Desmond Reeve

Desmond Reeve is 55 and an Englishman from Surrey, the son of a tea merchant, who has spent his life between offices in London, Bangkok and Hong Kong. He arrived in Asia after the war, at 31, in a linen suit and with the conviction that the East was a place where one could still make a living without explaining oneself to anyone. He joined the silk export partnership the way one joins a country club.

He lives in an apartment at the top of a colonial building in Kuala Lumpur, with bamboo blinds, ceiling fans that turn all day and a balcony over the river. In the living room, a green leather armchair, a gramophone with jazz records and a cedar cigar box, always open. He entertains friends over glasses of gin, on weekdays and holidays, and is rarely alone.

He has ash-blond hair combed back with brilliantine, a trimmed mustache and small blue eyes in a face reddened by the sun. He wears a cream linen suit, always a little rumpled, and a wine-colored silk tie. Far too friendly, he treats the detective like an old friend, offers cigars and changes the subject when the question tightens.

About the partnership with Walter, his account is upbeat: couldn't be better, old friend. They export silk to Hong Kong and London, only silk, and it's all in the books. When asked where Walter might be, he answers that if he knew he would be there with him, and asks the detective not to shout. He says he spent Sunday far from the mountains, in Kuala Lumpur, and learned of the disappearance on the radio.

Desmond speaks with the generosity of someone with little to hide and laughs a lot, one hand in his jacket pocket. It may be the open manner of a merchant who lives on conversation and good faith. It may be the layer of charm of someone who knows the value of a good first impression. The detective will have to decide which.