Saving Billie

I stretched out on the bench and tried to remember exactly what McGuinness had said about Rhys Thomas. He's really Barclay's man. Assuming Kezza and Clement weren't aware of this, and there was no other heavy in the place, that could be my advantage.

After about an hour, multiple footsteps sounded in the passage and the door was unlocked. Rhys Thomas came in accompanied by Clement. I stayed where I was.

'You look relaxed, Hardy,' Thomas said.

'I've been in worse places.'

'I'll bet you have. So have I, so has Jonas here. How's the eye?'

'Just a split in old scar tissue. It wasn't as bad as it looked.'

'You were a fighter, were you?'

'Among other things. Is Wilhelmina here?'

'Who?'

I sat up. 'Thought you mightn't know. That's her name. Billie's short for Wilhelmina.'

'This man is a real smartarse, Rhys,' Clement said. 'I vote we take him to the Gap and push him off.'

'Not very original,' I said.

Clement took two steps forward with two fists clenched. 'You make me angry, man.'

'Short fuse. Insecure. Probably something to do with your father.'

'Stop it, Hardy,' Thomas said. 'Your pop psychology's a load of shit. Jonas here just loves violence, goes well with his bad temper.'

'Don't talk about me as if I'm not here,' Clement said.

Thomas looked at him. 'It might be best for you not to have been here, Jonas. Depends on how things turn out.'

Clement shrugged, retreated and seemed to lose interest, leaning back against the wall.

That remark reminded me of Thomas's quick response when I'd kidded him about Dylan Thomas. He wasn't the thug he sometimes appeared. It also made me suspect what McGuinness had said about him being Barclay's man was right. He was slightly bow-legged, partly disguised by loose black trousers, but solidly built. He wore a cream linen shirt and boots with a bit of heel. Lifted him to maybe 180 centimetres. Touch of vanity there. As on party night, his thinning brown hair was slicked straight back. At a guess his teeth were false; probably hit a rail or got hit by a hoof somewhere along the line.

'The woman's here, Hardy,' Thomas said. 'But how did you find out?'

I shook my head. 'Sworn to secrecy.'

An impatient grunt from Clement, ignored by Thomas.

'Doesn't matter. But we've got a problem. I bet you'd like a drink.'

Was this Thomas showing his hand? Didn't seem likely with Clement looming there in the background, but anything to get out of this room which was starting to feel airless and to smell a bit.

'Sure,' I said.

Thomas inclined his head. We went out and down the passage with Thomas leading and Clement following close behind at my shoulder. I picked up the source of the smell-Jonas Clement Junior had very bad BO.

At the end of the passage there was a sitting area with lounge chairs and a low table. A sort of down-market conference room. I dropped into one of the chairs, grateful for the comfort after the hard bench. Clement, looking bored, sat not far from me. I gave a couple of puzzled sniffs in his direction; he scowled at me, opened his jacket and let me see the holstered pistol.

Thomas put my keys, cards and money on the table as items of no interest. Bad sign. He opened a bar fridge, took out a can of beer and tossed it roughly in Clement's direction. He stretched out a long arm and caught it easily- nothing wrong with the reactions.

'What d'you fancy, Hardy?' Thomas said.

But I didn't really know what he was up to and I wasn't going to play good-guy games with him. 'It doesn't fucking matter, Rhys. Whatever you like. Let's get on with it.'

Thomas poured two solid slugs of vodka and dropped in a few ice cubes. He handed me a glass and bared his too-white and even teeth in a smile. 'We've got a problem with Ms Marchant. She won't respond in any way. We think she's faking but how can you tell with a zonked-out junkie like that?'

I drank some of the icy vodka and felt it warm and encourage me the way it should. 'My heart bleeds for you. Maybe she's suffered brain damage from being buggered about by you and your goons.'

Thomas shook his head. 'I don't think so and neither does a doctor we brought in to look at her. Pulse fine, blood pressure okay, etc.'

Clement had sucked down his beer in no time flat. He crushed the can in his fist. 'Fuck this. Let's work this prick over until he tells us how he got here and then let me have a go at the woman. In Africa we worked out certain things about women-what they really didn't like, you know?'

Thomas had a long pull on his drink and shrugged. 'You see how things stand, Hardy? Jonas here is impatient and wants to use his considerable experience.'

'The impetuosity of youth,' I said.

'Fuck you,' Clement said. 'Give me another beer, Rhys, and I'll show you some of the things you can do with an empty can.'

Thomas said, 'Jonas isn't subtle, is he? Scary though.'

'One-on-one I'd give myself a chance,' I said. 'Fifty-fifty, I'd say. But like all bullying cowards that wouldn't be his style.'

Thomas tossed off the rest of his drink. 'This is all bullshit. I'm in charge here and I've got a different idea. Marchant won't talk to us, but I think she would to your girlfriend.'

I looked and felt blank.

'Ms Sharon Marchant. You're going to get her here to persuade her sister to be sensible.'

I almost laughed. 'You're dreaming. She's not my girlfriend.'

'Really? You disappoint me. Doesn't matter. We need her here and you're going to get her to come.'

'I don't think so.'

'Do you know a Sarah Marchant-Wallambi? Bloody silly name but there you are.'

I didn't respond.

'I can tell that you do. Well, when I heard about you being here, I arranged to have a colleague stationed outside her flat in Campbelltown. I'm told that a young man by the name of Craig Williamson has just left in his Mercedes sports-God knows how these youngsters get the money- and she's there alone. Her flatmate, one Jenny Timms, a fellow student at the university, is out. My colleague wouldn't have any trouble getting Ms Marchant-Wallambi under his control. D'you want any more? Like the address, or the registration number of her mum's VW? Perhaps you'd prefer my bloke to get her on the phone, just to be sure?'

'No. I believe you. Low-life of your sort just love taking advantage of women.'

'That's the truth, us not being white knights like you, although I suspect you're just a bit grey at times. Right?'

'You wouldn't have a clue.'

He ignored that, detached a mobile from his belt and checked its charge. 'What's her number, Jonas?'

Clement, still not happy, took a notebook from his pocket and read the number off. Thomas tossed me the phone. 'Make it convincing.'

I punched in the numbers and Sharon came on the line.

'Sharon, it's Hardy. I've… located Billie.'

'That's great. Where is she?'

'Manly.'

'Manly! What the hell's she doing there. Is she in a hospital or what?'

'Look, Sharon, there's no easy way to do this. The people who took her are still in control. We're not out of the woods. They want you to come here and try to persuade her to tell them what she knows.'

'What kind of shit is this? I thought you said-'

'Listen, these are serious people, very serious, and apparently there's a lot at stake. You have to come.'

'I don't have to do anything. Are you in with them? I'm not going to make her talk to a bunch of kidnappers.'

'Sharon, they've got someone at Sarah's flat. She's on her own.'

Clement was making a call on his phone. He gestured to me to let Sharon hear what he was saying in a loud voice with his accent at full, menacing strength. 'That is right. If you hear the phone ring anytime in the next couple of minutes, go right in and grab her.'