I'm not saying anything, Dr.Latto, said the police officer, looking Latto straight in the eye. I'm just asking you to take a seat in that room. He nodded at an open door on the right. Someone will be with you shortly. Latto found himself in a light airy sitting room, with a large window looking out over the sea. He put his sunglasses down on a small coffee table and looked out of the window. It was a lovely sunny March day. West Cliff Drive was busy with joggers and people walking their dogs. Further out he could see Santa Cruz Wharf beginning to open up for the day. A van was taking food and drink to one of the restaurants at the end of the wharf. A few men and women were fishing from the side. And although it was early in the year, there were one or two tourists walking along the wharf, looking into the shop windows. Latto was tall with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a light-coloured jacket and trousers and a light blue shirt. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror on the wall. Although he was in his early thirties, he looked older. It was probably tiredness, he thought. It was ten in the morning here in California, but his body was still on British time. He sat in a yellow armchair near the window and closed his eyes. Time passed.***
Dr.Latto? said a voice.
Latto woke suddenly to see a short grey-haired man in his late fifties standing in front of him.
"I'm tony Martinez, a detective with the Santa Cruz Police," said the man, taking some paper from the inside pocket of his old brown jacket. He found a pen in a said pocket.