“No. You’re right. I was heading for the filing cabinet when you knocked.”

“Do it, then,” she said. “I believe in finishing what you start.”

“Mm.” I agreed with her, of course. Tried to do just that, but momentarily I’d forgotten what I wanted from the cabinet. Couldn’t let that show. I waved at the client’s chair, shuffled forward and reached for the handle of the top drawer. “Please take a seat.”

She strode across the frayed carpet as if she was used to rough ground and lowered herself into the chair. Memory returned when I saw the yellowed edges of the foolscap folders in the drawer and I rummaged through looking for my copy of the Act of the parliament of New South Wales. I found it in the second drawer, a bit dog-eared from being pushed aside rather than from assiduous reading. I pulled it out and slammed the drawer shut. She didn’t react. Good nerves or very preoccupied, I thought. I flipped the slim document onto the desk, sat down and tidied the papers in front of me.

“How can I help you?” I said.

She leaned forward and placed the card on which my name and the words “Private Enquiries” were written on the desk. There was a hole in the card where the drawing pin that held it to the door had been. “This was on the floor,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“Careless, but you don’t go in for waste. I like that.”

I felt I was holding ground, just. “Good.” I pulled a notepad towards me and clicked a biro. “I’m supposed to keep notes on everything I do. Even if we don’t do any business. I usually start by asking for a name.”

She smiled and the lines around her eyes spread. “I suppose if you can’t even get a name there’s not much likelihood of doing business. I’m Louise Madden. I want to find my father, Brian Madden. He went missing two months ago. You can write that down.”

I did. “My fees are a hundred and eighty dollars a day plus expenses,” I said.