Deep Water by Peter Corris

reread it. ‘Just making sure I understand her instructions precisely.’
    I wondered what she’d written, not that I was ever likely to know. This man played strictly by the book. He put the sheet down and shook his head.
    â€˜There’s nothing unusual in the will. Just exactly what you’d expect.’
    â€˜I assume Dr McKinley had investments?’
    â€˜Substantial.’
    â€˜Who handles his financial affairs?’
    He shook his head. ‘Before answering that I’d need further instruction.’
    I thanked him and left Hank’s card asking him to get in touch if any information came his way. Horace didn’t like me one little bit, but he wanted to keep Margaret McKinley as a client in the hope of doing business with her. To that end he was prepared to be polite to me. Just.
    My car was still up on blocks in a friend’s garage awaiting a final service and tune-up, and I’d caught a cab to Double Bay. I hadn’t been away more than six months but Sydney traffic seemed to have got worse, if that was possible. It was stop, start and crawl for long stretches and the new tunnels didn’t seem to have had any good effect. On the return trip, glad I wasn’t driving myself, I had plenty of time to think about the next move. Two options—get the police on the job or tackle Tarelton Explorations directly.
    I’d put it to Hank. Might have to persuade him a little, but I was pretty sure which way he’d jump. The taxi dropped me in Newtown and I went up the steps to Hank’s office under the newly installed fluorescent light. In my time there, you could scarcely see your hand in front of your face on that stairway. Hank wasn’t the only tenant tohave upgraded his premises. The way things were going, the landlord would be stressing them all by raising the rent.
    Hank was on the phone in one room and Megan was on the internet in the other. Both looked up, made welcoming signs and got on with what they were doing.
Kick your heels, Hardy. You’re supernumerary now.
    Megan got free first and I asked her what she was doing.
    â€˜Confidential,’ she said.
    â€˜Jesus!’
    She stood and kissed my cheek. ‘Hello, Cliff, are you feeling as well as you look?’
    â€˜You’ll get on. Yes, love, I’m fine. Back to my best at the gym.’
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜Well—nearly. I’m here about the McKinley matter. How busy is Hank?’
    â€˜Busy enough, but he’ll find the time. The coffee maker’s more or less where you had it.’
    She went back to the computer. I wanted to ask her how things were going between her and Hank but I didn’t: our relationship didn’t quite reach into those personal zones. Not yet, maybe never. I had to be content with what I had and, mostly, I was. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as I made coffee, and saw myself in her olive complexion and dark hair. There was something of her mother, though, in her powers of concentration and her cool manner. Cyn could work me over with that attitude whenever she chose, and she did.
    â€˜Hey, Cliff!’
    Hank advanced towards me—all 195 centimetres and one hundred kilos of him.
    â€˜Hank,’ I said. ‘What’ve you done to the coffee? Smells drinkable.’
    â€˜Blame Meg.’
    Meg is it now?
I thought, but I said, ‘I want to move ahead on McKinley.’
    Hank beckoned me into his office.
    â€˜I’m with you on this, Cliff. I know it’s important to you, but—’
    â€˜I’m paying.’
    â€˜Say again.’
    â€˜As of now, you’re on a full retainer and expenses. I’ll arrange an account debit and … however the hell these things are handled now on an ongoing basis.’
    Hank leaned back in his chair and studied me as I sipped the coffee. ‘You sure about this?’
    â€˜Look—we’ve got a missing man whose study and darkroom have been searched to