I finished my coffee. 'Hard to prove. Scriven's vanished.'

'There're others around who know things. If I could get some details from one person in particular, I could pull the plug on Clement.'

'Sounds personal.'

She drained her mug and put it on the desk where it made a ring to join all the other rings. 'No. Professional.'

'Was last night professional? Taking him on at his party? What did you have to gain?'

'When word got around that I was doing this book, Clement at first tried to buy me off. Offered me a job and all that. When that didn't work he threatened me and the publisher. Legal bullying. Followed by more direct personal stuff.'

'Like?'

'Slashed tyres. Heavy breathers. Creeps hanging around. I put my head down and got on with my research.

Just in case he might've thought I'd gone away, last night I was showing him I hadn't.'

'Well, it's very interesting, Ms Kramer, but-'

'Lou.'

'Okay, Lou, but I can't see how I can help. I use the finance pages to wrap the fat from the griller.'

'Ever hear of Eddie Flannery?'

'Of course. Private investigator, or was until he got delicensed.'

'Right. He worked for Clement as a bagman, fixer, minder. Got himself killed a few months back. Took a tumble down the McElhone steps at the Cross. I reckon Clement had it done because Flannery was blackmailing him.'

'Any proof?'

'I had it, sort of, but I lost it. I got on to Flannery's de facto wife, Billie Marchant. She told me she knew about some of the things Eddie had done for Clement and that she had proof Clement had Eddie killed. She was going to tell me more but she got scared and took off. That's where you come in, Mr Hardy.' 'Cliff.'

She nodded. 'I want you to find Billie Marchant so I can talk to her again. I need to know that inside stuff about Clement's business.'