The brigadier, with a nonchalant gesture, pulled back the grey British Army blanket, and said: "There he is ... he's very dead." There was no doubt about that. The man lay flat on his back on the bare boards of the suburban parlour. The red plush furniture had been pushed back to make space in the small store. Religious oleographs of angels hung, crooked, on the walls. A half-empty bucket of dirty water stood near the body.