Saving Billie

by Peter Corris

  ‘All depends on what you want.’

  He looked uncomfortable in the surroundings. Cheap motel rooms weren’t his milieu and I felt encouraged because they were mine. McGuinness and his mate were standing around awkwardly. I got off the bed, picked up the pillow I’d thrown at Yoli and pulled out the plastic chair from the tiny desk. I reversed it, sat with my elbows on the back rest and faced Greaves. A quick nod was all he needed to dismiss his minions. They left the room without looking at me.

  ‘Good at what they do,’ Greaves said.

  ‘Yeah. Be interesting if that big bastard’s out there waiting for them.’

  ‘I imagine they’ll cope. What d’you know about me?’

  ‘I’m expecting a phone call on my mobile,’ I said. ‘It’s in the car. How about one of your blokes fetches it for me? It’s in my jacket on the back seat. The back passenger side door doesn’t lock properly. He can jiggle it open.’

  He studied me for some seconds, shrugged, took a mobile not much bigger than a fountain pen from his jacket pocket and made a call. A few minutes later the door opened and a hand tossed the mobile at me. I caught it and the door closed.

  ‘Not real polite,’ I said.

  ‘Let’s stop pissing around. As you’ll have gathered I’m . . . backing Louise’s book.’

  ‘Nice way of putting it.’

  ‘Don’t be a smartarse, Hardy. I can make life very difficult for you if I wish.’

  I went to the fridge, took out a can of beer and cracked it. ‘I’m sure you can,’ I said. ‘People with lots of money will try to do that. Trouble is, what they do sometimes comes back to bite them. Why don’t you just tell me what your interest in this thing is and I’ll decide whether to accommodate you, which at the moment looks unlikely, or to give the whole case the flick or maybe . . . even . . . play it some other way.’

  ‘You’re a nuisance. I advised Louise against hiring you.’

  I shrugged and swigged some beer. ‘You win some, you lose some. I found Billie. Cut her loose.’

  ‘You did. I daresay I would have managed it in time, but I’ll give you the credit. Now, I’ll lay my cards on the table. I detest Jonas Clement and I’m willing to move heaven and earth to bring him down.’

  ‘I got the feeling you weren’t pals the other night. What did he do to you?’

  ‘Never mind. I want to know what this woman knows about the killing of Eddie Flannery and everything else.’

  I shrugged. ‘We’re a fair way off from that still. First, Billie has to be well enough and in her right mind enough to be talked to. Then her sister has to be convinced it’s in her best interest to talk. For all I know, Billie might want to go back to singing hymns with the Islanders in Liston.’

  Greaves looked annoyed. ‘I understood it was mainly a matter of money—getting the right treatment for the woman.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’

  ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re being deliberately obstructive?’

  I lowered the level in the can. I was almost enjoying myself. ‘Why do I have the suspicion you might be planning to blackmail Clement? I don’t give a rat’s arse about him, but I’ve dealt with enough people of your stamp to know that they play a rough game by no known rules when it comes to business.’

  ‘You’re right there. But criminal charges against Clement’ll serve my purpose well enough. All I ask is that I be present when this woman talks . . . Billie.’

  ‘Wilhelmina.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s her name, Wilhelmina.’

  ‘You’re an annoying man, Hardy.’

  ‘Well, I’m annoyed myself. I told Lou to keep everything under her hat and she’s been filling you in.’

  ‘As I said, I’m subsidising her work.’

  ‘I hope you’ve subsidised enough to cover my retainer cheque. It bounced.’

  He shook his head. ‘Silly girl.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. Are you sure she’s playing your game or one of her own?’

  ‘Good point. We’ll have to see, won’t we? You’re in my debt. That Polynesian would have hurt you badly. Someone still might.’

  ‘A threat?’

  ‘A warning. I’ll be in touch through Louise.’

  He’d adjusted the creases in his trousers when he’d sat down. He readjusted them now as he stood and moved to the door. I rubbed my bruised shoulder and drained the can as he left. He was right about this case making me more enemies than I needed—Manuma, Potare, Clement and his son, and Rhys Thomas, Greaves and his helpers and, for all I knew, Lou Kramer herself. My allies so far were Sharon Marchant, Tommy Larrigo and Steve Kooti. No contest. At least the only gun around was mine.

  I went out to the car to check that the gun was as safe as it could be given the dodgy door. The Falcon slumped like a drunk; all four tyres had been slashed and the car was settled on the hubs.

  ‘Yoli,’ I said.

  A car pulled into the area and, just as I spoke, Steve Kooti got out accompanied by a woman in nurses’ uniform. They joined me by the stricken car.

  ‘Did I hear you say Yoli?’ Kooti said.

  ‘That’s right. He was here.’

  Kooti examined me closely. ‘That eye wasn’t thumped today. Yoli doesn’t seem to have done you any damage. I’m surprised.’

  ‘He was prevented. I expect this is Nurse Latekefu.’ I held out my hand.

  ‘Sister Latekefu,’ Kooti said.

  She shook my hand vigorously. She was a big, solidly built woman with a firm grip. ‘Tch, Stephen, it doesn’t matter. I’m glad to meet you, Mr Hardy.’

  ‘Thanks for what you’ve done, Sister. How is she?’

  ‘Not well. She was in a coma or very close to it. That house was in a dreadful state, I’m ashamed to say. It’s not like our people to live that way.’

  ‘They’re not our people,’ Kooti said.

  ‘You know they are, Stephen. They’re just on a wrong path.’

  I pointed to my room. ‘Would you like to come in? I could make some coffee or something.’

  ‘Thank you, no,’ Mary Latekefu said. ‘We just wanted to make sure you were all right. John Manuma said that Yoli Potare was very angry and he’s a violent man. Somebody told him they’d seen your car in Liston and following us to the hospital.’

  ‘I’d back Steve here against him.’

  ‘I’m non-violent these days, Mr Hardy,’ Kooti said.

  I looked at my car and non-violence wasn’t the note I wanted to strike. I unlocked the car and took the .38 from the glove box, holding it low and out of sight of passers-by but not of them. They looked dismayed.

  ‘I won’t kid you,’ I said, ‘this matter involves some ruthless people. I think it’d be best if you kept your distance from this point on. I think the woman you took to hospital will be okay. I think she can be helped and protected and I’ll be trying to do that, but there are complications.’

  Mary Latekefu nodded. ‘I met her niece. Seemed like a capable young woman.’

  ‘Her mother, the sister, is the same.’

  ‘We’ve got enough problems in Liston to be going on with,’ Kooti said. ‘I’m happy to leave this to you but there’s one thing I want to say.’

  ‘I can guess,’ I said. ‘Tommy has to be kept clear of it all.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I’ll give you the address where he’s living and working. I spoke to him this morning and he was hard at it. I’ll try to get the phone on there and I’ll get the number to you. I can’t see how any of this can touch him.’

  His nod said, you’d better be right. I got my notebook and scribbled down the Lilyfield address. They drove off and I rang the NRMA. After an hour or more, a tow truck arrived and I travelled for free to the nearest garage, but four new tyres were going to cost Lou Kramer and Barclay Greaves a bundle.

  I hung about annoying the mechanic by my presence while the tyres were fitted and then drove back to check out of the motel. Some of the comings and goings had been observed
and I got the impression they were glad to be rid of me. They didn’t even try to charge for a late check-out.

  I drove to the hospital and parked even further away than I had the time before and had to contend for the spot with a Volvo. By now it was early afternoon; the day had heated up and dried out and tempers were getting frayed. I made my way to the waiting room for the floor Billie was on and was greeted by several hostile faces—Sarah Marchant-Wallambi, Sharon, who’d re-dyed her hair to a dark brown and looked the more formidable for it, Lou Kramer, in professional suit and heels, and whatever-his-first-name-was McGuinness. Sharon got to her feet and advanced towards me like a one-person SWAT team.

  ‘There you are finally,’ she said. ‘What the fuck is going on here?’

  ‘Mum!’ Sarah said.

  ‘Don’t Mum me.’ She pointed to Lou and McGuinness. ‘What’re these two doing here? My sister’s in a coma and—’

  I wasn’t in the mood for this. ‘I’ll tell you who should be here, and that’s Mary Latekefu, the nurse who fronted those people who were holding Billie and got her out of there.’

  ‘Well, where is she then?’

  ‘Calm down, Sharon. You’ll meet her and you should thank her. She’s got other things to do.’

  ‘And you should thank Mr Hardy, Mum. He helped to get Aunt Billie here.’

  ‘Mr Hardy’s being paid,’ Sharon snapped. ‘And what this bloke has to do with things I don’t like to think.’

  McGuinness straightened his jacket and tie and moved into a comradely stance with Lou Kramer, who was yet to even give me a glance. ‘It’s safe to say that all of us here are working in Ms Marchant’s interest. Albeit perhaps from different angles. I’m in a position to say that when she recovers from her present condition, and I’ve had an assurance from the medical staff that she will recover, with the permission of her nearest of kin, Ms Marchant, she can be transferred to a private hospital where her every medical and psychological need will be met and paid for.’

  Lou nodded but Sharon looked ready to claw her eyes out after disembowelling McGuinness. ‘The medicos have told us bugger-all and you say they’ve talked to you. How come?’

  McGuinness shrugged. ‘Influence, Ms Marchant. Influence. When it works for you, don’t knock it.’

  ‘The question is, who’re you working for?’

  I left them to it and drew Lou Kramer aside. She came, reluctantly. ‘You certainly played your cards close to your chest, Lou,’ I said.

  She shrugged. ‘I had to. Barclay didn’t want anyone knowing of our association.’

  ‘I knew about it almost from day one. Did you enjoy your dinner at the Malaya the other night?’

  Another shrug. ‘So you’re a detective. So what? I’ll admit you did a great job getting hold of Billie. I’d say our business is concluded. Thank you. If you’ll submit your account with your expenses . . .’

  ‘That’s if your retainer cheque clears.’

  ‘It will.’

  ‘Yeah, with Greaves backing you I suppose so. You don’t really think he just wants you to nail Clement in a book, do you?’

  ‘If you knew what Clement had done to him you’d understand.’

  ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘I can’t tell you. Thanks for all you did. If I ever need a private detective again—’

  ‘Go elsewhere,’ I said and turned away. I’d had enough of her and McGuinness and Greaves, and Sharon Marchant seemed to have had enough of me. She was still locked in dispute with McGuinness, her daughter looking agitated on the sidelines. I would’ve been glad to see Steve Kooti or Mary Latekefu, who’d been straightforward and effective, but there was no sign of them. I decided to walk away from it all, although I was sure there were loose ends everywhere. But I wouldn’t get paid for tying them up even if I could.

  The loose ends niggled at me on the drive back to Sydney, but as the kilometres between me and the others increased and I took in the news and some talk programs on the radio, I could feel detachment cutting through. I’d hit my client with the full Monty of an expense account and put the whole thing down to experience.

  I took the drive quietly, stopped for a drink and was back in the pollution by late afternoon. There’s always a letdown after the end of an assignment and in that mood I need company, not a big empty house creaking around me. I bought a six-pack, drove to Lilyfield and parked outside Mike’s dream home to-be. The block had a high privet hedge around three sides, but I could hear signs of activity behind it.

  I opened the gate and saw Tommy slashing away at a stand of lantana. He’d already made a good start, clearing some of the weeds and rubbish. He was stripped to the waist and sweat was running down his hard, lean body. He was slamming the machete so hard into the tough stalks that he didn’t hear me approach.

  ‘Hey, take it easy. You’ll do yourself out of a job.’

  He spun around and his grimy, sweat-stained face broke into a wide grin. ‘Good to see you, man. What d’you reckon?’

  ‘I reckon you’ve made a bloody good start and it’s time to knock off and have a beer.’

  He dug the machete into one of the cut stalks and wiped his face with the back of his hand. ‘I’ll be in that.’

  I tossed him a can and we sat down under a tree on a couple of upturned milk crates.

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Geez, that hits the spot.’

  We knocked the cans off in rapid time and started on a second, taking it more slowly. He asked me what I’d been doing and I filled him in as much as I felt necessary.

  ‘So you’re the one out of a job?’ he said.

  ‘Something’ll turn up.’

  He waved his hand at the yard. ‘You could help me here.’

  ‘No thanks, I’ve done all this sort of yakka I ever want to do.’

  ‘When would that’ve been, Cliff?’

  I thought about it. ‘A bit in the army to toughen us up. That was in Queensland. It was about twenty degrees hotter than this. That got the fat off. I’ve helped a few mates who’ve bought acreages here and there, over the years.’

  ‘Never fancied it yourself?’

  ‘No fear, I’m a city boy, born and bred and likely to die.’

  ‘Bad vibe to talk about dyin’.’ He stood and stretched. ‘Reckon I’ll put in another hour or so. I tell you what, I’ll sleep like a log after this.’

  ‘I’ll leave you the tinnies.’

  ‘Just the one,’ he said. ‘I’m tryin’ to cut down on it. Haven’t had a smoke today either.’

  I laughed. ‘Just don’t find Jesus.’

  ‘No risk of that.’

  ‘Your Uncle Steve said he might call in here. I think he’d be impressed with what you’re doing. Your Aunt Mary as well.’

  ‘She’s terrific, isn’t she? Tried to keep me at school and that. Too dumb to listen. Bloody hard when all you can see in front of you’s the fuckin’ work for the dole shit. Hey, that woman in Yoli’s house. She goin’ to be okay?’

  ‘I guess so.’ I detached a can from the plastic and left him one. ‘Not my problem anymore. See you, Tommy.’

  After a few days, with Lou Kramer’s cheque cleared, my account submitted and a few other minor matters taken in hand, I’d convinced myself of what I’d told Tommy. I called in there again and found him still making progress and still enjoying himself. He said his uncle had been by and spoken highly of what he was doing and also of me. Nice to hear.

  Lou’s second cheque came through in full settlement and this one cleared first off. I was well ahead and, with summer coming on, began to think of taking a holiday. I went to the gym every day, kept away from the fats and felt in pretty good nick. Where to go? I considered the central and north coasts but decided against them. Beaches too crowded; too many yahoos on the roads. I got out a few maps and travel and accommodation guides and worked through them, thinking more about the south coast. The Illawarra was a bit too close, Bermagui a bit too far away. I was thinking about a time I’d spent at Sussex
Inlet years ago. Something very attractive about a quiet estuary and a good surf beach in the one location.

  The election was looming and, depending on when I got away, I might have to lodge an absentee vote. Or I might just skip the whole thing and take my chances on being fined. With council, state and federal elections coming along regularly and all voting compulsory, it sometimes seemed that democracy was getting out of hand. Maybe five-year terms with no one to sit for more than two terms would be the go. I was sure there were arguments against that, but the thought of time-servers who did nothing but toe the party line and wait to draw their super angered me.

  I’d done a year of constitutional law in my aborted law course and enjoyed it more than torts or contracts. I seemed to remember that I’d passed it. It was back when there looked to be possibilities of change in Australia, when change wasn’t a dirty word. Now it was all steady as she goes.

  I was leafing through the accommodation guide with the Amex card to hand when the phone rang by my elbow. I picked it up, not expecting a prospective client to call at home, but it happens. I was prepared to say I was on holiday.

  ‘Cliff Hardy.’

  ‘Cliff, Cliff, it’s Sharon. You have to help me. Billie’s disappeared.’

  part two

  15

  Sharon said she wanted to meet in my office and to get everything on a businesslike basis. I said I’d be willing to help without that because I’d never been happy about the way I’d left things.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Those bastards paid twenty thousand dollars into my bank account. They said it was to help Billie get resettled somewhere and then they . . . well, I’ll tell you when I see you. But I want to use their fucking money to find her.’

  She showed up at the office wearing jeans and a Panthers football shirt, sneakers. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she hadn’t bothered with makeup. There were flecks of paint on the jeans and the shirt. She plonked herself down in the client chair.

  ‘I know, I know,’ she said. ‘I look like shit. Oh, I’ve got that bitch’s clothes in the car.’

  ‘Let’s give them to the Smith Family. She’s not exactly my favourite person either.’