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'You get tourists going over to the projects to spend money, killing'll matter there too.'

'Oh, I like that. We'll turn them into a theme park. Povertyland. Think it'll go?'

'You're a genius, Art. I've told you that.'

'How come nobody but you's noticed?'

By the end of his shift, Rust was crazy from waiting. This was one of the worst parts of his job, the enforced stasis that came when he had done everything he could and was dependent on the responses of others, who weren't responding. He couldn't decide whether to bring Flood in on shaky burglary charges and hold him twenty-four hours, in the hopes that evidence linking him to the murder would come in during that period, or to leave him running around loose and count on his not skipping town because of his hard-to-transport cache of stolen merchandise. If he brought him in and the necessary evidence didn't arrive, then, when he had to release him, Flood would undoubtedly abandon his inventory and run.

And all this, Rust thought, over a scumbag like Chic, someone whose death had definitely improved the world.

When he finally left the Vieux Carre station, he found himself turning north.

He paused for a few seconds outside the cast-iron cornstalk fence, then went up on the white-columned porch and rang the bell that summoned the desk clerk.

Anji was surprised to see him.

'I hope this isn't a bad time,' he said diffidently.

'Not at all.' He really was attractive, she thought, in that long, loose-limbed, sleepy-eyed way. 'Fitz has gone off to some club where they let visitors jam with the band, and I don't know where the Doctor is. I was about to watch a public television special on the history of banking.'

'The Knights Templars,' said Rust, surprisingly. 'That's why they persecuted them. Not because they were devil-worshippers. Because they invented banking. It was all political.'

'I've worked in investment banking. That's why I was going to watch the programme.'

'My father lost a lot of money in Alcoa stock,' Rust offered.

She waited, but apparently this and the Knights Templars had exhausted the subject for him. She asked, 'Were you looking for the Doctor?'

'Well, no.' He hesitated. Good heavens, she thought, he's shy. 'I wondered if you'd care to have some supper with me.'

Through the gate, the Doctor saw that lights were on in the front room of the Museum of Magic, so he didn't feel quite so bad about ringing the bell after hours. Sure enough, the door shutters soon parted slightly, then swung wide to reveal Thales in the doorway.

'Is that you, Doctor?'

'Yes. Forgive me for coming by when you're closed -'

'No, no. No problem at all.' A buzzer sounded and the Doctor heard the gate lock snap open

In the front room, an open case and a sheet of notes showed that Thales had indeed been working. 'Cataloguing,' he explained. 'It's an endless job.

I'll just finish this, if you don't mind, and let you show yourself around for a few minutes. I won't be long.'

He turned back to his papers. The Doctor noticed that, despite his age and the poor light from the old ceiling chandelier, he didn't wear reading glasses. Though the shutters were fastened, the room's windows were open to the warm night, and an almost imperceptible breeze slipped through the louvres and tinkled the chandelier's prisms. Outside, the fronds of the banana trees rustled softly, and the clear splash of the fountain was just audible.

'Actually,' said the Doctor, 'I had something to ask you, otherwise I would have waited till tomorrow when you're open.'

Thales looked at him a little warily. 'Yes?'

'What can you tell me about Jack Dupre?'

'Dupre!'Thales gave a snort that might have been a laugh. 'Why on Earth do you want to know anything about that fool?' His eyes narrowed. 'You don't think he had something to do with the murder?'

'No. Not so far, at any rate. But I presume he knew Chic'

'Oh, yes,' said Thales dryly. 'A great customer