the street. 'You set that up.'
'I swear I didn't. I thought they'd talk money.'
'What was that you gave him?'
'His son's pistol, complete with silencer.'
'So he's standing there with a hundred witnesses. He's bloody killed someone, and he's holding an illegal weapon. The man's in deep trouble.'
'Save your sympathy, Steve. Have you ever heard him on the radio? Heard his views on minorities, welfare, single mothers?'
'Yeah, he's no loss. And the other one's dead. I'll pray for them. You've made a clean sweep, Hardy.'
'I'm not patting myself on the back. If the cops get on to the security camera tapes I'm in for a rough trot.'
'Okay, that's your problem. But does this clear the decks? I mean
…'
'Tommy'll be on his own in Lilyfield in an hour and none of this'll touch him.'
We reached Goulburn Street; he hesitated and then put out his hand, swallowing mine in his big, hard grip. We shook and he walked away, head and shoulders taller than the mostly Asian people around us.
I stopped at a pub in George Street, bought a double scotch, and took it to a stool where I could sit and look out through a tinted window at Sydney on the move. Tinted windows soften the reality and I needed some softening just then. I'd been so focused on setting up the meeting, hoping for some sort of outcome, that Greaves's fall hadn't touched me emotionally. It did now. Like a lot of people, I've had falling nightmares. That terrifying feeling of being launched into space with no prospect of rescue and enough time to anticipate the contact resulting in oblivion or, worse, paralysis. Greaves had taken the fall for real, in real time, and the nightmare for him was a reality.
I sipped the drink and told myself he'd probably caused the death of Lou Kramer and would most likely have disposed of Billie Marchant once she'd told him what he wanted to know. McGuinness, his undercover man, was a sleaze and Greaves's plan to blackmail Peter Scriven was in no way in the public interest. No loss.
After the first drink and those thoughts, I felt a little better and bought another because something else was still niggling. I worked at it but couldn't tease it out. Needing food for fuel or comfort, I invested in a steak sandwich, with fries. When had they stopped being chips? I was a bit drunk as I ate the food without tasting it. The security camera was a worry, but would they have them focused on the coffee area and the ABC shop rather than the jewellery shops on all levels? Maybe not.
I tramped back through the steamy heat to the car. It had picked up a ticket. Poetic justice. I sat in it for a while with the window down, hoping for a breeze. In Jones Street, in Ultimo? No chance. I decided I was sober enough to drive and started the motor. As always, the case was still buzzing in my head and, not unusually, there were unresolved questions. Principally, what did Billie know and would I ever find out?
I steered overcautiously through the back streets until I realised that I was heading towards Glebe and home, instead of Lilyfield. Not as sober as I thought. I stopped, took a series of deep breaths, and then the disturbing subliminal thought came through to me: I remembered thinking, when I was in the QVB, wandering around after buying the talking books for Megan, how low the railing seemed and what a long drop it was to the bottom.
23
There was an air of gloom at Lilyfield. Tommy was chopping away but without his usual enthusiasm. Sharon was sitting on the back steps with a sketch pad and a pencil but looking as if her heart wasn't in it. I'd been hoping to tell the tale, reassure everyone that the troubles were over. No way.
'What?' I said.
Sharon made a few angry strokes. 'Billie's gone.'
I gave Tommy a thumbs-up and sat down beside Sharon. 'Tell me.'
'She was a lot better, obviously. She said she wanted to go. I said she couldn't until you got back. She threatened to go out on the street naked and flag down the first car. She'd have done it, too. So I had to do what she asked.'
'Which was?'
'I drove into Leichhardt, got five hundred bucks from the bank and bought her some clothes and other stuff. Got myself this pad for something to do. She had a shower, got dressed, took the rest of the money and split. Said she'd contact me.'
'She went on foot?'
'No, taxi-the phone's on now. So, what's been happening? Will one of those bastards track her down? Billie doesn't exactly go about things quietly.'
I told her what had happened and how Clement would have too much trouble on his hands to worry about Billie. She took it in without much joy. 'So there's a few people dead more or less over her, and we still don't know what she knew or why she was so shit scared of the cops.'
'Right, but at least it gets things straightened out. She's not in any danger except from herself and you can go back to Picton and tell Sarah she doesn't have to worry.'
She got up, tore off the sheet she'd been working on, crumpled it and dropped it on the ground. 'Yes. I'll do just that.'
Tommy looked enquiringly over as Sharon stomped into the house. She came out a few minutes later with her bag on her shoulder, jiggling her keys.
'I'll send you a cheque.'
I shook my head. 'Don't worry about it.'
She nodded and went to where Tommy had paused in his work. She kissed him on the cheek and went through the gate to her car in the street.
Tommy watched her go and came across to where I was smoothing out the drawing. 'Hey, Cliff, I thought you and her might be…'
'No,' I said.
The sketch was a portrait of Billie in full flight-hair flying, mouth open, fists clenched. It wasn't finished, just an outline, but it spoke volumes about the way she'd behaved.
Tommy sucked in a breath as he looked at it. 'Yeah, that's how she was. Didn't know what the fuck to do.'
'Nothing to do, mate. But now I'd like you to ring your aunty and explain that Billie's shot through. Tell her she was a lot better and that she was going to see her own doctor.'
'You want me to lie to Aunt Mary?'
'It wouldn't be the first time, would it? You can get round her better than me.'
He went into the house and I sat there as the afternoon sun lit up the yard and started to cast shadows from the taller trees. In time it was going to be a fine space for gardening, sitting, drinking, talking. I could imagine Mike there with his family having a great Italian time. Myself visiting.
Tommy came out, swigging from a litre bottle of diet coke. 'It's cool,' he said. 'Didja get everything sorted?'
'It kind of sorted itself. I'm pushing off now, Tommy.'
'I'm goin' to miss all this. I mean, like, doctors and nurses, good looking chick artist and a junkie and a detective. Like being on TV.'
'Are you going to be all right here?'
'How do you mean?'
'It's hard work and you're all alone. Easy to think, 'Fuck it, I need some fun.' You know.'
'Yeah, I know. Being a black cone-head on the dole isn't fun. I've got a chance here with Mike and I'm gonna grab it.'
'Are you going to look up your father?'
