Blood Guilt. Lindy Cameron
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also included in this file a list of the friends or business associates that I know Geoffrey will be dealing with according to this schedule,' she said, again tapping the social calendar. 'And a recent photograph of my husband just in case you need to share the surveillance, I assume that's what you call it, with any of your staff.'
My staff? thought Kit, taken aback. Where did she get that idea? 'That will be useful, Celia, but I will be handling this personally.'
'Excellent,' she said. 'I was hoping you would say that. That just leaves your fee.' She turned her attention to Byron who obediently unfolded his sallow body from behind the computer screen and was at his mistress's side before she had uttered his name. He placed an envelope in her hand, which she in turn passed to Kit.
'Celia, I usually just agree on a fee and settle the account at the end of the case,' Kit said.
'This is an advance to cover you till our next meeting. Any costs you incur, in the line of duty so to speak, we can settle at the end if you keep a record of them. I am employing you for a service, Katherine. I have always found it to my own advantage to pay for what I want before I get it, then it becomes a matter of trust. I do not want you to be out of pocket before you start. Will it be sufficient?'
Kit flipped open the unsealed envelope and pulled the cheque out just far enough to read $3000. For one week! She fumbled it back into the envelope and tried to place it casually on top of the papers in the Geoffrey Robinson dossier, though she didn't actually want to let go of it. 'It's quite sufficient,' she managed to say.
'Good. Then you begin tomorrow evening and I shall see you again next week. I will show Miss O'Malley out Byron, you can carry on with, ah, whatever. Just carry on.'
Kit stood on the doorstep and shook Celia's offered hand. 'It has been a pleasure meeting you,' she said.
'And you too my dear. Despite the circumstances.'
'Can I ask how you came to choose my agency, Celia?' Kit said trying to make it sound like she did indeed have more staff than just herself and an insane black cat.
Celia Robinson's sudden smile was a tad disarming. There had been an attractive woman there somewhere before the hornets had made a nest on her head.
'I went to school with your mother,' she said. It was obviously of some amusement to her. 'Remember, young lady, it is always who you know in this life that counts.'
So, Lillian was responsible for O'Malley Investigations taking on Pinkertons' proportions, Kit thought as she got back into her car and headed it towards the office which would not, as Celia Robinson obviously thought, be abuzz with smartly-suited detectives to-ing and fro-ing on all manner of operations covert.
CHAPTER TWO
The headquarters of O'Malley Investigations measured approximately 14 feet by 12. What that was in metric Kit had no idea and no desire to find out - it would only reduce the spaciousness she didn't have. The Imperial dimensions provided enough room to hold an impressive oak desk, three filing cabinets, two bookshelves, a kitchen sink, a pathetic potted plant of some tall variety in perpetual death throes, and two chairs - one for the only detective employed by the agency and one for clients. On the rare occasion that clients arrived in numbers greater than one, Kit simply borrowed a chair from her friend Del who produced, among other things, a feminist magazine in the front four-fifths of the Richmond premises.
A glass door opened from the main street into a small tiled hallway which featured two interior doors and a stairway going up. Kit didn't mind stairs when they went in that direction but, as her apartment was on the next floor, it meant she had to descend the damn things at least once a day. One of the strange things about suffering from vertigo was that coming down was always a lot harder than going up.
A large sign on the first door off the hallway announced Aurora Press loudly in purple lettering. However, the fact that Kit's office had, until recently, been Aurora's lunch room explained, not only the sink that skulked in one corner, but why only the smallest of wooden plaques on the second door at the rear of the hallway indicated the centre of operations for O'Malley Investigations.
When she'd first set up shop, Kit had contemplated advertising her services with just a phone number but realised that not all her clients would be happy meeting in the local pub or the Botanic Gardens. Whenever possible though, Kit offered to meet clients on their own turf, or at least neutral ground. She was certain, for instance, that Celia Robinson would never have paid such a large advance had she met with Kit beside a dying philodendron instead of a naked Greek hero.
Kit dumped a couple of books on the piles of paper scattered on her desk to anchor them before turning on the ceiling fan. It never cooled the room down but at least it moved the hot, sticky air around, albeit in hot, sticky lumps. She kicked off her sandals, hung up the collection of wrinkles that had once been the jacket of her light-weight suit and opened the connecting door to the front office. Aurora Press was deserted. They were probably still at lunch. After all, it was only 3 p.m.
Kit flicked the switch on the decrepit air-conditioning unit, grabbed a Coke from the fridge and dragged a chair into the doorway to try and get some relief from the heat. Putting her feet up on what was usually the clients' side of her desk she opened the file on Geoffrey Robinson.
The photograph of the man in question was a black and white glossy taken, according to the details on the back, three months before in the Orlando House board room in St Kilda Road. Geoffrey Robinson stood casually, one hand in a pocket of his immaculately-tailored dark suit, by a floor-to-ceiling window with commanding views of the city. A broad-shouldered man, large but obviously fit, he wore his hair in a sort of dry Wall Street look, combed back with precision to make a feature out of his receding hairline. His eyes revealed absolutely nothing though his lipless mouth was spread in what for him possibly constituted a smile. His nose was neither big nor small but his ears should have been pinned back from birth as they gave his face the overall appearance of a fruit bat, though he was nowhere near as cute.
Kit picked up the first page of computer print-out prepared by the bloodless Byron. It was headed 'Week One', which began the next day with an afternoon of social tennis with friends in Brighton. This was marked with an asterisk which meant Geoffrey would be in the company of his wife, though try as she might Kit could not imagine Celia Robinson playing anything more energetic than bridge. Geoffrey's next appointment, at 7.30 p.m. and underlined in red, was dinner at his club in Collins Street.
What he did afterwards would perhaps reveal what Celia had called 'the mystery' as this was obviously where Kit was expected to start. Despite Celia's misgivings about hiring a PI to hang around in dark doorways that was probably what Kit would have to do. Even her best sequined gown would not get her into The Patrician, one of the few remaining bastions of male exclusivity in Melbourne - if you didn't count leather bars like The Rod and Sergeant York's.
Sunday, the whole day thank god, was marked with an asterisk so regular surveillance would be on hold till Monday evening when Geoffrey was due to dine out with Miles Denning, William Zaber, Marjorie Finlay, Greg Fulton and others at The Stone Garden from 8 p.m. Tuesday he had set aside three hours for lunch with one Ian Dalkeith and the evening from 7 p.m. onwards, though containing no appointments, had been circled in red and highlighted with a question mark beside the word Patrician. Wednesday was a busy day: there was lunch with Marjorie Finlay and Miles Denning; an unexplained appointment out of the office scheduled for 6 p.m.; and another night subtly circled in red and queried by Celia's meticulous personal secretary. Thursday involved yet another luncheon appointment, this time with a person or persons unknown, and some sort of publishing industry do at the Hilton from 8 p.m. An asterisked notation beside the last appointment indicated that Celia would also be attending the function but only from 8 until 10.30. That was it for the first week. That was enough, even with an advance on payment for services rendered.
Kit ignored Week Two and turned to the page which listed Geoffrey Robinson's friends and associates. Miles Denning, as Kit already knew, was OHP's publisher; William Zaber was managing director of Zaber Ink, one of the largest advertising agencies in Victoria; Greg Fulton was marketing director of OHP's overseas division based in London; Marjorie Finlay was