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letting him know I wasn’t going to answer, my expression telling him, you’re not in your court now, Mr Justice Loder.
    He held my gaze and then his mouth moved, a tiny twitch of the ruby lips. He’d got it.
    ‘What does interested mean?’ he said. ‘Exactly?’
    ‘It’s an inexact term.’
    ‘Here we go,’ said the plump serving person, striving to be cheerful. ‘Weak latte and a short.’
    We watched a train leave the station.
    Colin Loder sipped, put his cup down. He wasn’t going to lift it again. He wasn’t meeting me for coffee, probably didn’t drink coffee, for health and fitness reasons.
    I tried mine. Terrible. ‘Would you know about police interest in Robbie?’
    He raised an eyebrow. ‘No, I wouldn’t know about that.’
    Spots of rain on the tarmac outside. I wanted to end this encounter, drive to Meaker’s and there drink decent coffee and dwell on more interesting matters. For example, the form for Cranbourne.
    ‘Well, I thought I should express my doubts to you,’ I said. ‘I’ve done that. And the coroner will probably agree with the police.’
    I stood up. He didn’t.
    ‘It’s Jack Irish?’
    ‘Yes.’ He knew that.
    ‘Someone said he couldn’t understand how you kept your practising certificate.’
    ‘Someone?’
    ‘I mentioned your name to someone.’
    ‘Tell someone I’m of a lovable disposition and my legal clients don’t complain,’ I said. ‘That’s how I keep my practising certificate. Nice meeting you.’
    He held up a placatory hand, a pink-palmed soft hand. ‘Sit down, Jack.’
    Reluctantly, I did.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ the judge said. ‘That was impertinent of me. And I’m sure your doubts are well founded.’
    I didn’t want an apology. I wanted a reason to leave.
    ‘Well, obviously we need to know more,’ he said.
    ‘I don’t think there’s anything more I can do.’
    He looked down. ‘I’d deem it a kindness.’
    Pleading is hard to bear, even a judge’s pleading. ‘It would save lots of money if someone gave me Robbie’s history,’ I said.
    ‘This may sound strange, but I don’t know anything about him. Just that he came from Sydney and was a casual barman at The Green Hill.’
    ‘I’ll tell you what I know about Robbie,’ I said. ‘He lived alone in a one-bedroom unit. The neighbours liked him. He put in a light bulb for the old lady downstairs, took her garbage out a few times. He wasn’t seen often but he came and went without any noise. That’s it.’
    Loder nodded. ‘Did he have a drug habit?’
    ‘Hard to tell. Can I be impertinent and ask why you wanted him found if you don’t know anything about him?’
    He sighed. ‘He’s related to someone. The personturned to me for help. People think…people in my position can reverse gravity, change the orbit of the earth.’
    ‘So this relative could tell you or me about him?’
    ‘No. The person hadn’t been in touch with Robert for a long time. Then she met him again, briefly, and then she lost touch. And so she came to me and I contacted Cyril Wootton.’
    ‘May I ask why you didn’t consult the police? My understanding is that they come when people in your position call.’
    ‘I chose to hire someone to find Robert.’ A pause. ‘Which brings us to where we are now.’
    I looked at the street. A man in a raincoat was approaching, something on a string leading him. It looked like a hairy loaf of bread.
    We had a short time of not speaking. The rain was getting harder. I heard him run his hands over his temples, the faintest sound of palms over freshly shorn hair, an electric hiss.
    ‘This could turn out to be a complete waste of money,’ I said. ‘It probably will.’
    ‘If the police won’t consider other possibilities, then we must.’ He looked at his watch. His wrists were hairy, wiry hairs peeping out under the Rolex. ‘I must run,’ he said. ‘Enjoy your coffee.’
    He dropped a note on the counter, didn’t wait for change. I watched him walk briskly in the