Saving Billie

He looked at me and a smile played across his broad, dark face. 'I don't see you booking into the YMCA. Find a motel in Campbelltown and ring me on the mobile around six o'clock. I have to go.' He slung his backpack, smoothly uncoiled his huge body and moved away. Then he turned back. 'How's Rudi?'

'As ever.'

He nodded. 'Not the worst villain around.'

'What're you studying?' I asked.

'What do you think?'

'Religion?'

He smiled. 'Stereotypical thinking. I'm disappointed in you. Computing, Mr Hardy. Computing.'

People can change, you see it all the time. Religion is one of the great life-changing forces, I have to admit, and not always for the better-think of George Bush. Being given responsibility and some support can work, too, as in Tommy's case. If that held.

The wide open sky I'd noticed in Picton was here as well, wider even, and I felt an impulse to walk under it. The sun went behind a cloud as I wandered over to a basketball court where a pick-up game was in progress. Black and white kids, male and female on both teams. Encouraging. I never cared much for basketball because the professionals score too readily, just as in soccer they don't score enough. But at this level it was more entertaining with a lot of misses and fumbles and no hopped-up coach shouting from the sidelines. A player jumped, threw and missed and the ball came towards me at speed. I caught it and tossed it back.

A kid shouted, 'Wanna play, mister?'

I grinned and shook my head, but the invitation did me a power of good.

13

I checked in to the Three Ways Motor Inn in Campbell-town, phoned Kooti and left the message. That gave me time on my hands. I phoned Sharon Marchant's mobile and she came through as clearly as though she was next door.

'Hey,' she said, 'this is a good connection. Where are you?'

I told her and added that I might have made some progress at getting her sister away from Yoli and Co.

'That's great. Look, I'm with Sarah for a while but I'll be dropping her back home before heading out to Picton. Why don't we get together and you can tell me all about it.'

She agreed to come by the motel in a couple of hours. I inspected the mini-bar. There were three double serves of gin and plenty of tonic water. I went for a walk, located a fruit shop and bought a lemon. A gin and tonic without lemon is like a martini without an olive. I had a swim in the motel pool and was freshly shaved, showered and shampooed when Sharon turned up.

She dropped into a chair and breathed an exhausted sigh. 'Keeping up with the young is the pits. That kid's been running me ragged.'

She was wearing the clothes Lou Kramer had left her and, not flattering to start with, they were wrinkled and shapeless. Her face was aglow with parental happiness but just below that surface she was deeply tired. I put my thoughts of a close encounter aside and made her a drink.

'Thanks. Just one. Two'd put me on my ear and I've got to drive home. Got that class tomorrow. What's been going on, Cliff?'

In fact, I didn't really have much to tell her but I made the most of it, saying that I had an ally among the Liston Islanders and expected to make progress.

'If we get her out I hope you'll be standing by to talk to her.'

She sipped her drink. 'I'd need some assurances about that woman you're dealing with first. Some firm arrangements, unnegotiable, if you know what I mean.'

I said I did. We talked a bit more and she took off to Picton after saying she'd mail the clothes back to me. I knocked off one of the little gins. Thought about ringing Lou Kramer, decided against. I was thinking about dinner when Steve Kooti showed up. He refused alcohol, naturally, so we went to sit by the pool in the evening air, me with a beer and him with a can of coke, as a full yellow moon rose.

'I talked to my sister. She's a nurse in the area health service. It seems she's had a report about a seriously ill woman at that address.'

'That right?'

'Yes. And she's going to pay the place a visit tomorrow. She'll have a couple of paramedics with her who 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.