When I got inside the phone was ringing. I let the machine pick it up.

‘Mr Hardy, this is Bryce O’Connor. I’m Mrs Master’s legal representative and-’

Quick work, Lorraine. I picked up. ‘This is Hardy.’

‘Good. I gather you want to visit Stewart Master?’

‘Well, yes, I-’

‘Would tomorrow suit?’

‘Tomorrow! What’s the rush?’

‘Mrs Master is anxious to get things moving.’

‘Just bear with me a minute, Mr O’Connor. You say you’re Mrs Master’s lawyer?’

‘Correct.’

‘Did you defend Master?’

‘I did. Unsuccessfully.’

‘This is probably a silly question to ask, but d’you think Master’s innocent?’

‘Usually I wouldn’t answer such a question, but yes, I do. This was entirely out of character for him.’

Marvellous how some people can be such accurate judges of character. I should be so cluey. ‘Did you recommend this course of action to her?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Not to put too fine a point upon it, I don’t have a high opinion of private detectives. Now, my time is valuable, Mr Hardy. Would a 10.30 am appointment at Avonlea prison suit you?’

From the tone of your voice I’d rather it was you inside to be visited than Stewie Master, mate, I thought, but I agreed and he hung up first to save spending another valuable half second. I dropped the receiver and listened to two other calls that didn’t amount to anything important and went to get the scotch. I like a brisk pace generally, but this was starting to feel like a flat out sprint. Lorraine Master had a no doubt high-price lawyer and a medium-price private detective jumping through hoops. Good going.