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At 4:58, I finally heard the door open. I thought it best to let him finish before stepping from the stall.

“Ulrich,” I said.

He wheeled, almost zipping up his testicles. “Christ Almighty!”

Not quite.

But seeing as his pants were back up, I thought we might as well get down to business.

“I need information, Ulrich.”

He peered at me through watering eyes. “Why me?”

“Because you’re my informant.”

“Right,” he muttered. “Okay, what about?”

“Ernst Vandecker, the 1946 haul. And a man named Stada.”

Ulrich sniffed. “Old news, Flare. So why should I bother?”

I smiled. “Just for kicks?”

Ulrich gulped reflexively, hiding it behind one palm. “Right,” he repeated. “Connect the dots, my favourite game. Okay.” He paused, thinking.

I gave him his moment. Rain beat through the open window, washing the peeling paint below it clean.

“1946,” said Ulrich. “Vandecker hits the joint. He’s killed two cops, which makes him pretty much this week’s big man on campus. People come to him for career advice—one of them a young punk named Stada. Stada comes up, trades secrets, and when he gets out he heads straight for Spiro Garments, where Alberto Spiro’s running a load of stolen cars through every week. He’s independent, needs muscle to keep the big boys off his tail—and muscle Stada has.”

“Fast worker,” I commented.

“The fastest. Except for . . . well.”

And he gave me that smile again—a secret kept back for extra savouring. But I didn’t care enough to prompt him. And besides, if he liked it that much, he was sure to get there eventually.

“In 1958, Spiro makes a will. An accident follows. Now Stada has the business, he’s built himself a little empire, which takes more muscle, not to mention more money. But when it comes to the crunch, he always finds just enough.”

“Okay, let’s take a giant step here,” I interjected. “Vandecker told Stada where he hid the Auschweiss diamonds—somewhere in the foundations of St. Joseph’s is my guess. By getting control of Spiro Garments, Stada got the haul.”

“Smart, Vosloo. So: Stada’s getting old now. He hires a young guy to do business for him. And when the kid gets restless—”

“—he pulls exactly the same move on Stada that Stada did on Spiro.”

Ulrich nodded. “But he can’t find Stada’s loot, see? And the cops catch up with him.”

“Which is where Vandecker comes in again.”

“Exactly,” Ulrich said. “The kid worms his way into Vandecker’s cell, and offers to spring them both—for half the haul. Vandecker takes him up on it. They hit Spiro’s, they find the diamonds, and Vandecker disappears, and the kid gets even better than Stada. But this year, Vandecker shows up again. Mistakenly fences a diamond to one of the kid’s employees. And the kid figures maybe Vandecker held out on him.” He paused for effect. “Maybe there were two hauls.”

“Both hidden in Spiro Garments.”

“Yep.”

“Which I was contracted to burn—and where Vandecker would have to dig it up.”

“Yep, again.”

The bathroom was very small. It had no visible smoke detector. Only the window, flapping open. I felt the walls contract.