I Am Pilgrim

It wasn’t salvation he was starting to taste on his lips. It was revenge.

“Still, it’s been a rewarding life compared to a lot of men. But you’d be a fool not to think—has anything I’ve done really made a difference?

Then we had a piece of luck, or at least that’s what it looked like. We should have known better, of course.

watching—like he had probably spent half his

if you want to make God laugh, tell him you’ve got plans.

He looked at me for a moment. “It’s a Zen story, of course,” he said, smiling again. “The point is—if you want to be free, all you have to do is let go.”

London had never looked more beautiful than the night I flew in—Saint Paul’s Cathedral, the Houses of Parliament, and all the other old citadels of power and grandeur standing like sculptures against a red and darkening sky.

everybody knows this—or cares probably—but the first law of forensic science is called Locard’s Exchange Principle and it says “every contact between a perpetrator and a crime scene leaves a trace.”

It is fair to say a lot of my work has been a row through a sewer in a glass-bottomed boat, but even by those low standards Markus Bucher was memorable.