My boss Roy Anderson looked at me in some amazement.
“Your brother Charlie, cautious and careful where both heart and money are concerned? I don’t believe it.”
I handed him his coffee. “Actually, neither do I, but it makes a change, doesn’t it? He’s putting any furniture he wants to keep into storage and coming over to Sydney.
“He plans to buy a couple of units to put into his superannuation fund, which must be looking pretty healthy by now. Then he’s off to Mudgee and his lady love.”
Roy snorted. “Where it will all fall apart and all his good intentions will be for nought.”
“Don’t be like that. At least he’s trying. He’s on a promise for a few weeks in a restaurant, then he’s hoping he’ll have something more permanent by the wine festival in September.”
“The wine festival sounds good. Maybe we should all go. But in the meantime, there’s the little matter of John Buchanan.”
“Do you think Lionel is on the right track, that Harry Maloney is trying to hoodwink us?”
Roy looked up as the lift door slammed shut. It might be very old and break down occasionally, but it’s a good warning system.
“Unless I’m very much mistaken, that’s Dad and Louisa arriving.”
With that, Lionel Anderson walked in, and he was followed by Roy’s wife, private investigator Louisa Hammond.
“Nothing like the smell of coffee in the morning,” Lionel exclaimed. Having a real case to get his teeth into had brought back his old energy. I was beginning to wonder if his retirement and move to a consultant’s role had been designed to allow Roy to find his feet and not because his elderly father needed looking after. As I poured the coffee, Louisa placed some little Danish pastries onto a plate.
Roy looked concerned. “But there are four of us, Louisa. That means …”
“That means you only get one,” she said.
Roy pulled a face. “That’s not fair.”
“With your paunch,” Louisa said, “fair doesn’t come into it.”
Lionel tapped his desk. “Now, now, children, let’s get down to business. Louisa, tell us what your team found out in its forensic search of Maloney’s office.”
Louisa pulled a folder out of her briefcase. “As you know, we were looking for evidence that one of Maloney’s solicitors, Rosanna Jenkins – who, by the way, is a real sexpot – might have been leaking confidential information to some of her criminal mates.
“We worked over the weekend, so as not to tip our hand. Harry had told everyone he was having a new computer security system installed so staff would have to leave their laptops and so on with us.”
Lionel reached out for a second pastry.
“And they fell for it?”
“As far as that goes, Lionel, as with all good cover stories, there was an element of truth in ours. Their security was full of holes, so we were able to sell Harry Maloney on a much better system.”
Roy looked longingly at the remaining pastry on the plate, and then asked, “And what did you discover?”
“There was nothing in the record of phone calls and emails to indicate that Rosanna Jenkins was leaking information about the crooked cop’s defence, but we did find out something that was very interesting.”
“Louisa,” Roy protested, “please don’t spin it out. Tell us.”
“Rosanna thinks Harry is dipping into the trust funds of his clients.”
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