‘Not to mention your commission.’

‘Right. There must be something you can do.’ He was reproachful; I could have said that a bashing and an abduction were very different things from a loitering perv, but I didn’t.

‘Give me a bit of time on it. If I can’t come up with anything pretty quick you’ll have to get the cops. Where does she live? Who’re her friends?’

He told me that Selina shared a flat in Woollahra with another girl, and gave me the address. He didn’t know much about friends. I got to the flat quickly; my leg gave me trouble on the stairs, but never let it be said that Hardy gives in to pain. I forgot about the leg when I saw the flat door hanging on one hinge inside a shattered frame. I looked straight into the living room-torn paper, ripped and crumpled fabric and carpet made it look as if a small bomb had gone off inside. I took a few steps past the door and stopped when a woman came into the room. She looked at me and screamed.

‘Easy, easy’, I said. ‘I’m a friend, you must be Jenny.’

She nodded; her face was white and her hands were flying about like frightened birds. ‘Who’re you?’ she gasped.

‘Cliff Hardy.’ I produced some documents, thinking that they might help bring some order to the chaotic scene. The woman started swearing and I poked around in the debris while she visited terrible things on unknown persons. I gathered that she’d walked in on the violated flat just before I did; the telephone had been ripped out of the wall-the only departure from a cool, thorough bit of searching. No book, and there were a lot, was undisturbed; all lined clothes had been slashed; drawers had been tipped out and the contents sifted and all edges stuck or otherwise fastened-carpets, furniture, pictures, ornaments-had been lifted and inspected.

She picked things up and dropped them helplessly. ‘Why?’ she said.

‘It’s to do with Selina. Has she been in trouble lately? Been seeing any strange people?’