Slone, as he didn’t quite understand what that meant. Before he had a chance to ask Durk, carried on.

“We need to ask you some questions about the death of a Julie Dark. On the night of Thursday the 24th.”

With that, Slone calmly walked around to the other side of his desk and sat in his chair. There was something out of place -- one of his photos had been moved. A signed photo of Slone standing with Miles Davis. The photo was taken in `76, the year before Slone went to start his degree, at the Jazz festival in Marseille. The following year, he had managed to get a couple of minutes with his idol to talk about music, and he had signed the photo for him. It upset Slone to think that Columbo and Durk had been looking at it and prodding it about.

Looking across the desk, he couldn’t find anything else out of place. All of his files and papers were locked in the drawer, just as he had left it. They would have had to have a Search Warrant to check his files, as most of them contained sensitive patient information.

Looking up, he asked, “What would you like to ask me about?”

Durk sat down in the spare chair opposite the desk. Columbo already had been sitting.

“Where were you between 10 p.m. and 1 a.m. the night of the 24th , leading into the morning of the 25th of June?”

Slone thought about this. That would pretty much cover the time he had taken with Julie. This time, his alibi wasn’t quite as water tight as the last one.

“I was walking through central London,” he replied.

Durk and Columbo exchanged glances.

“At that time of night?” the American interjected “You were walking through the centre of town? Why?”

Slone smiled.

“Lieutenant, I didn’t catch your first name?”

“Oh, Lieutenant will do.”

“Okay then, Lieutenant. You haven’t spent much time here after midnight, have you? The city, it doesn’t shut down. I had been to Ronnie Scots Jazz Club. I’d had a couple of drinks, I didn’t take the car for that reason, and I walked from the club to the embankment, generally in the direction of my home until there was a taxi.”

Columbo produced a flip-top notebook from his pocket.

“So you say you were at this club. Who was playing?”

“It was the Paul Rifkin Quartet, there from your neck of the woods, I believe, Lieutenant.”

Columbo clapped his hands together. “That could be; the name rings a bell,” he replied.

“So after you had listened to the performance, you left, at what time would that have been?” Durk asked.

“I’m not too sure,” Then, after a moment, he thought. “I might have a receipt for the taxi, as I hadn’t any cash and had to pay with my card.”

Durk and Columbo exchanged glances. “Would you happen to know where you might lay your hands on this?” Durk asked.

Slone thought about it. “I would guess that it is in the pile of receipts and stuff on my bookshelf. I’ll have a look tonight when I get home.”

Durk nodded. “I’ll send a sergeant ‘round to collect it this evening. If you think that you will be in.”

Slone shook his head. “I won’t be in again till late tonight. It is free improv night at the Spitz in the old market down the road. You won’t prize me out of there till three, at the earliest.”

“Well, that’s okay,” Columbo said, interrupting Durk. “I’ll drop in tomorrow here and pick it up. Plus anything else that might explain your whereabouts. I have some business in the neighbourhood.”

Slone fought back the urge to shoot a look at Columbo. He didn’t know why the lieutenant would want to come back. Did he suspect something? Still, he could take the receipt from the taxi. Usually, those were thrown away, but this time, Slone thought that perhaps he had better keep this one. He had thrown away the tube ticket from Tottenham Court Road to Liverpool Street and back again. That was the ticket that proved he had left Ronnie Scots by the performers entrance, got to the hospital to meet with Julie Dark, and then managed to get back with out ever being noticed. It was useful to have friends on the security of a place. He just hoped that Durk and Columbo didn’t ask too many questions about him.

“Well, I think we have taken up enough of your time for now, Mr Slone,” Durk said. “If it is okay with you, Columbo can come around tomorrow and pick up that receipt and run through any other questions that we might have.”

Slone stood up to usher the men out of the office. “Yes, that will be fine, although you do realise that I have a busy day tomorrow.”

Columbo put his hand up. “Oh, that’s okay sir. I don’t think we’ll have to bother you too much more.”

And with that, the two policemen were out of the office.

Slone was about to sit back down at his desk when he realised something was wrong. Columbo had left his notebook on the desk. He picked it up and looked at it. It was open on the last page that Columbo had been writing on.

Instead of notes about what they had been saying, there was a drawing. An abstract sketch of what looked like Miles Davis playing his horn. Slone was just about to go out of the office and try to catch up with Columbo and Durk to return the notebook when there was a knock at the door. It was the lieutenant.

“Did I leave something?”

“Yes, you did.” Slone handed Columbo the notebook.

“Thank you very much. I wouldn’t want to lose this.”

Columbo turned to leave. But before he actually departed the room, he turned back to Slone. “Just one more thing?” he asked.

“When you left the club, why didn’t you wait outside for a cab? I mean, in L.A., if you leave a club, there are usually hundreds of them all jostling to get people.”

Slone smiled. “Well, yes, there were a lot of cabs there. But they were mini cabs, unlicensed and not very safe. Plus it was a nice night. I thought that I could walk along the river and get some fresh air. I know that I would eventually be able to get a black cab”

Columbo nodded. “Well that makes sense, plus you know it’s a good thing for us that you did.”

“Oh, how so?” Slone asked.

“Well, you know I wouldn’t have thought that you would have been able to get a receipt from an unlicensed cab, now, would you?”

Slone shook his head. “I guess not; I guess not.”

With that, Columbo raised his hand in a salute and finally departed.

Slone slumped in his chair -- this made him a bit unhappy. He didn’t like that Durk and now Columbo were taking an interest in him. He had hoped that the extent of his being questioned about Julie Darks death would have been the Detective Sergeant who had phoned on Monday the day they had found the body.

In his head, he went over the alibi again. It wasn’t perfect, but at the same time he was sure that they couldn’t prove anything. He was, as far as they knew, in Ronnie Scoots till midnight, and then he walked down to the embankment and took a taxi home. He had the receipt for the taxi; he made a note in his diary that he must give the receipt to Columbo when he called tomorrow.

Then he finally got to put on some music, although his mood wasn’t quite so jubilant. Instead of the improvisational piece, he went for an old favourite. Miles Davis “A Kind of Blue,” which always relaxed him.

Durk waited at the end of the corridor for Columbo. He couldn’t imagine how any policeman could manage to leave his notebook in a suspect’s office. But then, Columbo was a bit erratic at times. Eventually, Columbo came scurrying down the corridor toward him.

“Sorry about that. You know, I think the jet lag is finally catching up with me,” Columbo smiled.

“Quite all right, old boy,” Durk said.

They started to walk out to the car. As they had been there on official business, they had a car with a driver, who opened the door for Durk. The driver was about to run around to get the door on the other side for Columbo when he realised that the American had already got in. Getting in to the driver’s seat, he turned around and asked, “Where to, sir?”

“Back to the Yard,” Durk replied, and they pulled out of the car park and on to the high street. It was slow going at first, as there were people from the market just wandering about the place, but soon they were on there way.

“I’m going to head off to the club for some dinner. Would you care to join me?” Durk asked.

“Yes, very much so.”

Durk smiled. “Of course I do have a bit of an ulterior motive -- my wife is returning from the country today, and I could use some help with my suitcases.”

Columbo looked a little confused. “You mean you stay at the club?”

“Only when my wife is away. It is more convenient.”

Columbo nodded. “You know, you have to thank Mrs. Durk for taking the time to take my wife out to for lunch at the Ritz tomorrow. She is really looking forward to it. I mean, all last night, she went through all the clothes she brought with her.”

Durk smiled. “It’s no trouble at all, Columbo . My wife is in and out of that place all the time. “

Columbo smiled and took out the Altoids box and a book of matches to light a cigar. Slowly, he got the thing lit, before turning to Durk

“You know,” he said, “after dinner, perhaps I’ll check out this jazz night that Slone is going to.”

Durk nodded. “Try and catch him off guard, you mean?”

“Well maybe, and listen to some music.”

**

Slone liked the long summer evenings in London -- he wondered if they were the same in New York. He liked walking with the light just fading and everything looking like an old movie. The long summer night in New York, he guessed, would be more along the lines of a Woody Allen movie: Clarinet solos and skyscrapers.

London was more intricate: Piano parts and grime. He arrived at the Spitz just after the doors had opened. There wasn’t that much of a queue, so he could get right inside. First port of call was the bar, where he hoped to get a quiet drink in before the music started. It was not a pleasant sight that greeted him as he entered the room.

At first, he had thought it odd that someone else should be wearing a raincoat at this time of year, and then he realised that it was Columbo. What on earth was the detective doing here, and more importantly way did he keep managing to pop up just in time to complete ruin any happy mood that Slone could manage?

“Ahoy there!”Columbo said while waving to Slone. Slone waved back and walked up to the bar to stand next to the Lieutenant.

“What are you doing here, Columbo?”

“Oh well, I didn’t mean to bother you. It was just that in your office, you mentioned that it was a jazz night here, and I thought that I might check it out.”

The barman came over, and Slone ordered his usual drink, a double scotch on the rocks. Politeness meant that he asked Columbo what he would like, although the lieutenant declined his offer. This pleased Slone, as perhaps it meant that Columbo really was here for the music and not just to question him.

“Do you have another leads on the murder case?”

Columbo nodded. “Well, funny you should mention that. Yes, we do. A couple of students managed to see someone smashing up that car. Although they didn’t get a good look.”

Slone nodded and took a sip of his drink. “Well I guess that sort of things goes on all the time there.”

Columbo clapped his hands together. “Well, you should know.”

This confused Slone, “Why should I know?”

“Well, according to the guy who ran that place up until a week ago, you were a regular in there.”

Slone nodded. “Well I guess so. I’m selling my car before I go to New York, so I haven’t been using it as much.”

Columbo smiled. “Well that explains it.”

He took a sip from his own drink, followed by a long drag on his cigar.

“Can I ask you something?” Columbo asked.

“Yes, of course,” Slone replied.

“Well, do you have a problem with people stealing drugs at the hospital. I mean back home in L.A., we get it all the time.”

Slone thought about this -- he didn’t see what it had to do with the case. And perhaps that was a good thing.

“Well, I think there have been a few attempts. I don’t really deal directly with that side of things. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s nothing. But when Commander Durk and I were leaving the hospital this afternoon, we took a look at the entry and exit book. It just happened that someone signed in with your name at about the time when you were in the jazz club in Soho.”

Slone looked confused.

“My guess was that someone had read your name somewhere and was trying to steal drugs or something,” Columbo continued.

Slone nodded. “Well, I hadn’t been told about this, I’ll have to check the book with the security.”

Columbo held up his hand. “Oh, well, we took the book with us. But don’t worry. I’ll get that receipt from you tomorrow.”

And with that, Columbo stood up and held out his hand to shake Slone’s. Then he walked off. Slone couldn’t believe that he had been so stupid: He couldn’t remember signing in and out when he had got the car in the hospital car park that night. He had walked in as quietly as possible hopping that he wouldn’t be seen. Because he knew the security people didn’t tape at night but had a guy watching, there wasn’t any danger of him turning up on a security video. Hopefully, Columbo and Durk would buy the theory about someone stealing drugs. He hoped so, anyway.

**

Demetrius walked into the bar of the Sherlock Holmes Hotel at 1 a.m. The bar was still open, but just as a sitting area for the guests. Columbo was sitting in the corner, smoking one of his cigars.

“I’m sorry if I woke you, Lieutenant.”

“Not at all, not at all -- my wife, she hates the smell of these, so I have to come down here to smoke.”

Demetrius sat down opposite the great detective, and took a look about the bar. It was done out to look like a Victorian smoking room. The sort of place Holmes himself might have been to in his day. The rest of the place was starkly modern.

“So what do you have for me?” Columbo asked. Demetrius took his notebook form his pocket and read.

“Just after you left, sir, at 9 p.m., subject watched the music for an hour before leaving to walk back to the hospital and go into the security office. He came out looking worried.”

Columbo smiled. “That, Mr. Demetrius, is exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Demetrius put his book back in his pocket and looked out of the window. “Sir?” he asked.

“Just call me Columbo.”

“Well, was he really so stupid as to sign in?”

Columbo’s smile became bigger. “No he wasn’t, but he thinks he might have. It was something I noticed at the Yard that set me thinking. When I first went there the other day with Commander Durk, he signed in with out thinking, and without realising that he should have told me to sign in as well. It’s that automatic. So I got to thinking, maybe this guy doesn’t think about it, either. That’s why we took the book.”

Demetrius thought about this for a moment. “Isn’t that entrapment, though?”

“Not really, I think that we can get away with it. Just keep piling on the pressure until he cracks.”

Columbo put out what was left of his cigar and went to stand up. Demetrius stood as well -- he needed to get home, he had a bit of a headache. He didn’t really see what it was that Slone liked in that music.

“I want you to meet me here tomorrow morning, 10 a.m. We’ll have to go and pay a little visit to Mr Slone.”

“Okay, I’ll bring the car.”

“Which car?”

“The embassy gave me a car to use.”

“Oh, okay then, that’ll be fine.”

Demetrius left the hotel and walked to the tube station. He was just too late for the last train and so had to hoof it into Trafalgar Square in time for the night bus. Getting on the bus heading west to Chelsea and Battersea, he was surprised to see Slone sitting there. Talking to another man. He sat behind them to see if he could overhear anything pertinent to the case. But it was just incomprehensible stuff about ‘Cool horns’ and ‘smoking sax’ mixed up with names of people he had never heard of.

They both left at Chelsea, and Demetrius stayed on until he was home. He felt like he was back with the force getting in this late with an early start. But it was a nice break from the routine. Maybe if he impressed a few people at Scotland Yard he might get a few more little jobs like this.

**

While doing his ward round, Slone was slightly distracted. There was something bothering him. He couldn’t be sure if he had signed in when he had come back that night or not. He had gone back to the hospital the night before to see if it was true.

But the security guy couldn’t shed any light on it. All he knew was that the book had been taken by the police. He couldn’t have been that stupid, he thought to himself. Could he?

Returning to his office, he was greeted by the now familiar sight of Columbo waiting for him. This time he had a younger man with him. Probably a detective, Slone thought.

“You’re here for the receipt from the taxi?”

“Yes, sir, that’ll be all.”

Slone walked around his desk and opened the locked door where he kept the patient records he was working on. He had out the receipt there in the morning as he had come in to the office.

“There we go,” he said as he handed the receipt over to the lieutenant, who took and handed it to the other man, who then placed it in a plastic bag.

“Well, we’ve taken up enough of your time. We’ll be on our way.”

With that Columbo stood up. “Oh, Just one more thing?” he said as he was about to leave. “Are you free at one o’clock?”

Slone gave a cursory glance at his diary. “Yes. Why?”

“Well, it’s just a little thing. But we have some witnesses, and could you come to the car park?”

Slone thought about this, but realised that the people he had seen probably wouldn’t have been able to identify him. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

And with that, Columbo and the other man left his office.

**

Demetrius didn’t know what Columbo was up to. The signing in business was one thing, but there were no real witnesses. Just a couple of kids who thought they saw someone hanging around the car park. But, then, they did still have the trump card. The letter from the victim that implicated Slone in both murders.

As far as either Columbo or Durk knew, Slone wasn’t aware that she had written to the police. The letter had taken some time to get down to Durk as she had addressed it to the commissioner. It was a good piece of evidence, and used well in confronting a suspect, it could well be Slone’s downfall.

**

Slone didn’t know what the point was of going to the car park. He hoped that the whiteness that the detectives had found were not able to identify him. Even if they did, he had his alibi. Columbo seemed to be clutching at straws, and that was a good thing. When he got there, the car park was full of police. He told the young officer at the gate who he was, and she pointed him in the direction of Durk and Columbo. They were talking to the two students he had seen that night. But as he approached, they were told to go. Columbo noticed him and waved Durk nodded his head.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Slone,” Durk said.

“That is okay, although I have to be back at the hospital in half an hour,” he replied.

“Oh, well, we don’t need you for that long,” Columbo said. “It’s really just a small matter. About a letter.”

Slone looked puzzled. Which letter could they mean? Why did they drag him all the way out here to talk about something that could have been dealt with this morning when he had met Columbo in his office?

“Which letter?” he asked.

Durk took a photocopy of a letter out of his pocket. He briefly flashed it at Slone.

“This letter,” he said, “was written by the victim almost a year ago. In it she tells of how a doctor forced her into an abortion. She also reveals that she wrote to a senior doctor in London whom she believes was killed because he knew too much.”

Slone felt slightly nervous. “Does she name this suspect?”

“No, she doesn’t. She is requesting a meeting with an officer. But, alas, by the time it had got through to me, we couldn’t find her. Until she turned up here.”

A wave of relief swept over Slone. There was no way to connect him with the murder other than the fact that the stolen car belonged to a patient of his.

“You know,” Columbo said, “if we could just find whoever had that first letter, the one she wrote ten years ago, then we would have out man. Of course it’s probably been destroyed.”

With that, Columbo noticed the man who had been with him earlier in the day and went over to talk to him.

“That will be all, Mr Slone,” Durk informed him, and walked over to where Columbo was.

**

As soon as Slone got back to his office, he opened the draw to his desk. The one where he kept all his confidential information. At the back was the letter that Julie had written to Drake. He cursed himself for not having destroyed it. Initially, he had kept it as a reminder that she could and probably would turn up at any time. But now it didn’t have that function and so should be destroyed before Durk could get a court order.

“Is this what you are looking for?” the gravely voice of the American detective cut through the air like a knife. Slone looked up. Standing in his office were Durk, Demetrius and, holding the familiar envelope, Columbo.

“This is what you’re looking for, isn’t it?”

Deflated Slone slumped in his chair. “How did you know?” he asked.

“That you would come here? You are a creature of habit: You like to check things immediately. Like that story I made up about you signing in the book on the night of the murder. I thought you might come back and check it so I had Officer Demetrius here follow you. Durk’s men with Demetrius searched your desk with a court order just now when we were in the car park.”

Slone reached forward and opened the cigar box on the desk. He took out three cigars, threw one to Columbo and one each to Durk and Demetrius.

“I guess I should have burned that letter ten years ago.”

“That was the mistake I was waiting for you to make,” Durk said.

“Oh? I thought I had you fooled.”

“No, sir, you didn’t, but you did cover your tracks well, and didn’t leave any evidence. I couldn’t get a prosecution on that case, but with this letter, I can. Thanks to Lieutenant Columbo, we have solid evidence for the Julie Dark case, as well”

“What is it one is meant to say in these cases?” Slone asked.

“I believe the term here is, ‘It’s a fair cop,’” Columbo answered.

Slone stood and walked towards Durk.

“It’s a fair cop.”

Durk read Slone his rights and called for a constable. The young woman officer whom Slone had seen at the car park entered and took her handcuffs from her belt.

“We won’t be needing those, constable,” Durk said to her. “Take him out to the car.”

Just as the constable was leading him out of his office for the last time, Slone turned to Columbo.

“I guess my application to work in the U.S. has been revoked?”

The lieutenant just nodded.

Slone took one final look at his office and left.