Mike Dixon

„Good point, Janet.‟
Humphrey wrote Rosie in black and used the black pen
to trace the links with Doris, Charlie and the suitcase.
„There‟s another identity we should include.‟
Janet reached in her bag and produced some photo-
graphs.
„I took these in the pub in Narooma. I used them in my
report but kept the spares to give to the boys.‟
Humphrey sorted through the
prints. They were taken after Tim
had produced the photographs of
Bigus Dickus and others. There was
a shot of David trying to retrieve
them and another of himself with
three giggling girls. In another, the
solicitor was trying to dissociate
himself from the group.
There were about twenty shots in
all and he soon discovered what Janet was talking about. In
several a stranger appeared. He was a man with gross, almost
comical features. Humphrey placed a finger over the
hairline and studied the face.
„He‟s wearing a wig,‟ Janet said.
Humphrey nodded.
„Do you know who he is?‟
„No. But I‟ve seen that face before.‟
He shuffled the photographs like a card player and produced
a shot of the stranger holding one of the porno
prints. In another, taken a fraction of a second later, the
print had vanished.
„Okay!‟ Janet stood back from the table. „There were six
of „em. Tim was left with The Rabbi and The Major. What
did you get, Humphles?‟
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