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he’d seen it done in the movies. I also located a large manilla envelope which had been sealed with masking tape and torn open. I had exhibits one and two on the table with the coffee when he came out, showered and shaved and in a clean T-shirt. He nodded and put three spoonsful of sugar in his coffee.
    â€˜He was waiting for me.’
    â€˜You put up much of a fight?’
    â€˜Not much. God, he was strong and I was a bit pissed. I had a few on the way home. The photos were made into the bed, at the bottom. I thought it was pretty smart but he must’ve found them in no time.’
    â€˜How long were you out to it?’
    â€˜Not long. Half an hour, bit less.’
    â€˜Nothing else taken or disturbed?’
    He shook his head and drank some of his coffee syrup. ‘Have you got the diary with you?’
    â€˜Let’s stay with this for a minute. You didn’t get a look at him, sense anything, smell anything?’
    â€˜No. All I smelled was the ether. All I can tell you about him was that he must be heavy and strong. I’ve seldom . . . ’
    â€˜What?’
    He waved his hand in one of his rare theatrical gestures. ‘Well, I’ve been in close contact with a few men, if you see what I mean. Not many as strong as this guy.’
    â€˜Okay. Did you notice anything when you got home?’
    â€˜Like what?’
    â€˜Lights on, doors open, cars parked?’
    He drank some more coffee and made an effort to remember. ‘N . . . no. There was a car across the road I don’t remember seeing before. I noticed because it was so clean.’
    â€˜What kind?’
    â€˜I don’t know about cars. No idea.’
    â€˜What colour?’
    â€˜White.’
    I grunted. ‘Anything else?’
    â€˜Don’t think so. Oh, hold on.’ He lifted his hand and brushed it against his ear. ‘I felt something before I went under. Something against my ear. Hair. I’d say he had a moustache. There’s something else too . . . but I can’t quite get it.’
    â€˜That’s good enough.’
    â€˜How is it good?’
    I told him about the man with the heavy moustache and the white Volvo who’d been let into my house by Annie. He opened his eyes in surprise and then winced as too much Bondi sunlight hit them. I handed him the diary. ‘Did those initials mean anything to you?’
    â€˜I heard Annie talk about someone she called Obie, could’ve been this O’B., but I don’t know.’
    â€˜First name?’
    â€˜No idea. Sorry. She said he was very smart, smarter than me. Something bad happened to him but I don’t know what.’
    â€˜Read the entries for the time she was in hospital.You’d better not look at what she wrote after you dropped her. You might think less well of yourself.’
    While he read I phoned Frank Parker in Homicide for information on Annie Parker. He got a summary of the medical examiner’s report and proceeded to be cautious.
    â€˜What d’you want to know?’
    â€˜Cause of death.’
    â€˜Narcotics overdose. Death through respiratory and cardiac failure.’
    â€˜Heroin?’
    â€˜No, morphine. How would you classify this death, Cliff?’
    â€˜Probably an accident.’
    â€˜I don’t think we have a category “accident—probably”; what about something more definite?’
    â€˜Accident then.’
    â€˜Nothing in it for me?’
    â€˜Don’t think so.’ Frank said something about Hilde and his baby son which I didn’t hear because I wasn’t listening. My mind was running somewhere else.
Morphine and ether. A white Volvo.
Sounded like a doctor to me. ‘Hold on, Frank. Maybe you might be interested in this. I can’t tell you much now . . . ’
    â€˜But you want me to tell you something.’
    â€˜Right. The Southwood Hospital in Sutherland. Might you have something on