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.He’s been arrested himself.’ Jim sipped at his coffee again, and carefully placed the cup back onto its saucer.‘I could probably find out the details, if you want them.’‘I—I don’t know.’ I was still busy absorbing the information; I didn’t know what I should actually do with it.‘What do you think?’‘Well, it’s leverage.If your husband’s involved with a junkie—’‘Yes, yes.’ I put my hand to my forehead.‘I see.’‘That’s all I’ve got.It was sheer luck.Dick didn’t remember seeing your husband in the place, with or without Josephine, but they get a lot of people through there, and not many regulars.He said Josephine comes back every now and then because she knows it bugs him, so he said he’d keep an eye out.I don’t know if he will.’‘Right.’‘When do you think they actually meet? Josephine and your husband?’‘Lunchtime,’ I answered.‘Maybe.sometimes he’s home late after work.His shift finishes at about half past eight or nine, but he doesn’t get home till half past ten or eleven.He reckons it’s drinks.meetings.’ I was so reluctant to say all this.It was private stuff.‘On Mondays and Thursdays he’s got about two hours between dropping the kids at day care and going to work.’ I looked up suddenly.‘You’re not going to follow him?’ I gasped.Jim studied me with his bland, brown eyes.‘Would that be a problem?’ he queried.‘Well.no, I.’‘Might be the best way to tackle things.Might not be.’‘Couldn’t you follow her, instead?’‘I could.If that’s what you’d prefer.’‘I would.Very much.’‘But if it’s not Josephine he’s seeing, you’ll be wasting your money.’Covering my eyes, I swallowed.It was all too much.‘Do what you think,’ I said shakily.‘Your husband will be easier to track.He hasn’t a lot of time to play around with.I can make sure someone’s on his tail at those specific periods that you’re worried about.’I nodded again.I couldn’t speak.Blinking back tears, I stared at the tablecloth.‘Cheer up,’ said Jim.All at once he leaned forward, and squeezed my wrist in a reassuring fashion.‘I think you’re going to be pleasantly surprised.I think this is all a beat-up.’ He released me.‘You heard anything about that friend of yours? Miriam?’I shook my head.‘No,’ I squeaked.‘Well, like I said, remember the source.’ Glancing at his watch, he clicked his tongue, and rose to his feet.‘I’ve got to go,’ he added.‘You okay?’‘Oh, yes.’‘This is why I do mostly insurance work, these days,’ he said casually.‘Not as stressful as domestic cases, one way or another.I’ll get back to you in a couple of days.See what I can dig up in the meantime.’‘Okay.’‘Thanks for meeting with me.’He dragged his raincoat back on.He took a last swig of coffee.And then he did something really, really weird.He picked up my hand, and kissed it.So now I had even more to worry about.Suddenly, in the midst of all this other chaos, a private detective decided to kiss my hand.He didn’t do anything else.He just kissed my hand, turned on his heel, and disappeared into the rain.But it was so bizarre.So unexpected and out of character.For a few minutes after he left, I just sat there, gaping, until my soup arrived.I thought: What was that about?I thought: Uh-oh.I thought: I must be imagining things.Needless to say, I burned my mouth on my lunch—which I couldn’t seem to finish.I was in a state of complete abstraction, functioning on automatic pilot; I ended up paying for Jim’s coffee without feeling even a twinge of irritation.On my way back to work I kept bumping into umbrella spokes and traffic-light poles, and finally found myself at my desk without being consciously aware of how I’d got there.I had been too busy pondering, with growing alarm, the possibility that Jim McRae had just made a pass at me.The usual things went through my head (I’ve heard them a million times before): Maybe I’m reading too much into this.Maybe it was just a bit of Olde World courtesy, employed by a man with an eccentric streak—or a weird sense of humour.Maybe it was a gesture of genuine respect, and he doesn’t realise that it’s likely to be misinterpreted.Maybe I’ve worked on too many sexual harassment cases.Then along came the more uneasy, second thoughts: He walked off before I could say anything.He didn’t give me any warning.He surely can’t have thought that I’d welcome a stupid piece of bravura like that, in the circumstances? For Chrissake, I’m his client! He’s been entrusted with my personal details— my marital problems, my work address, my home telephone number—and should therefore behave with the professional circumspection of a doctor or a massage therapist.His detachment might have been a bit disconcerting, at first, but it had been reassuring as well.Why had he suddenly blown it all with this ill-judged flourish?A cold sense of dread began to invade my gut.I had laid myself wide open to this man.I had given him a foothold into my life, and now I didn’t even know if his intentions would stand up to close scrutiny
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