… bloody broken.’ He stared through the dirty window. I’ve tried cleaning the windows inside but no-one is ever going to clean them outside-three floors up in Darlinghurst-so what’s the point? He would have seen a bit of guttering hanging from the roof and the top of a church against a grey sky. I know because I’ve sat in the client’s chair myself when business was slow, and pretended to be a client with an interesting case for me to handle. The fantasy has never taken me far; somehow it feels worse in the client’s chair than in my own.

‘The publicity stops,’ I said. ‘The police get on with it quietly.’

‘There’s things the police don’t know,’ he said. ‘That’s why I’m here. I’m told you can do a job and keep your mouth shut.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘That’s what I need. There’s a strange angle on this, bloody strange. Anything about it in the papers’d probably send Moira, that’s my wife, right around the bend. I’d end up with no wife as well as no daughter. The police talk to the reporters, everyone knows that. The reporters pay them.’

‘Probably. I know a couple of cops who wouldn’t do that. I could have a word with them if you want.’

He shook his head. ‘Can’t risk it. Look, it could be nothing or it could lead into all sorts of shit. I just don’t know. I’m not worried about myself. I’ve got nothing to hide.’

‘Come on, Mr Wise. You’re a businessman-investment consultant, did you say?’

His face was set grimly; it looked like the sort of face that could smile or cry it necessary, but only if he let it. ‘What I’ve got to hide’s hidden. And I’ve got no connections to any of this. Just… information.’

‘Which you won’t give to the police because you’re worried about publicity.’ I moved the notebook an inch to the right. ‘It’s thin, Mr Wise.’

‘It’s not thin, it’s complicated. I want you to look into it, follow things up if you can, if there’s anything to it…’