‘As I remember, Mrs Master, they found the heroin in the false bottom of a suitcase that held your husband’s things.’

‘That’s so, with presents for the children and me in the case too.’

‘Well…’

‘It was planted. That wasn’t Stewart’s suitcase.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t follow the trial closely. He-’

‘You just took in the charge and the conviction, like everyone else.’ Her smile was thin with no humour in it.

‘I was going to say he must’ve claimed the bag.’

‘It was identical to his, but it was switched.’

I was fiddling with a ballpoint pen and just managed to stop myself from clicking it on and off. I put it down. ‘Where, by whom and why?’

‘That’s what I want you to find out and I’ll pay you very well to do it.’

‘That’s encouraging. But just say I could do it, what good would it do?’

‘Then whoever’s responsible could be convicted and Stewart’d be let go.’

She was somewhere in her thirties, well educated and confident. I couldn’t help wondering how she’d hooked up with a crim like Master. She wore discreet makeup, fashionable clothes and muted accessories. She seemed the kind of person who expected things to turn out well for her, but minute cracks were showing. The last statement was too simple and she knew it. She shook her head and her glossy, shoulder length hair danced.

‘I need help,’ she said. ‘The kids need their father, I need him.’

That impressed me. Not a rave against fate or the lawyers or the cops. Good word, help. I needed it myself often enough to be glad to give it if I could. If. It didn’t sound likely.

‘Let’s look at it,’ I said. ‘The customs guys couldn’t do the switch, could they?’

‘No.’

‘Baggage handlers wouldn’t have the time.’

She’d been sitting with her hands still in her lap. Now she clenched her fists and tapped them together. ‘Not at the Sydney end, no. It must’ve happened in New Caledonia and that’s where I want you to go.’