‘Hello, Paula. What can I do for you?’

‘Are you going to be doing any more teaching in that course?’

‘I don’t think so. It was just a one-off for me. Something I haven’t done before. I’ll do a repeat performance for the other class, but that’ll be it.’

Her nicely-shaped face fell into lines of disappointment. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

‘Come on. At a guess you were the smartest one there. You’re not going to have any trouble getting your ticket.’ I glanced down at the backpack she had on the ground between her boots. It was stuffed with books and folders. ‘You’re obviously a worker.’

‘I am,’ she said fiercely. ‘That’s the trouble. I only enrolled in this course as backup to my PhD.’

I must have started to edge away at that point. There’s something about the intensity of people who want to be doctors of philosophy that disturbs me. ‘Well, I’m sorry I can’t help you.’

She grabbed five fingers’ worth of leather sleeve. ‘You can! You can. You see, I’m doing my thesis on the role of the private enquiry agent in the legal system, and I’m having terrible trouble gathering material.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ I said. ‘We don’t exactly go around shouting about our place in the scheme of things.’

‘No, but when I heard you talk today I thought I might actually get something useful out of this course. You’ve had the experience.’

‘That’s true,’ I said. ‘But…’

‘Will you at least give me an interview? A long, in-depth session to let me get a handle on how experience feeds into the philosophical…’

That was enough for me. I pulled free of her and headed down the steps. ‘Afraid not, Mrs Wilberforce. Professional code’s against it. Sorry. Best of luck with your studies.’

I could feel those blue eyes boring into my spine as I walked along Crystal Street. There was something scary about her. I’d parked my car in a side street and I actually checked to make sure she hadn’t followed me before I drove off.