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  "Goodness. You think Philip stole it?"

  "Must have. I was going to ask him about it. Now it's obvious isn't it? Stole it to cover his loss. We'd better have a floor meeting."

  The meeting would focus on how to stifle any embarrassment to the floor, which would not be easy considering we had spawned both a murderer and murderee, and our floor was not well equipped to handle sticky public relations messes. Someone would, undoubtedly come up with the idea of wasting money on a PR consultant.

  I said: "Good idea."

  He gave me a hard stare. "I hope you'll attend."

  No chance. I was about to become a pariah for discovering that our Floor Clerk whacked our Head of Chambers, and for not somehow magically sweeping the whole sorry mess under the carpet. Of course, they'd forgive me in a year or two. But I'd better lie low for a while.

  I looked him in the eye. "Oh, don't worry. I'll be there."

  "Good."

  I couldn't help a final dig. "You know, the last thing he said to me was that he hated barristers."

  Eslick frowned. "Ungrateful bastard. After all we did for him. Deserves no mercy. You know, I never did like him - was thinking about getting a new clerk - and how right I was!"

  More barristers had emerged from their rooms and added to the hubbub. I retreated into mine, closed the door, telephoned Doris and explained what had happened.

  She said: "That's wonderful news. What a stupid man."

  Was she was talking about Terry or Philip?

  "You're right."

  "I've had some other good news."

  "What?"

  "The insurance company is going to pay out Terry's life policy. I'll get almost a million. Looks like I won't have to go back to work, after all."

  Now the murderer had been caught, I felt an obligation - almost duty - to resume our relationship. "That's great. So, umm, do you want me to drop over this weekend?"

  "No, I won't be here."

  I was relieved. "Why not?"

  "I'm going to Melbourne to visit some relatives."

  "OK. I'll see you when you get back."

  "Definitely."

  A couple of hours later, Barbara Carmichael strode into my room, wearing her bar jacket, obviously just back from court, looking excited. "I've just heard."

  I leaned back and looked innocent. "About what?"

  "Philip killed Terry and he's been arrested."

  A puzzled expression. "You know, the police were here earlier: that must have been why."

  She glared. "Don't play games. What's been going on?"

  "Short version or long one?"

  She sat down. "Long one."

  I explained how I fingered Philip - using the information she obtained from Greta Milliken - and helped the police arrest him.

  "So the big thug I kicked didn't kill Terry?"

  "Correct, Philip did. Somehow, Philip got the weird idea that Terry had some business sense, took his investment advice and lost a bundle."

  "In a way, I feel a bit sorry for him."

  "So do I. Terry believed his own bullshit and could be very convincing."

  She frowned. "I suppose you think this makes you a better detective than me?"

  I smiled. "I'm convinced it does. But you did provide the vital clue. You deserve credit for that."

  A scowl. "Yes, even though I didn't see its significance."

  I shrugged. "You needed more pieces of the puzzle."

  "True, and you weren't keeping me informed. In fact, I should have been in at the kill, so to speak. I thought we were a team."

  "You weren't around. You were off pretending to be a barrister."

  "You could have waited."

  "Sorry, events were in the saddle."

  "Mmm, I suppose that's a bit of excuse. Now, I'd better get back to pretending I'm a barrister."

  "OK. Don't forget we've having lunch on Monday."

  "I won't."

  She strode from my room.

  Soon afterwards, to my great surprise, I got a call from Bob Meredith who, understandably, sounded a little hesitant. "Umm, I just want to congratulate you."

  What a cheek. "For what?"

  "Settling the Arnold case. Brilliant. I'd written that one off. I hope you've sent you bill."

  "I'm about to."

  "Good. I also hear your clerk's been arrested for murdering Terry."

  "That's right."

  "So, you see, I was innocent."

  "Of murder, yes, but you helped the judge cover-up a serious crime and then kept appearing before him, very successfully."

  A surprising chuckle. "That was a bit naughty of me, I admit, but I understand the police aren't going to do anything more about the judge's conduct or mine. So, even if you make a fuss, nobody will care."

  Though I wanted to get angry, I didn't have the strength. "So it seems."

  "Let's put all of this behind us, including the incident in your room."

  "Incident? That what you call it?"

  "Yeah. Schwartz wasn't going to hurt you. And if he was, I'd have stopped him, I promise."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. So I hope we can keep working together. In fact, I've got a few briefs I'd like to send you."

  Now I was angry. "I don't want your work, ever again."

  "Look, I understand that you're upset."

  "Of course I'm fucking upset. I'm also relieved. Know why? Because, from now on, I'll never have to read the shit your firm puts together and calls a brief. A two-year-old could do a better job of preparing cases. Sorry, you'll have to rip off clients without my help."

  "I'm sorry you feel like that?"

  "I'm not. Pay my bill and then fuck off," I said, and hung up, knowing that was all water off a duck's back.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The following Monday, I took Barbara to a high-priced Italian restaurant in the Rocks for lunch. As soon as we sat down, I realised it was a bad place to take a fitness nut. I ordered the bloody sausage while trying to avoid her disapproving eye. She ordered a seafood salad with no dressing. She also asked for tap water and, despite wanting a glass of wine to tame my sudden nerves, I did the same.

  I said: "How was your weekend?"

  "OK. Did a triathlon."

  "What's that?"

  "Swimming, running and bike riding."

  I grimaced. "Ouch. How did you go?"

  "Set a P.B."

  "P.B.?"

  "Personal best. Finally cracked three hours."

  "Wow. And how'd your boyfriend go?"

  "He wasn't there."

  "Why not?"

  A dismissive wave of her bread-stick. "Oh, we broke up a couple of months ago."

  My heart squirmed, though I didn't dare ask myself why. "What happened?"

  She shrugged. "I should never have gone out with a merchant banker."

  "Why not."

  "Because they only talk about two things: money and themselves. That gets pretty boring after a while."

  "You didn't talk about triathlons?"

  "Yes, his P.B.s." She munched on the bread-stick. "Did you read the Herald this morning? It said Justice Sloan has resigned."

  A small item in the paper had reported his retirement. Sloan was quoted as saying that, after a long and fulfilling career on the bench, it was "time to pull up stumps and see the world".

  I said: "Yep. No whiff of scandal. Are you surprised? The legal system will do almost anything to protect a judge."

  "So it seems. They don't teach that in law school, do they? Have you spoken to Detective Malloy since Friday?"

  "Yes, this morning. He said they've got heaps of physical evidence implicating Philip. His DNA and fingerprints were found all over the murder scene. So, it seems, he was not much of a clerk, not much of an investor and not much of a murderer. He'll go away for a long time."

  "And Doris? How did she react?"

  "Pleased, of course."

  A hard stare. "You've seen her recently?"

  I flinched. "No, I only spoke
to her on the phone. She's gone to Melbourne to see some relatives."

  She didn't blink. "Anything happening between you two?"

  "No. We're just friends - that's all."

  "Really?"

  "Yes," I said, knowing that was true for the future. Her curiosity about my private life woke a snake in my belly. What was her agenda? I dared not guess.

  The waiter arrived and served our food. While I ate and she nibbled, she described how our colleagues on the floor had reacted to Philip's arrest. "The poor dears are having terrible trouble sorting out their feelings: they spent their whole careers sucking up to him, hoping for work; now they claim they never really liked him."

  "They're not noted for their loyalty."

  "They're also pretty amazed that a wimp like Philip had the guts to kill Terry."

  "So am I. It shows, doesn't it, how far Terry pushed the poor guy: offered him the world, and didn't even give him an atlas."

  As a waiter removed our plates, she twisted her serviette and looked a little nervous. "I've got some big news."

  "What?"

  "I've bought a room on another floor."

  My chest constricted and stomach dropped. Barbara had been licensing a room on our floor while its owner appeared at a long-running royal commission in Perth. I tried to sound relaxed, and failed. "Shit, really?"

  "Yes. Felix said he's coming back next month, so I've found somewhere else: I bought a room at Frank Barton Chambers. I'll be moving in about a fortnight."

  A smart move, because lots of barristers on that floor specialised in building & construction litigation. "When did all this happen?"

  "Oh, about a week ago. I would have told you earlier, but you were so busy."

  I struggled to sound supportive. "It's a good floor for you: you'll fit in well."

  "I hope so."

  I suddenly realised that I'd liked her for a long time, but, because she was always around, had taken her for granted. Damn.

  Frogs jumped around in my throat. "I'm sorry to hear you're going, I really am."

  "Well, I've really enjoyed being on your floor."

  "You have?"

  "Yes, even though you usually ignore me."

  "No, I don't."

  A frown. "Yes you do. You know, I've wondered if you think I'm a bit, well, tough."

  "Tough?"

  "Yes. It's hard for women at the Bar: everyone expects us to be tough, but when we are, they think we're bitches."

  "I don't think you're too tough."

  "You sure? I'm quite sensitive, you know. Maybe, sometimes, I act tough to overcompensate."

  "Don't worry: you're not too tough and not too soft - you're just right."

  A frown. "You don't show that."

  "Show what?"

  "That you think I'm just right."

  Was she teasing, or more interested in me than I thought? My hands tingled. "You mean, I'm supposed to hold up a sign that says 'Just Right'?"

  "No, but you could be nicer."

  "How?"

  She put her elbows on the table and gave me a steely stare. "By paying more attention to me."

  Christ. She obviously did like me more than I thought. "Really?"

  "Yes."

  Nerves fried my brain and I groped around for a response. "Umm, when do you move?" Christ, hadn't she already told me that?

  "In about a fortnight. I hope we'll stay in touch."

  "So do I." Recent events had shaken me out of my complacency and given me a taste for adventure. She'd laid her cards on the table. Time for me to show some courage. "In fact, umm, let's have dinner one night, before you go."

  A broad smile. "That would be nice - very nice."

  Desire swelled in my chest and my left foot trembled. "Great. Maybe on the weekend."

  She carefully smoothed her napkin and placed it in front of her, aware she was now in total control. "OK. But if I have dinner with you, you've got to do something with me."

  "What?"

  "Come for a run."

  "A what?"

  "A run. It's like walking, except sometimes you have both feet in the air."

  My God. What was I getting into? "OK. How far do you run?"

  A grim smile. "Don't worry, the first few times, it won't be far and I'll go slow. I don't want you to have a heart attack."

  The first few times. "Goodness, maybe I was wrong about you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You are tougher than I thought."

  She looked disappointed. "If you don't want to run, you don't have to, but you might enjoy it."

  Why didn't she have knitting as a hobby - or crochet? If the running got too strenuous, I'd fake an injury. "Don't worry, I'll run."

  "Good."

  A waiter arrived and asked if we wanted dessert.

  I looked at her nervously. "Can I?"

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. "That's entirely up to you."

  I glanced at the waiter. "No, just a cappuccino thanks, with skim milk."

  A slight nod of approval.

  THE END