"Oh yeah?" she said. "So what's your handicap, Tiger? Apart from not being able to see the ball over your belly."

She didn't wait for a response but ran laughing down the stairs.

"Why shouldn't I be a good golfer?" Joe called after her, stung by the reference to his waistline. "Lot of things about me you don't know."

Which, considering Beryl's intimacy with his Aunt Mirabelle, wasn't likely to be true, but a man was entitled to his dignity.

His musings were interrupted by the screech of the office phone.

He picked it up and said, "Sixsmith Investigations. We're here to help you."

"Today it's me helping you, Joe," said a man's voice.

Joe recognized the voice, not because it was distinctive, but because it was Detective Superintendent Willie Woodbine's, which was a good voice to recognize. He hesitated a moment before he replied. His relationship with the Super was a bit like his relationship with Beryl. Not that he had any ambition to get in bed with the guy, but sometimes it was man to man, sometimes boss to man, sometimes first name, sometimes not. Trick was to read the signals and decide if this was a Willie day. Same with Beryl, if you thought about it.

He decided to sit on the fence.

"Hi there, how're you doing?" he said.

"That could depend on you, Joe. I was ringing to tell you that I've pushed a possible client your way. Christian Porphyry. You heard of him?"

"Didn't I see his picture in the paper recently?" said Joe. "Got arrested or something?"

He didn't see the need to tell Woodbine Porphyry had been and gone. Might be some chance of getting a bit of info from the horse's mouth.

"Got engaged, Joe. Not the same thing. Though, come to think of it, maybe you're right."

He chuckled.