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of long white hair caught under his left arm.
    ‘Good morning, Mr Hunt. I wonder if we might speak to you again.’ Fitzjohn glanced behind him to see Betts reach the front porch.
    Emerson stepped back from the doorway. ‘Yes, of course. For a moment there, I thought you were going to be one of those religious groups trying to save my soul. That’s all I need right now. Come through, gentlemen,’ he continued, now holding the dog at arm’s length. ‘I daresay you’ve heard that Richard is in the hospital.’
    ‘Yes,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘It’s most unfortunate.’
    ‘It certainly is. Especially at a time like this when it could be construed he had something to do with that man’s death last night. Not to mention what harm this whole thing is going to do to our business once word gets out.’ Fitzjohn glanced sideways at Betts while Hunt stopped at an open doorway. ‘If you’d care to wait in there,’ he said, gesturing into a large living room. ‘I’ll get rid of this damned dog.’ With that, Emerson disappeared.
    ‘Sounds like Mr Hunt is more concerned with the business side of things than he is about his partner’s life,’ said Betts, walking into the room and looking around.
    ‘Takes all kinds, Betts.’
    While Fitzjohn studied a painting on the wall above the fireplace, Betts crossed to the window and took in the view overlooking Middle Harbour with the Sydney skyline in the distance. ‘It’s amazing how some people live. Just look at that view. There’s no two ways about it, I should have gone into real estate. I can just see myself living in a place like this. Sitting here on a cold winter’s evening in front of a roaring fire, relaxing after a hard day at the office selling houses.’
    Fitzjohn glanced at Betts and rolled his eyes. As he did so, Emerson Hunt reappeared.
    ‘Have a seat, gentlemen,’ Emerson said, sitting down in an armchair. ‘I’m sorry about the dog. It belongs to Theodora.’
    ‘I should have mentioned, Mr Hunt,’ said Fitzjohn, settling himself into a chair. ‘We’d like to speak to Mrs Hunt as well.’
    ‘Oh, I see. Well, she’s not here at the moment. She’s at the tennis club. Plays every Saturday morning.’ Emerson looked at his watch. ‘She should be home soon, though.’ As he spoke, a door slammed and hurried footsteps could be heard.
    ‘For god’s sake, Emerson,’ a woman’s voice yelled. ‘Why did you lock Tulip in the storeroom? You know it frightens her to be in the dark. Oh!’ Dressed in a short white tennis dress and cradling Tulip in her arms, Theodora Hunt gaped at Fitzjohn and Betts. ‘I didn’t know we had company,’ she continued in a softer voice as she peered from beneath the neb of her cap.
    ‘The police want to ask us more questions about last night, darling.’
    Theodora edged into the room and chose to sit on a long couch where she crossed her plump legs. Tulip curled up on her lap while Theodora removed her cap and shook out her long curly blonde hair.
    When she had settled herself, Fitzjohn said, ‘Last night you said that you’d both spoken to the deceased. Can you tell us what was said?’
    The Hunts glanced at each other before Theodora said, ‘Well, in my case, not much. I remarked on what a lovely evening it was and after that, Mr Van Goren caught sight of Richard and went off to speak to him. I told you last night what happened next, didn’t I? They argued.’
    Emerson Hunt glared at his wife. Theodora returned the look and shrugged.
    ‘And you, Mr Hunt. Do you recollect what your conversation with Peter Van Goren was about?’
    ‘Yes. I admired the uniqueness of the cane he carried.’
    ‘Was that the extent of your conversation?’ asked Fitzjohn.
    ‘Pretty much, because we were interrupted.’
    ‘By whom?’
    Emerson hesitated. ‘By one of my clients. He wanted to introduce me to his wife.’ Hunt looked over at Theodora. ‘Theo, why don’t you put the dog out in the kitchen while these gentlemen are