out resolved to find ‘M. Mc’ but there was no sign that she’d done anything about it. She was ‘maintaining’ and working at the clinic when she met ‘G.’.
It wasn’t hard to make a certain amount of sense out of it. Something was happening at the hospital that Annie was afraid of, wanted no part of. There appeared to be victims. It half-fitted with Greenway’s story of being hired by someone who was concerned about one of the patients. But that story had been an invention; he now said that he had knowledge of the motives of his hirer who was taking his time in collecting what he’d paid so much money for. It all got back to that-who hired Greenway and why?
I phoned him and got the answering machine. I read some more of the diary without gaining further enlightenment except into the character of Annie. She had lived day to day, without plans until she’d met Greenway. They’d discussed the future, something Annie had refused to do for years. That made it all the harder for her when, suddenly, there was no future anymore. She went back to recording and living her life in small, safe units. Except they weren’t safe. Police and pushers cropped up through the entries and they were sometimes one and the same.
She’d started the diary the day after her mother died as some sort of comfort for the loss. She talked to her sister and brother at the funeral and spoke lovingly of them. I didn’t recall the siblings but I had a clear recollection of the mother-a stout, strong-minded Cockney who’d never understood why Annie had got on to drugs but had never stopped caring about her, even though she’d suffered the usual thefts and let-downs.
In the pages that covered the time with Greenway Annie had made small sketches, post stamp size. There was a reasonable likeness of Greenway, some flowers, a few other faces. The sketches were happy. Her spelling wasn’t perfect but neither is mine. I felt I was getting closer to her and I felt a mounting anger at her death and the manner of it. There were more than a hundred pages blank in the exercise book. She was someone who’d taken bad knocks and had tried not to go under. She should have had those days and a hell of a lot more besides.
I phoned Greenway again and this time he answered in a harsh, broken whisper.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ I said.
‘Can you get over to my place, Hardy?’ he rasped. ‘He was here. He drugged me and he’s taken the fucking photographs.’
13
I’d had enough for one day. I got Greenway calmed down, established that he wasn’t injured and told him that we had some other leads.
‘What leads?’
‘I’ve got the diary.’
‘Jesus, that’s great! Bring it over.’
‘Forget it. I’ve got fifteen years on you and I need some sleep.’
‘Sleep! I couldn’t sleep.’
‘Yes, you can. Take a long walk. Take a pill. I’ll be over in the morning.’
‘No, Hardy, you can’t…”
‘I can. Listen, if your brain needs something to work on try this.’ I read him off my list of initials. ‘Chew on them. See if they mean anything to you.’
I finally got him off the line. I checked the doors and windows, wedged a chair in against the back door that won’t lock properly, and went to bed. My neck was still sore from the rabbit punch and my hand ached from the blow I’d given Paleface. They were the physical sufferings; I was still feeling bad about Annie. A lot of people had let her down and maybe I was one of them. Maybe I should have stayed with her. Bad thoughts. I had her diary under my pillow along with the. 38 but it didn’t give me any bad dreams. I slept heavily, no dreams at all.
Greenway answered the door looking like a man who hadn’t slept for a week. His hair was tousled, his stubble was long and his eyes were red. He smelt bad too.
‘Go and have a shower,’ I said. ‘I’ll make some coffee. I can’t talk to anyone who looks that bad, you remind me of myself when I was twenty-five.’
Greenway grinned. ‘Well, you made it to fifty.’
‘I’m not… You stink, and change your shirt.’
I made instant coffee in the kitchenette and prowled around the small flat. Greenway had spent some of his sleepless night cleaning up and the place didn’t look too bad. There was a slight smell in the bedroom and I located the source-a thick gauze pad which had been soaked in ether. Greenway had put it in a plastic bag the way he’d seen it done in the movies. I also located a large manilla envelope which had been sealed with masking tape and torn open. I had exhibits one and two on the table with the coffee when he came out, showered and shaved and in a clean T-shirt. He nodded and put three spoonsful of sugar in his coffee.
‘He was waiting for me.’
‘You put up much of a fight?’
‘Not much. God, he was strong and I was a bit pissed. I had a few on the way home. The photos were made into the bed, at the bottom. I thought it was pretty smart but he must’ve found them in no time.’
‘How long were you out to it?’
‘Not long. Half an hour, bit less.’
‘Nothing else taken or disturbed?’
He shook his head and drank some of his coffee syrup. ‘Have you got the diary with you?’
‘Let’s stay with this for a minute. You didn’t get a look at him, sense anything, smell anything?’
‘No. All I smelled was the ether. All I can tell you about him was that he must be heavy and strong. I’ve seldom… ‘
‘What?’
He waved his hand in one of his rare theatrical gestures. ‘Well, I’ve been in close contact with a few men, if you see what I mean. Not many as strong as this guy.’
‘Okay. Did you notice anything when you got home?’
‘Like what?’
‘Lights on, doors open, cars parked?’
He drank some more coffee and made an effort to remember. ‘N… no. There was a car across the road I don’t remember seeing before. I noticed because it was so clean.’
‘What kind?’
‘I don’t know about cars. No idea.’
‘What colour?’
‘White.’
I grunted. ‘Anything else?’
‘Don’t think so. Oh, hold on.’ He lifted his hand and brushed it against his ear. ‘I felt something before I went under. Something against my ear. Hair. I’d say he had a moustache. There’s something else too… but I can’t quite get it.’
‘That’s good enough.’
‘How is it good?’
I told him about the man with the heavy moustache and the white Volvo who’d been let into my house by Annie. He opened his eyes in surprise and then winced as too much Bondi sunlight hit them. I handed him the diary. ‘Did those initials mean anything to you?’
‘I heard Annie talk about someone she called Obie, could’ve been this O’B., but I don’t know.’
‘First name?’
‘No idea. Sorry. She said he was very smart, smarter than me. Something bad happened to him but I don’t know what.’
‘Read the entries for the time she was in hospital.
You’d better not look at what she wrote after you dropped her. You might think less well of yourself.’
