“I’m going to have a coffee.  Want one?”

“Yes.”

Mal stood, wincing at the warning from his back, and hobbled to the kitchen to put on the pot.

A couple of minutes’ industrious bustle before he became aware of Kennedy’s feeble call from the other room, “Mal!  Mal!”

He shuffled into the lounge as fast as his sciatica would allow, “What?”

She was poking frantically with her fingers into the exposed foam bursting from the arms of the ancient chair he really should dispose of, except it was so comfortable to sit in and read the weekend papers…

“Mal!  Foam!”

“Yes…?”

“Foam!”

“Honey, I don’t get what you’re saying – “

She snatched at the pad, fumbling with the pen; My evidence, Mal!  I know where it is!  It’s at the office!

“No, it isn’t.  I’ve looked, so has Glen, so have the Police.  There’s nothing there…”

Oh yes there is!  It’s a great hiding place, Mal.  You’ll never guess in a million years…

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