Always get up from your studies with a question, someone had said. I had one: why would a high flyer like Maloufjoin a firm like Perry Hassan's? It was big, but not the biggest.

In the morning I phoned Nordlung at his home address. A woman with a faint American accent answered and I told her what I wanted.

'I'm his wife. You'll find him at the marina by the Spit Bridge, working on his boat.'

'Can you tell me the name of the boat, Mrs Nordlung?'

'It's the Gretchen III -that's Stefan's little joke. Gretchen's my name and I'm his third wife.'

I couldn't be sure but she sounded drunk. At that time in the morning? Well, it happens.

It was a perfect day with a blue sky and light wind. Coming down Spit Road towards the water gave me a multi-million dollar view of Middle Harbour-no house with that view would be worth under a million and the boats would add many, many noughts. It was Wednesday mid-morning and the traffic was light, but there was plenty of activity around the launching ramps and at the marina and not much parking space. I squeezed in between two massive SUVs and remembered to watch my shins on their towing attachments. Tough for some-if you couldn't afford a marina berth you had to keep your boat in the garage and tow it here.

The marina was T-shaped and the boats varied from modest little numbers to monsters with lofty flagpoles and garden boxes on the decks. I paused to take in the scene and when I thought of the insurance premiums and the upkeep and all the fees involved, it suddenly seemed that I wasn't looking at boats but at huge, floating bundles of money. I asked at the office where the Gretchen III was and the woman pointed and then looked closely at me.