Her face looked too strong to ever show unhappiness as we lesser mortals do, but it was there. I got her a gin and tonic, and drank the Fosters while she took a few sips. Her teeth were even and white and she had long, slender bands with pink, polished nails cut short. She had a black turtleneck sweater on under the coat, no jewellery. I told her about my brief association with Scholfield, my scouting about with the cops and then waited for her contribution.

‘You didn’t give my number to the police?’

I shook my head.

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I don’t know. If he was working with some people at getting dye off stolen money I don’t really care. It sounds like a pretty dumb scheme and he didn’t look dumb to me. I liked him. I suppose I’m just curious. Do you know who killed him, or why?’

‘No. If I did, I would kill them.’

‘Perhaps it’s just as well then.’

‘I don’t understand you.’ The skin tightened along her exquisite jawline; she was like an arrow in a bow-all lined up with the string tight.

I finished the beer. ‘Revenge is old-fashioned.’ I muttered. ‘Let it go.’

‘No! He was a lovely man, so funny. We laughed all the time. I know he was not always honest, not so very honest. But he didn’t hurt people, just…’ She waved her hands and all the men looked at her again.

‘Institutions,’ I said. Frank had told me that Scholfield’s frauds were insurance jobs, mostly.

‘So. He was a gentle man. I think the one who killed him should be dead too. I would feel better then.’

‘In gaol,’ I said. ‘We don’t kill people anymore for murder, not here.’ I don’t know why it was, maybe just the idea of her feeling better because her man’s killer was out of action got to me. I’d come close to Norman’s condition more than once and no one would have given a damn. Not that I’d really want anyone to. It was a confused sort of feeling. She nodded vigorously.