Friday 20 June

Moony Suzuki's thirty-something birthday is celebrated after work in several pubs around Oxford Road and while we suspect he would rather be in the shadows, hosting one of his famous Bunraku (Japanese puppetry) nights at the Red Room; while thanks to his leonine locks there's always a risk that some joker will compare him to our black bookkeeper, William Bailey, Moon maintains translucent form while orbiting the group tonight. I find myself reluctant to leave him and his intriguing friends outside Beach Bar, especially as they crackle with an intelligence (albeit one particularly partial to matters worldwidewotsit) that I could sorely use, but I must away to accompany Bateman to Snow Bar in the hope he lets something incriminating slip. In fact what he confesses I already know – that like me he shares a thinly-disguised affection for the acceptable face of socialism in the workplace, Deirdre Darknight, here aligned with a rival leaving party. Rather than risk a conversational dual Bateman leaves me to talk politically charged novels, slipping away to see Larry as I gradually lose characters, location and plot while gazing into B's all-seeing eyes. I wake up feeling like a sinister Uncle, and although many famous detectives have effortlessly matched this description, so have many sinister Uncles. It's clear I must get back on the case.

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