“Bennett? The man from the inquest?”
Billy nodded. “He might be willing to talk about it, I don’t know.”
Henry was watching him gravely. “Quite the team, you and Noone. Is there anything else?”
“Isn’t this enough?”
“Assuming we can prove any of it, yes.”
“I doubt we’ll find them troopers, mind. Middle of nowhere it was.”
Henry paused. “Can I ask, has something happened? Why are you doing this now?”
“You look at your life . . .” Billy began, then faltered. The words felt all wrong in his mouth. “I’ve done all right formyself, Henry. Better than all right. Everything I ever wanted, I’ve got it, but it’s like it’s hollow somehow, empty underneath.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Don’t you fucking judge me.”
“No judgment here. Your conscience is your own business. Lord knows, I’ve had enough trouble with mine.”
Billy waved a hand. “Hell, at least you tried.”
“Not about that. I know fine well I tried. Of course, if I had my time again I would do things very differently. I was overconfidentback then, naive.”
“Here’s to second chances all round then.”
They shared the silence a little more comfortably. Henry asked, “How long are you in town?”
“Till tomorrow. I’ve business down south for a couple of days, then I’ll be coming back through on the way home. Does thatgive you enough time?”
“I can make some initial enquiries, certainly. Get a feel for how it lies.”
“Good.”
“Perhaps I should travel with you. To Bewley. Strike while the iron’s hot.”
“To see the crater?”
“Exactly. And talk to this man Bennett about the rest.”
“Bit soon for all that, isn’t it?”
“The authorities will want to know what we have before signing off on any deal. Like I said, your word alone won’t be enough.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll think about it. Don’t book your ticket yet.”
Billy scraped back the chair and stood. They shook hands. He paused in the office a moment but could think of nothing moreto say, so he left. Through the little reception area and out into the alley; the bell didn’t ring when he opened the frontdoor. A dull thudding sound—Billy scowled up at it then pulled the door closed, dodging a rodent that came scrabbling overthe cobbled ground. Christ, he hated cities. He buried his hands in his pockets, and walked on.
Chapter 33
Police Sergeant Percy
They had a telephone at the Bellevue, in the office behind the front desk. The clerk watched Billy leave through the maindoors, climb into a waiting buggy, pull away. He picked up the telephone and dialed. When the call was connected he gave hisname and said, “Our mutual friend from the country is in town again. He’s attending a meeting currently. I have the details.”There was no reply from the other end. A click, and the line went dead. The clerk returned the earpiece to the cradle andset down the telephone, went out and resumed his post. Within ten minutes, Percy had arrived.
Into the lobby he skulked, chin tucked, head down, a furtive stoop to his shoulders, eyes roving all corners of the room.The doorman went to challenge him, hesitated; Percy walked directly to the desk. He stared at the clerk in silence until theclerk began to squirm. Pockmarked cheeks, that dimple in his chin—he still looked young for a man in his thirties, but theeyes were black and firm.
“Where is he?”
The clerk plucked a note from his waistcoat and handed it over. Percy read it, expressionless, folded the note, and slippedit into his trouser pocket. He was wearing a brown suit with a cream-colored shirt, no waistcoat, no tie.
“When did he leave?”
“Right before I telephoned. He’d only just walked out the door.”
Percy held out a calloused hand. “Room key.”
“I really don’t think I should—”
“Key.”
A long blink then the clerk reached under the counter and placed a key in Percy’s hand. He told him the room number. Percytook the stairs. He found the door and unlocked it, turned the handle, slipped inside, locked it again once he was in. Hemoved through the room slowly. Not touching anything, barely making a sound, smooth soles whispering over the carpet pile.Shirts and a suit hung in the wardrobe, a small suitcase stored below. Percy checked the suit pockets then picked up the suitcaseand laid it open on the bed, found a small stack of travel documents tucked into the lid. Onward train tickets to Melbourne,departing tomorrow; a name and address on a handwritten note. Percy read it all very carefully, memorizing every detail, thenhe restacked the papers and returned them to the case. He put the suitcase back in the wardrobe, cracked the door and checkedthe corridor, then slid out of the room.
In Fortitude Valley he walked casually through the slums and alleyways, like a man who very much belonged. Hands in his pockets,side-stepping vendors and grifters, carriages, horseshit, dogs, he found the street the clerk had given him, then the lawoffice of Henry Wells. He stood outside the window, considering. The waiting room was empty but there was light farther inside.There’d be an alleyway or yard behind the building, but he wasn’t sure he had time; Billy might even have left by now. Hetried the door and found it unlocked, felt the resistance of the bell above, the clapper lying inert on the rim. Percy snakedhis hand up through the gap, took hold of the clapper, and with a sharp yank, broke it off. He dropped it into his pocket,eased open the door, leaving it ajar as he crossed the little waiting room and stood pressed against the office wall, listeningto the conversation inside.
“How long are you in town?”
“Till tomorrow. I’ve business down south for a couple of days, then I’ll be coming back through on the way home. Does that give you enough time?”
“I can make some initial enquiries, certainly. Get a feel for how it lies.”
“Good.”
“Perhaps I should travel with you. To Bewley. Strike while the iron’s hot.”
“To see
