And he always responded. He was like a big brother, and she treated him with the careless affection characteristic of such a relationship.
Hamish was delighted to hear from her. ‘We thought you’d dropped off the edge of the earth,’ he said, then recollected himself. ‘I mean, I’m so sorry to hear about Linsey. I would’ve come to the memorial service, but I didn’t even know about it until I spoke to Magda. I was in Sydney at the time.’
‘No need to apologise. Linsey hated a fuss. Now, what are you doing for dinner?’
‘Beans on toast, I should think. Or perhaps pizza, if I can’t be bothered cooking.’
‘How about coming over here? We can order pizza and open a bottle of Amy’s red.’
Hamish arrived promptly at seven with the pizzas, his grey eyes smiling behind thick-–lensed glasses. He stooped to kiss Moss’s cheek as she took the pizza boxes.
‘Come on through. We’ll eat in the kitchen. It’s cosier. The dining room’s a bit grand for pizza.’
As they chatted amiably over pizza and wine, Hamish looked across at Moss and wondered where all this was going. They’d known each other since high school, where they’d both been involved in the annual musical productions. He grinned to himself as he remembered their performance in Jesus Christ Superstar. Moss had played Mary Magdalene, and he was cast as an unlikely Judas. They’d gone their separate ways at university, she to continue her music, and he to study landscape architecture, but they had remained friends.
I wonder why she asked me over? he thought. It’s usually me who makes contact. He’d had a futile crush on her at school, but his temperament was phlegmatic, and when he received no encouragement, he moved on without rancour. An only child, he cheerfully took on the big brother role into which he was cast. Now, sitting in her kitchen eating pizza, he began to wonder, to hope that they might move on from ‘just mates’ to something more. He watched closely as Moss absently ran her fingers through her hair. She wasn’t actually pretty, but her features were regular and those dark blue eyes—they got to him every time . . .
‘Dessert,’ she said, embarrassed by his appraising look.
He did a mock double-take when she brought out a homemade ginger fluff sponge. ‘Don’t tell me you made that. What happened to our vow to never make a recipe that had more than two steps? That looks like a six-or seven-stepper to me.’
Moss had to confess. ‘An old lady I’ve been staying with— Mrs Pargetter—she made it for me. We can have it with our coffee.’
The sponge was a bit rich after the pizza, but Hamish wolfed down a second slice while Moss told him about Amber-Lee. She didn’t tell him about her relationship to Finn, just that she was making some enquiries for a friend.
‘The truth is,’ she said, ‘I don’t know where to start. I thought we could, you know, toss around a few ideas.’
Hamish sighed. So she did just want his help with something. The story of my life, he thought ruefully, but he accepted it with good grace and put his mind to the problem at hand.
‘As far as I can see, your best bet is to start with the police officer—what’s his name?—Graham Patterson. You may have some problems with the privacy legislation, though. And he might have moved on by now. Almost certainly, when you think about it.’
‘He was a senior constable at the Fitzroy police station. Finn, my friend, said he was quite nice. That’s all I know.’
‘Not much to go on. Tell you what. Mum’s friend, Judy— her daughter’s married to a copper—she might be able to help us. If we can’t trace your man through Fitzroy police, I’ll ask her.’
‘Sorry to bother you with all this, Hamish.’
‘No worries. Nothing like a mystery to put a bit of spice into life.’ He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘Two heads are better than one, I always say.’
They finished their coffee, and Moss made some more. She enjoyed the uncomplicated company of someone her own age—someone she could laugh with. It was two am before Hamish left, promising to contact Judy’s daughter if Moss had no luck at the Fitzroy police station.
She went there the next day. There was no Graham Patterson and no-one was telling her where to find him. ‘They probably thought I was out to get him—that he’d arrested my lover or something,’ she said plaintively to