'If you knew what Clement had done to him you'd understand.'
'And what would that be?'
'I can't tell you. Thanks for all you did. If I ever need a private detective again-'
'Go elsewhere,' I said and turned away. I'd had enough of her and McGuinness and Greaves, and Sharon Marchant seemed to have had enough of me. She was still locked in dispute with McGuinness, her daughter looking agitated on the sidelines. I would've been glad to see Steve Kooti or Mary Latekefu, who'd been straightforward and effective, but there was no sign of them. I decided to walk away from it all, although I was sure there were loose ends everywhere. But I wouldn't get paid for tying them up even if I could.
The loose ends niggled at me on the drive back to Sydney, but as the kilometres between me and the others increased and I took in the news and some talk programs on the radio, I could feel detachment cutting through. I'd hit my client with the full Monty of an expense account and put the whole thing down to experience.
I took the drive quietly, stopped for a drink and was back in the pollution by late afternoon. There's always a letdown after the end of an assignment and in that mood I need company, not a big empty house creaking around me. I bought a six-pack, drove to Lilyfield and parked outside Mike's dream home to-be. The block had a high privet hedge around three sides, but I could hear signs of activity behind it.
I opened the gate and saw Tommy slashing away at a stand of lantana. He'd already made a good start, clearing some of the weeds and rubbish. He was stripped to the waist and sweat was running down his hard, lean body. He was slamming the machete so hard into the tough stalks that he didn't hear me approach.
'Hey, take it easy. You'll do yourself out of a job.'
He spun around and his grimy, sweat-stained face broke into a wide grin. 'Good to see you, man. What d'you reckon?'
'I reckon you've made a bloody good start and it's time to knock off and have a beer.'
He dug the machete into one of the cut stalks and wiped his face with the back of his hand. 'I'll be in that.'
I tossed him a can and we sat down under a tree on a couple of upturned milk crates.
'Cheers.'
'Geez, that hits the spot.'
We knocked the cans off in rapid time and started on a second, taking it more slowly. He asked me what I'd been doing and I filled him in as much as I felt necessary.
'So you're the one out of a job?' he said.
'Something'll turn up.'
He waved his hand at the yard. 'You could help me here.'
'No thanks, I've done all this sort of yakka I ever want to do.'
'When would that've been, Cliff?'
I thought about it. 'A bit in the army to toughen us up. That was in Queensland. It was about twenty degrees hotter than this. That got the fat off. I've helped a few mates who've bought acreages here and there, over the years.'
'Never fancied it yourself?'
'No fear, I'm a city boy, born and bred and likely to die.'
'Bad vibe to talk about dyin'.' He stood and stretched. 'Reckon I'll put in another hour or so. I tell you what, I'll sleep like a log after this.'
'I'll leave you the tinnies.'
'Just the one,' he said. 'I'm tryin' to cut down on it. Haven't had a smoke today either.'
I laughed. 'Just don't find Jesus.'
'No risk of that.'
'Your Uncle Steve said he might call in here. I think he'd be impressed with what you're doing. Your Aunt Mary as well.'
'She's terrific, isn't she? Tried to keep me at school and that. Too dumb to listen. Bloody hard when all you can see in front of you's the fuckin' work for the dole shit. Hey, that woman in Yoli's house. She goin' to be okay?'
'I guess so.' I detached a can from the plastic and left him one. 'Not my problem anymore. See you, Tommy.'
After a few days, with Lou Kramer's cheque cleared, my account submitted and a few other minor matters taken in hand, I'd convinced myself of what I'd told Tommy. I called in there again and found him still making progress and still enjoying himself. He said his uncle had been by and spoken highly of what he was doing and also of me. Nice to hear.
Lou's second cheque came through in full settlement and this one cleared first off. I was well ahead and, with summer coming on, began to think of taking a holiday. I went to the gym every day, kept away from the fats and felt in pretty good nick. Where to go? I considered the central and north coasts but decided against them. Beaches too crowded; too many yahoos on the roads. I got out a few maps and travel and accommodation guides and worked through them, thinking more about the south coast. The Illawarra was a bit too close, Bermagui a bit too far away. I was thinking about a time I'd spent at Sussex Inlet years ago. Something very attractive about a quiet estuary and a good surf beach in the one location.
The election was looming and, depending on when I got away, I might have to lodge an absentee vote. Or I might just skip the whole thing and take my chances on being fined. With council, state and federal elections coming along regularly and all voting compulsory, it sometimes seemed that democracy was getting out of hand. Maybe five-year terms with no one to sit for more than two terms would be the go. I was sure there were arguments against that, but the thought of time-servers who did nothing but toe the party line and wait to draw their super angered me.
I'd done a year of constitutional law in my aborted law course and enjoyed it more than torts or contracts. I seemed to remember that I'd passed it. It was back when there looked to be possibilities of change in Australia, when change wasn't a dirty word. Now it was all steady as she goes.
I was leafing through the accommodation guide with the Amex card to hand when the phone rang by my elbow. I picked it up, not expecting a prospective client to call at home, but it happens. I was prepared to say I was on holiday.
'Cliff Hardy.'
'Cliff, Cliff, it's Sharon. You have to help me. Billie's disappeared.' part two
PART TWO
15
Sharon said she wanted to meet in my office and to get everything on a businesslike basis. I said I'd be willing to help without that because I'd never been happy about the way I'd left things.
'No,' she said. 'Those bastards paid twenty thousand dollars into my bank account. They said it was to help Billie get resettled somewhere and then they… well, I'll tell you when I see you. But I want to use their fucking money to find her.'
She showed up at the office wearing jeans and a Panthers football shirt, sneakers. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she hadn't bothered with makeup. There were flecks of paint on the jeans and the shirt. She plonked herself down in the client chair.
'I know, I know,' she said. 'I look like shit. Oh, I've got that bitch's clothes in the car.'
'Let's give them to the Smith Family. She's not exactly my favourite person either.'
'I thought you and her might be…'
'No. Let's hear it, Sharon. What's happened?'
She told me that Billie had come out of the coma and that the doctors had pronounced her well enough to be moved to a private hospital for detoxification and treatment for depression. McGuinness had got in touch with Sharon, told her Billie would be moved to the Charlton Private Hospital in Artarmon if she signed a release form
