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two years. Katz was history as a husband two years later. Daniels, following eighteen months later, had scored three years before being filed away. Judith was now thirty, just. I flicked through the pages to the material on Claudia. Thirty-three. Dangerous situation.
    Judith didn’t seem to do much with herself except be ‘seen’ at exclusive places with wealthy people. Her mother and father had been divorced within a year of her birth (there was no information on the first Mrs Fleischman) and Judith had gone to boarding and finishing schools and ‘studied’ abroad. To judge from her photo, what she’d studied most was how-to-be-a-top-person. She was very good-looking—dark, Semitic, with luxuriant hair and a full figure that she’d have to watchif she wanted to keep wearing size twelves. She lived in Woollahra when she wasn’t in Paris, London or LA. Her money came from Daddy and her exes. She drove an Alfa Romeo sports car and had been booked for speeding twice and prosecuted for causing a serious accident while driving under the influence. Fine, community service, suspended sentence. I jotted addresses and telephone numbers down in my notebook.
    Wilson Katz was an American, aged forty, who had run his own advertising agency in Sydney until he had joined Fleischman Holdings as personnel manager. At the time of Fleischman’s death he was on the board as vice-chairman. He looked to be medium-sized, fleshy. He sailed with the Sydney amateurs, played golf at the Lakes and had an interest in a Mudgee vineyard. Surprisingly, he was the author of several books—
Selling Yourself
(1989),
Doing Business in Asia
(1990) and
Playing Poker for Serious Money
(1992). All published by Upfront Press—not a household name. Patrick White had said that a writer gives himself away with every word. I made a mental note to get hold of Mr Katz’s revelations.
    The phone rang before I moved on to the pages about Claudia. I let the machine pick it up, listening for the umpteenth time to my recorded message. It sounded more world-weary and disillusioned than I d ever intended. Then Claudia’s unmistakable voice came on the line.
    â€˜My limit for leaving messages, for recorded voices is two, so this is the last try. Again, sorry I was so shitty last night . . .’
    I snatched up the phone. ‘I’m here. I just got in and haven’t played the messages so you can pretend this is number one.’
    She laughed. I could see the teeth and the slight inclination of the head and a light sweat broke out on my body. ‘I’ve spent some time looking into the street to see if you’ve put your watcher on. There’re a couple of possibilities but I can’t really tell.’
    â€˜You’re not supposed to. He’ll be there though.’
    â€˜Thank you.’
    â€˜Why the change of heart?’
    â€˜I’m like that. Sometimes everything that’s happened lately seems unreal. Then it hits me—Julius was killed and I’m accused of murder. That’s as real as it gets.’
    â€˜You’re right there.’
    â€˜I’ve been thinking. I’ve never heard of any Henderson. Julius had a computer here that he wrote letters on. I’ve checked the disc—there’s no Henderson. What is it exactly that you’re doing?’
    I glanced down at the sheets of fax paper.
I’m snooping on you and yours, darling,
I thought. ‘I’m fishing around for connections between Van Kep and other people. I’m looking for people who might want your husband dead and you in the dock for it.’
    â€˜Then you believe me.’
    â€˜Claudia, I’ll be honest with you. I don’t believe anybody about anything. That’s the way I’ll play it until . . . unless something forces me to think differently.’
    â€˜You want to believe me, though.’
    I sucked in stale air through what felt like a stale mouth.