Hammond’s fear had shaken me more than anything that Fatty could have done. I peeled off my jacket and sat sweating in the car, wondering what to do next. It was one of those times when the distress you run into seems to outweigh the distress of the person who hired you. It happens and it’s confusing. The only way to cope is to get more information. I started the engine and drove away, grateful for the breeze created by the movement and feeling an overwhelming need for a drink.
I had the drink in a North Sydney pub and reviewed my options. All very well to want more information, but where to get it? I couldn’t give a work-in-progress report to Adamo as things stood, and I didn’t see Conferences International as a promising source. The only other person who’d dealt with the lady was Wesley, the taxi driver with the tuneful voice. What the hell? I thought. He sounded bright, and she might have said something useful. I had another glass of wine and a sandwich and rang Bernie at Redline, who told me that Wesley would be signing off at the depot about three o’clock. He’d tell Wesley I’d be there for a quick talk, but he warned me not to be late because Wesley would be buggered after his shift and wouldn’t wait around.
Wesley was a Tongan, short and wide with a bushy black beard. He rubbed at the small of his back and flexed his shoulders as he spoke. ‘Remember the lady well. Very upset, she was.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Crying. That’s not so unusual there, you understand.’
‘What? Where?’
‘Where I picked her up-there in Mona Vale Road. Outside the place.’
‘What place?’
‘Some kind of institution for, you know, people with something wrong-mental cases, spastics and like that. Very sad place. But they treat them real good there. Looks very pricey-nice grounds, nurses in uniform, all that. But the visitors don’t come away laughing. That all, brother? I’m bushed.’
I thanked him and Bernie and drove away with more questions in my mind but also some of the answers, maybe. I stopped at the post office in Glebe and located the Terrey Hills Nursing Clinic in Mona Vale Road in the phone book. Then I called in at the surgery of Ian Sangster, who is a doctor and a friend, and a lover of intrigue. I waited while Ian disposed of two patients and then went into his light, airy consulting room. Ian is a jokester: he poured two measures of single malt whisky into medicine glasses and lifted his in a toast. ‘Good health.’
We drank and I told him what I wanted.
‘It’s a top-class joint. Very good, very expensive. But it’s for serious defectives, Cliff. I doubt you’re ready for it yet.’
‘You’ll beat me to it if you keep knocking this stuff back the way you do,’ I said. ‘When will you know anything?’
‘Tomorrow, late morning. I’ll call you.’
That left me with another evening to kill. I went to a fitness centre in Balmain and hung around until someone turned up willing to play table tennis with me. The deal is, you hire one of the squash courts, a table, net and balls for an hour at an exorbitant price, and play as hard as you can to get your money’s worth. I played against a police sergeant from the Balmain station and let him win, four matches to three. In my business, you never know when a friendly police sergeant might come in handy.
I went into the office in the morning, paid a few bills, requested payment for the third time from a faithless client and generally waited for lan’s call. I plugged in a recording device and activated it when I heard lan’s voice on the line.
‘Cliff,’ he said. ‘I’ve got good news and bad news. There’s a patient named Carl Hammond who fills your bill. Aged twenty-three; the contact is his sister, Valerie Ursula…’
‘That’s it,’ I said.
‘Poor chap’s in a very bad way.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s called kernicterus. This is the most severe case to come the way of the people there, and the worst I’ve ever heard of. Put simply, it’s brain damage caused by jaundice at birth. The baby’s red blood cells are broken down to such a degree that the liver can’t cope with the by-products and this stuff called biliruben is released into the bloodstream. It’s bile, essentially, a sort of stain that causes brain damage. Are you making notes or something?’
‘I’m recording it, Ian. Go on.’
Sangster cleared his throat. “Well, as I say, in a severe case a part of the brain is damaged and you get deafness, palsy, loss of coordination. Usually, in a case this bad, the baby is born prematurely and dies. That’s called hydropis fetalis, for your information. Carl Hammond should have died. Some freak of nature kept him alive. A cruel freak, I’d call it. Not everyone would agree.’
‘Can he…?’
‘To almost any question you can put, the answer is no.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Not around when he was needed. I’m sorry, mate. This is grim stuff. He’s there until he dies which could be tomorrow or ten years away. He requires complete care. The fees must be astronomical. Is that all you need?’
‘Yes. No. What causes it?’
‘The Rhesus factor.’
‘What’s that.’
‘God, you laymen are so ignorant. No wonder we get so much money. It’s an incompatibility between the mother’s blood group and that of the foetus. The mother’s metabolism sort of creates antibodies against the foetus, which pass through the placenta and fuck everything up. Get on to it early and you can do a transfusion and avoid the whole mess. Not in this case.’
‘Why not?’
‘Sorry. I don’t know. It’s a chance in a thousand sort of thing. Harder to detect twenty-odd years ago than now.’
I thanked him and rang off. I wound back the tape and played the conversation through again. Then I got out a dictionary and looked up some of the words while I made notes. I had an answer to one question now, at least- what Valerie Hammond did with her money. And, remembering her outcry on the phone, I had inklings of other questions and other answers. I resisted the impulse to go out for a drink before attempting to call Valerie Hammond. The only number I had was at work. Maybe she hadn’t gone in today. I was almost hoping she hadn’t when I heard her voice, crisp and confidence-inspiring, on the line.
‘Valerie Hammond.’
She’d pulled herself together and sounded in better emotional shape than me. But what do you say? How do you tell someone you know their secrets and their nightmares? I tried to keep my voice level and calm, and I spoke very quickly. ‘Ms Hammond, I don’t want to distress you, but I know about your brother and your problem. I’m working for Mr Adamo, but I want to help you. Please talk to me. Please don’t hang up.’
I heard the sharp intake of breath, could sense the struggle for control. ‘I have to tell you I’m taking Valium which is the only reason I’m able to talk to you like this. What do you want, Mr Hardy?’
‘To talk to you for a few minutes, face to face. If what I have to say doesn’t make any sense to you I’ll back off, report to Mr Adamo that I couldn’t find you.’
‘Very well. If it’ll get rid of you. I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re a violent man.’
‘I’ll meet you outside your office building. We can talk as we walk. Play it by ear.’
‘Did you follow me from work yesterday?’
Uncomfortable question, but it felt like time to play everything straight with her. ‘Yes. I hope I didn’t hurt your friend.’
‘He’s all right. He… he’s just sharing the rent with me. It’s an arrangement. I’m not… oh, what does it matter?’
This response was my first glimmer of hope; the first indication that she had some awareness of things outside the prison of her problems. ‘In an hour, Ms Hammond?’
‘Yes. I’ll see you in an hour, Mr Hardy.’
She was on time and so was I. I walked up to her and we shook hands. It seemed like the right thing to do.
