The telephone at the Todd residence in Coogee rang for a long time before a woman answered. Deep voice, careful vowels.

‘Hello. Felicia Todd speaking.’

‘Mrs Todd, my name’s Cliff Hardy.’

‘Oh.’

‘I was sorry to hear about Barnes. I think we have a few things to discuss.’

‘Perhaps. Have you spoken to Michael Hickie?’

‘I’m seeing him this afternoon.’

‘Eager, aren’t you?’

‘I’m sorry. What do you mean?’

‘Never mind. I think you should see the solicitor first, then I’ll talk to you if it seems necessary.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Will you be at home later this afternoon?’

‘Where the hell else would I be?’

She hung up and I put the phone down gently. Grief takes many forms and anger is one of them. I could respect that. Greed is another matter and misanthropy another still. They are harder to deal with. I had time to kill before the appointment in Bondi Junction, and I used it to recall everything I could about Barnes Todd. There wasn’t much: he had been a soldier, then he had sold real estate and had an interest in a trucking firm ‘and other things’. I could hear Todd’s voice, usually slightly blurred by alcohol, but always cheerful, and he never seemed to big-note himself.

Not that he wasn’t aggressive. I could recall a couple of fights and near-fights. On one occasion he flattened a smaller man and apologised immediately. He seemed to have a healthy appetite for life. He’d travelled a bit and said he planned to do more. I tried to remember the names of the women I’d seen him with, and couldn’t. They had been varied-some particularly good-looking and not particularly bright, others vice versa. Todd seemed to find them all amusing. I tried to recall Cyn’s attitude to him but that was confusing. I had an idea she wasn’t too keen on him but it might just have been me she didn’t care for.