Morse knew he had to act fast otherwise it was going to be a train load of stiffs arriving in St Petersburg. And not the sort of stiffs a condom salesman would want either.
Suddenly..... nothing! The writer's internet had packed up. Those kids at the local internet company were screwing about with their server again. Would they ever just concentrate on providing a decent service for paying customers? Here, in Moscow? Some chance.
Morse's mobile rang. It was the writer. "Sorry old chap. We will have to wait a while before we can finish this all off. And I've got a really good ending with a twist in the tail. Internet's fucked. There's nothing that I can do. Sorry. Bye for now."
"Bastard" thought Morse. "Fancy leaving us hanging on like that. Next thing you know he will be using the internet failure as some sort of sub-plot in this story. Writers will try anything. Never trust them. Especially a train load of them."
Morse settled down to look through his notebook. There was something puzzling him about this case. Something which he needed to look into.....