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With Broxden's cheque warming my inside pocket, I felt much more comfortable in discussing the case with him. "So, it's obviously an inside job," I said, sipping the excellent whisky, "Somebody knew what they were looking for, and exactly when this office would be unoccupied, so I may need to interview your employees. I'll need a list of everybody who works here regularly. And I mean everybody: janitors, waiters, the old dear who sews the sequins back on the dresses, everybody." "Okay," Broxden agreed, looking miserable. "And I'm afraid I'm going to need to talk to your girlfriend, as well," I added. "Machany? Well, if you must. But why?" This one is always hard to explain. In my line of work, I like to be able to talk to everybody, not necessarily because they've got something to hide - although this is surprisingly common - but simply because I am uncommonly good at detecting falsehoods in what people tell me. "Just for complete coverage," I answered cautiously, "Besides, she may not know what she knows, until I ask her." Broxden seemed to accept this. "Well, okay, you're the expert," he replied hesitantly, "But Machany Fordun is really special, you know, and I want to look after her, protect her." I could understand that. If I had reached the point where a really lovely and talented girl had actually agreed to marry me, then I would want to protect her, too. "Okay, so I'll come and talk to her tomorrow, before the show. What time's best?" Broxden thought for a moment and then said: "Say six o'clock. I'll make sure she knows you're coming." Then a thought struck me. "Where does Fordun live?" "She's got an apartment, in ..." Here, he mentioned the name of a posh area in one of the grander caverns. I was impressed, slightly. "She shares it with a friend," he concluded. "A friend?" I said, trying not to sound like I was raising an eyebrow. Not that Goblins actually have eyebrows, of course. "A female friend, also in show business," he explained absently. There didn't seem to be any angle there. "Okay, I'll need to talk to her as well. Can you give me the address?" He nodded, and scribbled something on a notepad using the same fountain pen he had deployed earlier. I took the scrap of paper from his hand and slipped into my pocket right next to the cheque he had given me a few minutes before. "Is there anything else you can tell me?" He thought deeply for a moment. "I don't think so," he replied eventually. "Fair enough. If anything does occur to you, give me a call, okay?" "Sure. I've got your number, right here." "Fine," I said, swallowing the last of the excellent Scotch and returning the glass to the table, "Just one final question." "Which is?" he asked. "Is there a back way out of here?" Broxden smiled wanly. "Yeah, sure. Let me show you."
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Part 7