Detective Moller sat at his borrowed desk and thought. A folder to the left held the preliminary results of the investigation—which thus far amounted to little more than a dry factual account of what had allegedly transpired, two dozen photographs which he had chosen as the most representative, and the disappointing but anticipated fact that so far nobody knew who the old guy was. What they presumed to be his fingerprints hadn’t found a match. On a TV show, they’d have already found at least one suspect by now. And cut to commercial, he thought dryly.