by Peter Corris
I've never been keen on doing as I was told. Nine o'clock the next morning found me in Liston, parked well away from the house where Billie was staying but with a good view of it through my binoculars. After a few minutes a big Islander dressed in a dark suit left the house, got in one of several cars parked nearby and drove away. Ten minutes later an ambulance pulled up and a white-clad nurse and two paramedics went inside the house. A few more minutes went by and one of the paramedics came out to the ambulance and collected a stretcher.
Looks promising, I thought.
My mobile rang. 'I'm in a phone box. 'Just wanted you to know I was on the job,' Tommy Larrigo said. 'Making progress, man.'
'That's good to know. I'll come by when I get a chance.'
'Finding some strange things here. Old statues of men and women doin' it.'
'Close your eyes,' I said.
I rang off as the paramedics carried the stretcher out with a small blanket-wrapped figure on it. The nurse emerged a little later, scribbling on something attached to a clipboard. She got into the ambulance and it drove away. A smooth operation, but slightly worrying because it meant that Billie Marchant was genuinely unwell. I rang Lou Kramer, got her voicemail, and left the briefest of messages to say where I was staying and what I was doing. Then I rang Sharon Marchant.
'What?' she snapped.
I told her Billie was on her way to the hospital.
'Shit, I've got a class in ten minutes.'
'Ring the hospital. Tell them you'll be there as soon as you can. Someone from the family should be there.'
'I'll get Sarah to go. She's never met her but she's her niece, after all. I'll get there later this morning. Where will you be?'
'I'll be there.'
She laughed. 'I'll tell her to look out for you. Sarah'll be glad to meet you. She's sure we're on together.'
'They think of nothing else.'
The ambulance didn't use its siren on the way to the hospital, a sign that Billie wasn't at death's door. It took a while for me to find a parking place and then to locate the admissions desk. I enquired about Ms Billie Marchant and was told she'd been admitted by Sister Mary Latekefu of the District Health Service. She was receiving treatment for malnutrition, dehydration and pneumonia and couldn't receive visitors until a doctor said so.
I moved away from the desk and a young woman who'd been standing nearby approached me. She was medium tall, slim, brown haired, olive skinned-Sharon without the dye job, a few shades darker and twenty years younger.
'Mr Hardy?'
'You'd be Sarah… Marchant?'
'Sarah Marchant-Wallambi. Didn't Mum tell you? My dad's a Koori.'
'Glad to meet you, Sarah. Did you hear all that about your Aunt Billie?'
She smiled as we moved away towards a set of plastic chairs. 'Yeah, except that she's Aunty Wilhelmina. That's her real name. I was just going to ask about her when you stepped in.'
'I'm finding out more about your family all the time,' I said. 'How much d'you know about what's going on?'
'Not much. I know she's a wild one and into drugs and all that. I met her once when I was a kid. That's when she told me her name. I thought she was great, but Mum didn't like to talk about her much.'
I bought us two coffees from the machine and we sat on the hard chairs they provide with arm rests so you can't stretch out on a few of them for a nap. She dropped her backpack to the floor and drank some coffee. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, sandals. She had a couple of rings in her ears but none in her face. 'Can you tell me what this's all about? I mean, suddenly Mum's in Sydney with a strange man and her car needs picking up and her sister's off to hoppy and you're here… like, this is so un-my mum.'
'It's a long story. Billie… Wilhelmina… she's a sort of witness in something pretty big to do with money and other stuff. I'm working for someone who needs to talk to her and can help her to pull out of this bad patch she's in. Your mother's on side more or less, if we can work out the details.'
'Wow. Is she in danger… Billie?'
'Not while she's here. Look, what you should do is tell them you're her niece and that her sister's on the way. Tell Sharon I'm going off to organise my client to see Billie when she's well enough. Okay?'
She nodded. I patted her shoulder. She gave me a look I'd seen before on the faces of wise children of women I'd got involved with. Is this guy a candidate? With the scars, the broken nose, the manners for the moment and the secrets? Probably not.
I gave Sarah the motel number and headed back there expecting a visit or at least a call from Steve Kooti to put me in the picture. I also wanted to think about how to play things with Lou Kramer. Her bull-at-a-gate style wasn't right for things as they stood, and I worried that negotiations between her and Sharon could easily break down. Still, I considered I wasn't doing too badly so far, with Billie found and secured and an ally or two on the side. I stopped for petrol and, as I hadn't eaten anything yet and felt I owed myself an indulgence, I had a cup of coffee and a sandwich at the servo.
I pulled in to the motel car park and hoped they weren't doing my room. Nothing more boring than kicking your heels while they cart out the empties. But the door was closed and there was no sign of the trolley. I went in and something about the weight of a Mack truck hit me on the back. My knees crumpled; a skyhook picked me up and dumped me on the bed. I fought for breath, waiting for the next assault, but nothing happened. With almost everything hurting, I wrenched myself around to see a man standing beside the bed. He was so big he blocked out most of the light from the window. He wore the kind of high buttoning single-breasted suit that footballers wear to the tribunal and their court hearings. I recognised him as the man I'd seen leaving the Liston house that morning. Had to be Yolande Potare.
He cracked his knuckles with a noise like the rattle of small arms fire. 'You're a nuisance,' he said, 'and I don't like you.'
'Doing my job.'
'Interfering with the Lord's work.'
'You reckon the Lord likes to see sick women wasting away to death, do you? She's where she belongs, Mr Potare. Let it be.'
'I will. But first I'm going to make you sorry you ever got born. Stand up.'
The bedside lamp was anchored, and the clock radio; the only weapon to hand was a pillow. I slung it at him as I stood, hoping to distract him long enough to pick up something solid or, better still, get through the door. He swatted it away, grabbed me by the shoulder and drew back his other arm to totally rearrange my face.
The door burst open and two men came in. They weren't as big as Yoli but one was big enough. He grabbed Yoli's arm and swung him off balance while the other guy kneed him in the crotch. Yoli released me, bellowed with pain and rage and bent double. The smaller man flashed something in a leather folder under Yoli's eyes.
'If you want to be up on assault charges, you can be,' he said.
His mate took a handful of Yoli's suit collar and pulled him towards the open door as Yoli was still fighting for breath. 'Or you can just piss off.'
Yoli staggered through as he was released and the door was kicked shut behind him. I sat down on the bed and massaged my shoulder.
'Police?'
The big man dusted his hands off, looking pleased with himself. 'No. My name's McGuinness and this is… well, never mind. We work for someone who's anxious to meet you.'
'Look, I'm glad you happened along. Don't quite see how but-'
'That can be explained. Just stay put.'
I took a closer look at him. McGuinness was big, fair, freckled and running to fat. His exertions had left him short of breath. His mate was more compact, possibly smarter, but not in charge. Both had something like an ex-army or ex-cop poise I didn't like the look of, but there was no point in arguing.
McGuinness opened the door and gestured invitingly. I heard a car door slam and footsteps approaching on the concrete path. Leather soles, confident tread. McGuinness held the door wide open and Barclay Greaves walked in.
14
<
br /> Greaves, looking like John Cleese with a gut, sat in the room's only comfortable chair. He would. McGuin-ness's mate opened the fridge, poured a glass of water and handed it to me.
'How're you feeling, Mr Hardy?' Greaves said.
I drank some water. 'I'm okay, Mr Greaves.'
He glanced at McGuinness. 'Did you mention my name?'
McGuinness shook his head.
'No mystery,' I said. 'I saw you in the company of Louise Kramer the other night. Checked your car registration and Bob's your uncle. We sort of met at Jonas Clement's party, if you remember.'
'Yes, indeed. Well, I'm impressed. Wasn't that a bit above and beyond the call of duty? Keeping tabs on your own client?'
'Can't be too careful. I knew she wasn't giving me the full picture.'
'I'm not sure anyone knows what precisely that is. Louise is devious. That's all right, so am I, and you seem to have acquired some formidable enemies. I'm told Rhys
Thomas gave you a hard time, and that big chap certainly wasn't friendly.'
'True. Well, your blokes helped me out there. I suppose I should be grateful.'
He nodded. He was immaculate in his suit, muted striped shirt and silk tie. His colour was a few shades too high and he was carrying those extra kilos. One-on-one I didn't think he'd give me much trouble, but the presence of the other two tipped the balance.
'Yes,' Greaves said. 'That should put us on a good footing, wouldn't you say?'
'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.'