Karel was looking for carp on Southampton Common when it occurred to him that he was, indeed, wasting his time by walking up to Phillipson's house. But he was quite enjoying the sunshine, now that it had broken through, even though it felt humid, so he decided to walk on. He would catch a bus back to the city centre, if he could work out which one, and how you bought a ticket.

Carol was right. He didn't laugh enough. He asked her how she knew that he hardly ever laughed. She said that you didn't need to be a trained counsellor to pick up on the fact that someone's face had got stuck into a permanent frown. She said she heard a crack when he started laughing. She said that it sounded like his jaw or probably his cheekbones adopting an unusual position. She said it was the sound of bones settling.

Carol had made him laugh. What he was worried about now was finding her attractive again. They had been through that before. Dibcek would be the first to admit that he found it difficult to separate friendship with a woman from attraction. But this was never a problem when you were perpetually miserable. Or clinically depressed as Carol described it.

When Dibcek got to Chilworth he noticed the large houses, some with security gates. This felt right. Many of the houses he walked past seemed ugly or had been made ugly by excessive ornamentation. He often wondered about the English and their taste for elaborate exterior decoration. Even the rich.

Phillipson's house was a large building set back from the end of a cul-de-sac, partly obscured by a glade. It dominated the other houses around, even though they were large. Dibcek knew he had arrived because he heard a car approaching behind him. He didn't look round because he could tell by the way that it slowed right down and didn't overtake him that it was a police vehicle. He got to the locked gate and stared at the entry phone. There was no name. He could see security cameras on the fence posts. For a moment he almost relished the challenge of getting in unnoticed. It was not beyond him, at least under the cover of darkness. But that was a challenge he could do without. An image of Carol flashed into his mind. Then he turned round. The blue unmarked police car had remained at a distance. He looked across to see if he could recognise either of its occupants. But they just looked like regular cops. They could have been some of his own men, he thought. Europe must be shrinking if you can't tell one detective from another wherever you go he said to himself as he crossed over to the Ford Mondeo.

He waved before he got to the car. A window came down. He didn't recognise the policemen. They didn't smile, but they obviously knew who he was. He waited for them to say something, but they didn't say anything. He liked their style. He made a mental note to incorporate this into his next training session at the academy. Wear a fresh cologne, be clean shaven, look relaxed but look vacant. Look vacant but deadly. In a stylish kind of way. This, he thought, might be important for a country ready to join the European Union.

He put his hand on the car's roof and bent his head down so that he was close to the sweet smelling chin of the detective riding shotgun. Still no reaction.

"What a beautiful day," said Dibcek, smiling. "A beautiful day to be out seeing the sights."

"Can we be of any assistance sir?" asked one of the detectives.

"I'm not sure," said Dibcek, turning back to give the house one last glance, just to satisfy himself, at least, he had seen it. He thought for a moment, aware that his attendant colleagues would be in no hurry to press him for an answer as they were obviously highly trained members of the patience squad. He made a mental note to remember this, because he might be able to make Carol laugh when he admitted later what he had been up to during the day. The thought of Carol laughing gave him an idea.

"Can we give you a lift?" asked the other detective.

"Yes please," said Dibcek, beginning to open the rear door. When he settled into the seat he looked at the back of the detectives' recently shaved necks and said into the rear view mirror where he met their eyes:

"Can you drop me off at one of those shops that sells inflatable fish. I think I walked past one earlier today," said Dibcek sinking back into an authoritative style now that he was seated in the back of a police car with two young officers at his beck and call. "Take me somewhere like that. But you can go slowly. It's a beautiful day and I want to take in some of the sights."

"No problem sir," said the driver as he moved slowly away from the house.

"Show me some of the sights please on the way," said Dibcek, relaxing into the back seat, waiting for the air conditioning to build up.

Even if he closed his eyes for a moment on the journey back to the city centre he knew that he definitely wasn't in Prague.

Donald Hiscock is a freelance journalist and part-time teacher of English. His work appears in The Guardian, The Daily Telegraph, Condé Nast Traveller and other magazines, newspapers and websites. Examples of his journalism can be viewed on www.donaldhiscock.co.uk along with his photography. Prague Detective is his third published story. It has been adapted as chapter one of his novel, Miserable Bastard Almost Finds Happiness. Other stories have appeared in The Fairfield Review and Pulp.Net. He receives encouraging comments from agents about his novel and a collection of short stories but no offers of representation so far. The same can be said for a play written for The Edinburgh Fringe. He lives in hope, which is actually a house in Southampton, England.