just happen to be members of our congregation.'
'Big blokes?'
'Very big. Understand, if she finds the woman in good health and getting reasonable treatment there's nothing she can do. But if it's not like that she'll have her removed to Western District hospital.'
'Fair enough. What about Yoli?'
'Yoli's going to be busy.'
'I see. This sister, would she be Tommy Larrigo's mother by any chance?'
'No. She's his aunt. I've got a few sisters. Tommy's mother died young, kidney cancer. His father comes and goes. Mary and the others tried to steer him right-I was off being a tough guy as you know-but he was a wild kid.'
'Is there anything I can do?'
'Yes, Mr Hardy. You can stay well clear of everything until you hear from me, one way or the other.'
I agreed to that. We sat in companionable silence for a while as the mozzies buzzed around us and the traffic noise died down. I asked him if he missed it all.
'What?'
'The football. The booze. The fun.'
He laughed. 'Yes, I do. Of course I do. I spent my early years in that atmosphere and loved it. Then I saw the light. I miss it, sure, but I'd never go back to it. Still…' 'Still?'
'Maybe you're giving me a little taste of it again. Goodnight, Mr Hardy.'
'Cliff. Goodnight.'
The lights came on around the pool and one situated down below the surface. The water took on an intense blue as midges danced in the light. Then a couple of young guests came into the pool area and jumped in with shouts and splashes and broke my mood. Just as well; it was veering towards self-pity. I gathered up the empty cans and went back to my room. Gaps in the car park showed that only about half of the rooms were occupied. Slow night in Campbelltown under a full moon. Maybe Fisher's ghost would be out.
Experience had taught me how to kill a dead night away from home. A long walk to raise the appetite, a meal with a book, and back to a combination of print and television. 'Media Watch' named and nailed the usual suspects. I read a few chapters of Craig Macgregor's book on Mark Latham and topped it off with a few entries from 1000 Great Lives, a paperback I'd picked up cheap. The title was misleading; Darwin, one of my heroes, was certainly worth his spot and likewise Muhammed Ali. Hard to see Hitler's life as great, and some were downright miserable-Elvis, for example.
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
