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weren’t you?’
    The incident had occurred more than two decades ago. My stunned expression caused Hewitt to laugh like a hyena, before he added, ‘They reckon the water changed colour so much that they had to drain the pool.’
    I relaxed.
    â€˜A kid named Tait was caned for it, I think,’ I said.
    â€˜I remember there was a rumour that you’d done it, and that Tait had been set up,’ Hewitt said, ‘but I never believed it.’ He paused and then asked disarmingly, ‘You didn’t bump this French bird off, did you?’
    â€˜No!’
    â€˜It’s not something you’re going to confess to later?’ My blood pressure was rising.
    â€˜No!’
    Hewitt stared at me, his eyes darting.
    â€˜Why do you ask?’ I said.
    Hewitt drew breath and took a swig of his beer.
    â€˜It’s useful to know the truth,’ he said, ‘but even if you’d done it I would represent you.’

SIX
    I SPENT a nervous afternoon doing nothing productive at the office except for a thorough scan of the papers. Martine’s death hadn’t even made the classified ad section. If her death was a suspected murder, the police were playing their cards very close. Hewitt arrived before seven and had a Scotch with me in the reception area as we waited for the police. He asked me who was coming.
    â€˜Benns? I know him,’ Hewitt said, ‘bit of a gorilla. One of his hobbies is pumping iron. Don’t be fooled by his softly softly approach. Don’t let your guard down. He can be tough.’ He sniggered. ‘He’s got another hobby. Crime hooks, fact and fiction. Always got his face buried in one. Reckons it helps him solve cases.’
    â€˜Even those involving drunks who can’t remember what they did?’
    â€˜Take it easy, Duncan,’ Hewitt said, ‘he’s a fair man.He’s been working with a woman cop lately. The only one I know who’s worked on homicide. Name’s Pru O’Dare.’
    â€˜Useful name for a policewoman,’ I said, trying to sound calm.
    â€˜Yeah,’ Hewitt said, ‘she’s kinda cute, if you like elephants.’
    â€˜You mean she never forgets?’
    Hewitt laughed. He was nervous too.
    â€˜I remember her father,’ he said, ‘he was in Homicide. Think her grandfather was a cop too.’
    He sipped his Scotch.
    â€˜One thing I’ve picked up over the years,’ he said, ‘is Homicide cops’ drinking habits. If they have a drink with you they’re not out to arrest you. If they don’t, they could be.’
    â€˜And if they take tea?’
    â€˜Don’t know what that means.’
    The police arrived about an hour late, without apology. Benns looked about fifty, and had a receding hairline, and a jaw and chin to match. He sported one of those drooping black moustaches that detectives seem to favour, possibly because they make the face seem more severe. He was broad and just shorter than me at about 183 cm and so pumped up that he loped rather than walked. He wore an uncomfortably tight grey suit and a striped tie that had to be loosened at his bull neck.
    O’Dare was a surprise; I would have called her Amazonian rather than elephantine. She too was just shorter than me. She wore a brown businesswoman’s suit and had made a valiant attempt to hide a huge bust. She kept her hair short and this accentuated the angular push of her masculine jaw. I would have placed her anywhere between thirty and forty. Unlike Benns,whose long jowls and lugubrious eyes seemed weighed down by too many sights of dead bodies, Detective Sergeant O’Dare was cheerful. She could have been captain of the policewomen’s netball team.
    When they were ushered into the reception room and introduced, I offered them a drink. After a second or two’s pause they both declined. I caught Hewitt’s eye.
    â€˜Tea or coffee?’ I asked. Benns declined but O’Dare