‘Couldn’t help hearing’, Val said. ‘I saw that man in the awful-looking shiny suit. He had those terrible shoes on, too.’

‘You saw him when?’ I said.

‘Just last week. Right here. He came in here, and asked for Ray.’

‘What did you say?’ Jess asked.

Val stubbed out her cigarette and got ready to get another going. ‘I told him I didn’t know where Ray was. I said I wished I did know. It was lovely having him around here. Oh, sorry, Jess…’

Jess was looking upset again, frowning and shuffling the Satisfaction sheets. I took them from her and made a neat stack of them. Compulsive. She pulled herself together.

‘Did you ask his name. Val?’

‘No, sorry, I didn’t.’

‘Don’t worry’, I said. ‘I know his name.’

It was my turn to gaze out over the comforting water. Of course, he wasn’t the only spiv in town; but shiny suit and white shoes precisely fitted my recollection of the unwelcome appearance of Liam Catchpole.

That gave me plenty to chew on as I drove back to the city. Big and small meant Spotswood and Catchpole, and I’d never heard that either was a fisherman, although the scuttlebutt had it that Spotswood wasn’t a stranger to the waters of Sydney Harbour at night. Ray Guthrie’s connection with Catchpole went back to the time when he first exhibited signs of disturbance, as the psychologists would say. But it wasn’t continuous; and since Val hadn’t said that Catchpole was obnoxious (apart from his suit), that meant he was on good behaviour-which meant that he was seriously concerned. It was reasonable to assume that Catchpole was a part of whatever was bugging Ray Guthrie. But Catchpole was involved in everything-drugs, prostitution, intimidation, the lot. There were no clues there, except that we could rule out anything honest.

One side of my face had got sunburned while I was on the boat; it felt flushed and uncomfortable on the drive back and it reminded me that I’d missed my day on the beach.