Saving Billie ch-29

by Peter Corris

  'You're talking yourself into your grave.'

  We were across the road. The darkened door slid open and I went through into a carpeted area, lit only by the torch a big man was carrying.

  'Him again,' he said, and I knew he was another of my Toxteth hotel friends.

  'Yes, Kezza, him again. I thought so.'

  'How did he…?'

  'He's going to tell us. You rang Rhys?'

  'He's on his way.'

  'Right. So, we'll find somewhere to make Mr fucking Hardy uncomfortable while we wait. See if he's carrying anything of interest.'

  Kezza slapped my pockets and took the keys. 'Where's your wallet?'

  It was in the glove box with the. 38 and I didn't want them looking. For ease of access, I'd put a few things in my shirt pocket earlier-my investigator's licence, some cash and a credit card. I tapped the pocket. 'Don't carry one.'

  Kezza took the licence, the card and the money. Clement turned on a light and we went up the stairs to where a series of rooms ran off a narrow passage. He pushed me into a room and slammed and locked the door. The room was small; it had no window and contained only a lightly padded massage or treatment bench without any covering and a locked cabinet that presumably contained items to do with physiotherapy. I sat on the bench and leaned back against the wall. Clement had been right- driving past the place slowly twice, parking too close and not being careful around the back had been sloppy work.

  I'd expected some pretty heavy security inside if Billie was being held here, but why the close watch on what came and went outside? I hadn't anticipated that and found it puzzling. What were they expecting? I knew McGuinness hadn't alerted them and I couldn't come up with any explanation. I gave up and concentrated on trying to gain some sort of advantage. The cabinet was solid and firmly locked. The door likewise. The walls and ceiling were smooth plasterboard; the overhead light was covered by a screwed-down plastic shield. The lino tiles on the floor were tightly glued into place. I had my fists and feet, nothing else. Maybe my brains.

  I stretched out on the bench and tried to remember exactly what McGuinness had said about Rhys Thomas. He's really Barclay's man. Assuming Kezza and Clement weren't aware of this, and there was no other heavy in the place, that could be my advantage.

  After about an hour, multiple footsteps sounded in the passage and the door was unlocked. Rhys Thomas came in accompanied by Clement. I stayed where I was.

  'You look relaxed, Hardy,' Thomas said.

  'I've been in worse places.'

  'I'll bet you have. So have I, so has Jonas here. How's the eye?'

  'Just a split in old scar tissue. It wasn't as bad as it looked.'

  'You were a fighter, were you?'

  'Among other things. Is Wilhelmina here?'

  'Who?'

  I sat up. 'Thought you mightn't know. That's her name. Billie's short for Wilhelmina.'

  'This man is a real smartarse, Rhys,' Clement said. 'I vote we take him to the Gap and push him off.'

  'Not very original,' I said.

  Clement took two steps forward with two fists clenched. 'You make me angry, man.'

  'Short fuse. Insecure. Probably something to do with your father.'

  'Stop it, Hardy,' Thomas said. 'Your pop psychology's a load of shit. Jonas here just loves violence, goes well with his bad temper.'

  'Don't talk about me as if I'm not here,' Clement said.

  Thomas looked at him. 'It might be best for you not to have been here, Jonas. Depends on how things turn out.'

  Clement shrugged, retreated and seemed to lose interest, leaning back against the wall.

  That remark reminded me of Thomas's quick response when I'd kidded him about Dylan Thomas. He wasn't the thug he sometimes appeared. It also made me suspect what McGuinness had said about him being Barclay's man was right. He was slightly bow-legged, partly disguised by loose black trousers, but solidly built. He wore a cream linen shirt and boots with a bit of heel. Lifted him to maybe 180 centimetres. Touch of vanity there. As on party night, his thinning brown hair was slicked straight back. At a guess his teeth were false; probably hit a rail or got hit by a hoof somewhere along the line.

  'The woman's here, Hardy,' Thomas said. 'But how did you find out?'

  I shook my head. 'Sworn to secrecy.'

  An impatient grunt from Clement, ignored by Thomas.

  'Doesn't matter. But we've got a problem. I bet you'd like a drink.'

  Was this Thomas showing his hand? Didn't seem likely with Clement looming there in the background, but anything to get out of this room which was starting to feel airless and to smell a bit.

  'Sure,' I said.

  Thomas inclined his head. We went out and down the passage with Thomas leading and Clement following close behind at my shoulder. I picked up the source of the smell-Jonas Clement Junior had very bad BO.

  At the end of the passage there was a sitting area with lounge chairs and a low table. A sort of down-market conference room. I dropped into one of the chairs, grateful for the comfort after the hard bench. Clement, looking bored, sat not far from me. I gave a couple of puzzled sniffs in his direction; he scowled at me, opened his jacket and let me see the holstered pistol.

  Thomas put my keys, cards and money on the table as items of no interest. Bad sign. He opened a bar fridge, took out a can of beer and tossed it roughly in Clement's direction. He stretched out a long arm and caught it easily- nothing wrong with the reactions.

  'What d'you fancy, Hardy?' Thomas said.

  But I didn't really know what he was up to and I wasn't going to play good-guy games with him. 'It doesn't fucking matter, Rhys. Whatever you like. Let's get on with it.'

  Thomas poured two solid slugs of vodka and dropped in a few ice cubes. He handed me a glass and bared his too-white and even teeth in a smile. 'We've got a problem with Ms Marchant. She won't respond in any way. We think she's faking but how can you tell with a zonked-out junkie like that?'

  I drank some of the icy vodka and felt it warm and encourage me the way it should. 'My heart bleeds for you. Maybe she's suffered brain damage from being buggered about by you and your goons.'

  Thomas shook his head. 'I don't think so and neither does a doctor we brought in to look at her. Pulse fine, blood pressure okay, etc.'

  Clement had sucked down his beer in no time flat. He crushed the can in his fist. 'Fuck this. Let's work this prick over until he tells us how he got here and then let me have a go at the woman. In Africa we worked out certain things about women-what they really didn't like, you know?'

  Thomas had a long pull on his drink and shrugged. 'You see how things stand, Hardy? Jonas here is impatient and wants to use his considerable experience.'

  'The impetuosity of youth,' I said.

  'Fuck you,' Clement said. 'Give me another beer, Rhys, and I'll show you some of the things you can do with an empty can.'

  Thomas said, 'Jonas isn't subtle, is he? Scary though.'

  'One-on-one I'd give myself a chance,' I said. 'Fifty-fifty, I'd say. But like all bullying cowards that wouldn't be his style.'

  Thomas tossed off the rest of his drink. 'This is all bullshit. I'm in charge here and I've got a different idea. Marchant won't talk to us, but I think she would to your girlfriend.'

  I looked and felt blank.

  'Ms Sharon Marchant. You're going to get her here to persuade her sister to be sensible.'

  I almost laughed. 'You're dreaming. She's not my girlfriend.'

  'Really? You disappoint me. Doesn't matter. We need her here and you're going to get her to come.'

  'I don't think so.'

  'Do you know a Sarah Marchant-Wallambi? Bloody silly name but there you are.'

  I didn't respond.

  'I can tell that you do. Well, when I heard about you being here, I arranged to have a colleague stationed outside her flat in Campbelltown. I'm told that a young man by the name of Craig Williamson has just left in his Mercedes sports-God knows how these youngsters get the money- and sh
e's there alone. Her flatmate, one Jenny Timms, a fellow student at the university, is out. My colleague wouldn't have any trouble getting Ms Marchant-Wallambi under his control. D'you want any more? Like the address, or the registration number of her mum's VW? Perhaps you'd prefer my bloke to get her on the phone, just to be sure?'

  'No. I believe you. Low-life of your sort just love taking advantage of women.'

  'That's the truth, us not being white knights like you, although I suspect you're just a bit grey at times. Right?'

  'You wouldn't have a clue.'

  He ignored that, detached a mobile from his belt and checked its charge. 'What's her number, Jonas?'

  Clement, still not happy, took a notebook from his pocket and read the number off. Thomas tossed me the phone. 'Make it convincing.'

  I punched in the numbers and Sharon came on the line.

  'Sharon, it's Hardy. I've… located Billie.'

  'That's great. Where is she?'

  'Manly.'

  'Manly! What the hell's she doing there. Is she in a hospital or what?'

  'Look, Sharon, there's no easy way to do this. The people who took her are still in control. We're not out of the woods. They want you to come here and try to persuade her to tell them what she knows.'

  'What kind of shit is this? I thought you said-'

  'Listen, these are serious people, very serious, and apparently there's a lot at stake. You have to come.'

  'I don't have to do anything. Are you in with them? I'm not going to make her talk to a bunch of kidnappers.'

  'Sharon, they've got someone at Sarah's flat. She's on her own.'

  Clement was making a call on his phone. He gestured to me to let Sharon hear what he was saying in a loud voice with his accent at full, menacing strength. 'That is right. If you hear the phone ring anytime in the next couple of minutes, go right in and grab her.'

  So Clement wasn't dumb either. I heard a shout of anger from Sharon. Thomas took the phone from me. 'Ms Marchant, if you do as we ask your daughter won't be disturbed. She won't even know what happened. You can ring her when you get here and tell her to get Craig over there, if you wish. Until then my man is standing by.'

  Thomas returned the phone to me. 'They're calling the shots,' I said. 'I think they're telling the truth about Sarah. They know the address, Craig's car, all that.'

  'God, this is a nightmare. What do they want.?'

  'I wish I knew.'

  'All right. I'll come. Where is it?'

  I told her; Thomas snatched the phone and cut the connection.

  I finished the drink and put the glass on the table. 'How about letting me see Billie? I knew Eddie Flannery pretty well and he's supposed to be the source of whatever it is you're trying to find out. She just might talk to me if I tell a story or two about Eddie.'

  Clement shook his head and yawned but Thomas thought it over and nodded. 'Why not?'

  I gathered up my things. Clement moved to stop me, but Thomas, still unconcerned, waved him off. We went downstairs to a room at the back of the building. While it wasn't exactly medical in atmosphere, it wasn't like a bedroom either. The bed was metal framed and the furniture in the room was functional. The washbasin in the corner, though, gave it a slightly sleazy feel. A woman lay on the bed covered by a sheet and a blanket. Her eyes were closed. I went closer and could see the dark roots starting to get more prominent against the blonde hair. She was pale but with that slight tint to her skin like Sharon. In facial features they were much alike, but this woman had been through a lot more of life's hoops.

  I looked at Thomas. 'You said all her vital signs… whatever you call them are okay?'

  'Check 'em if you like.'

  'I wouldn't know how.'

  'I do,' Clement said. He put two fingers on her wrist. 'Pulse a bit slow but not much.' He picked up a device from the table by the bed, placed it near her ear and clicked. 'Temperature up just a bit.' He lifted one eyelid in a surprisingly delicate movement. 'Nothing wrong. The bitch is faking.'

  'Billie,' I said, 'I knew your bloke Eddie pretty well when he was in the PEA game. Worked with him once or twice. I remember when he fucked the wife of that copper who was giving him trouble. What was her name again? Ruby, that's it, Ruby Collins.'

  Clement yawned again. 'Nothing.'

  'She twitched,' I said.

  Clement flicked a cigarette lighter. 'She'd do more than twitch if I had my way.'

  Billie lay as still as a statue.

  'We'll see what the sister can do,' Thomas said.

  18

  They put me back in the windowless room after allowing me to take a piss. I was weary and fell asleep on the hard bench, pillow or no pillow. I was awake when the door opened and Clement beckoned me out. 'She's here. Looks more human than her sister.'

  'What would you know about humanity?'

  'Keep it up, Hardy.'

  He herded me back to the sick room where Thomas was standing on one side of the bed with Sharon on the other. The look she gave me would have cut glass.

  'I'm sorry,' I said. 'Did you phone Sarah?'

  'Yes,' she said, not looking at me. 'Craig's on his way.'

  Thomas rubbed the grey bristles on his face. It'd been a long day for all of us, him included. 'Let's get on with it, Ms Marchant. See if you can get a response from her.'

  'Is she sedated?' Sharon asked.

  'She was, mildly. It must have worn off by now. My colleague here has some medical knowledge and believes she's faking. He's in favour of… sterner measures.'

  'Torture,' I said.

  'Shut up, Hardy,' Thomas snapped. 'You're not helping. The sooner we find out what we need to know the sooner everyone can go home or into hospital or do whatever the hell they want. With certain exceptions.'

  Sharon leaned closer to her inert sister. 'She's very thin in the face, gaunt. She looks dehydrated. She was deep in malnutrition…'

  'They put her on drips in the hospital and treated the pneumonia with antibiotics,' Thomas said. 'She's functional. Get through to her, lady. Convince her that the best course is for her to talk to us.'

  Sharon shook her head. 'She's a burnt-out case. Maybe the best course is for her to die here peacefully and for all you bastards to just fuck off.'

  'Sharon?' Billie said.

  Thomas smiled. 'Good work.'

  'Not for you, bandy legs,' Sharon snarled. 'Billie, babe, we've really got ourselves in the shit here.'

  'I know,' Billie said. 'I was hoping they'd just give me a shot of something eventually and let me just…'

  'You're finished with shots of something. I've got twenty grand to put you in detox, rehab, whatever, and get you back on your feet. Come on, babe, there's Sammy to consider, and me and Sarah.'

  'Sammy,' Billie whispered. 'Is he okay?'

  Sharon smoothed sweat-stiffened hair from Billie's face. 'Yeah, he is. But these people've got a long reach. They threatened Sarah.'

  Billie made an effort and hoisted herself up a little so that she wasn't just lying flat on the bed. Sharon adjusted the pillow behind her. 'Jesus,' Billie said, 'I don't know what's going on. It's been a blur for a while and, fuck, I could do with a fix now.'

  'No chance,' Clement said.

  Thomas looked as though he wanted to hit him. 'Just possibly,' he said.

  Sharon shrugged and murmured in tune-' "The kids are all right". Remember that? It applies now. Maybe we should just tell these bastards to get fucked. We've provided the next generation. What's so great about life right now?'

  Clement pushed me aside and moved closer to the bed. 'Listen, you cunt. I can give you so much pain you'll tell me where this Sammy is and plead for me to kill him rather than go on doing what I'm doing to you.'

  'He's capable of it, believe me,' Thomas said.

  The colour drained from Sharon's face but she stood her ground. She turned away from Clement and addressed Thomas: 'I'm not going to do a thing while that animal's in the room. Get rid of him and I'll talk to her.'

 
Clement protested but Thomas overruled him and ordered him out. As soon as the door closed with a well-sealed hiss, Thomas took out a pistol, waved me to a corner of the room and spoke urgently. 'He's very dangerous.'

  'Who's to say you won't just kill us if you get what you want?' Sharon said. 'And what if Billie doesn't know anything?'

  'I know plenty,' Billie said. 'You sure about that twenty grand, sis?'

  'I've got it,' Sharon said.

  Billie turned, propped herself on an elbow, and looked at me. 'Is he any fucking use?'

  Good question. 'Listen, Rhys,' I said. 'I know you're working for Greaves, not Clement.'

  The look on Thomas's face told me that I was right on the money. His secret was out; he was in danger and he knew it. The question was how would he react? He could probably afford to kill me, but not Sharon and Billie. He must have been playing a cagey game between Clement and Greaves for some time but he hadn't anticipated this and it threw him. I had to move quickly to make the most of the advantage.

  'Clive McGuinness told me when I put him under some pressure,' I said. 'But he's out of the picture now, on his way to Bangkok.'

  'Fucking McGuinness,' Thomas said. 'That's how you got here.'

  'Yeah, that's right.'

  Billie's cigarette and booze eroded voice cut in: 'Who-?'

  'Shut up.' I pointed to the door and got Thomas's attention. 'Young Clement's nuts, you can see that. You've barely got him under control. Get what you want from Billie and I'll help you take care of him. Then you can play it your way with Greaves and we're out of here and we've never heard of you.'

  It wasn't ideal, with everything coming down to Billie. From what I'd heard of her, and given her state of health, there was no way to tell which way she'd jump. She'd showed some spirit, but now she was looking dubiously at all three of us about equally. She had no way to know whether to trust Thomas or me and I could sense the history of conflict between the two sisters. She closed her eyes and Sharon grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

  'Billie, you can't flake out now.'

  'What about something to get me up and running?'

  'Maybe,' Thomas said, looming over her. 'But let's make this quick. Hardy's right about Jonas. He's dangerous. He hates me, hates his old man, hates everybody and particularly women who give him a bad time. Here's what I want to know. It's likely what got Eddie killed. Don't you make the same mistake. Where's Peter Scriven?'