Saving Billie

'It's been known.'

'Does it help?'

'Seems to, sometimes.'

'Well, go ahead.'

'I don't think so. Make you a coffee?'

'A latte.'

'Funny.'

She ran her hands through her hair and did some stretching exercises that made me feel stiff just to watch. I brewed the coffee and put the mug on the table.

'Thanks. It's not funny though, is it, Cliff? What're we going to do?'

I sipped the hot coffee and wished I had spiked it. 'How's Billie?'

'Still out. You haven't answered my question.'

'First thing is to get my doctor mate over to take a look at her.'

'Then?'

'Give me break, Sharon. I've never had to deal with anything quite like this before.'

One of the first things I'd done after being hired by Lou Kramer was to take a note of the time slot of Jonas Clement's radio program. I hadn't got around to listening to it, but now I tuned in to the FM station on the Falcon's radio: Owing to unforeseen circumstances, Jonas Clement will not be heard in his 'You talk, we listen slot today. Bruce Salter will stand in for him.

So Clement knew about his son's death, but I was willing to bet there'd be nothing about it in the papers. Clement would have to contrive some kind of story and invent the circumstances to make it convincing. Big ask, but he had the connections to pull it off.

I phoned Ian Sangster and he arrived soon after. Ian's been my doctor since I got to Glebe and he's stitched me up and medicated me more times than I can count. He's a drinker and smoker who says his goal in life is to prove medical correctness about alcohol and nicotine and exercise is all wrong. So far, he's holding his own. I introduced him to Sharon and we went in to where Billie was stirring. Ian has dealt with me in various places other than his surgery and nothing about the Lilyfield set-up fazed him.

'Change not to be patching you up, mate,' he said.

Sharon introduced him to Billie and gave an account of what she'd been through recently. Billie was decidedly shaky, trembling and sweating. Ian waved me out of the room and it was some time before he called me back. He has a good manner and she had apparently let him examine her thoroughly. He stood up, felt for his cigarettes and lighter. Billie stretched out her hand for one but he shook his head.

'Not now, Ms Marchant. Sorry, but you've got an upper respiratory tract infection. We need to get some antibiotics into you to clear your lungs. Then you can puff away as I do.'

'What else?' Sharon said.

Ian fiddled with the cigarette. One of his techniques is to talk to the patient directly, not to go through intermediaries. 'At a guess,' he said to Billie, 'you've got some serious dependency problems, plus you're underweight and, I'd be willing to bet, constipated.'

Billie nodded. Her voice had a wheeze and a raw, Marianne Faithfull quality. 'Spot on, Doc.'

'So?' Sharon said.

Ian looked around the room; the blanket over the chair Sharon had slept in, Sharon and me both in unwashed clothes, the air of a place far from functional.

'Tight spot, Cliff?'

'You could say that.'

He spoke to Billie again. 'You require proper medication and nursing, agreed?'

Billie sank back against Sharon's jacket. She didn't need to say anything. She closed her eyes and we could hear her heavy, laboured breathing. Ian pulled the rug up to her chin and patted her head. 'You'll be okay.'

He drew Sharon and me away to the kitchen and requested a cup of coffee. He saw the brandy bottle and held it up to the light. 'Spike it, Cliff.'

I made the coffee and he sipped it appreciatively. 'Your sister should be in hospital, Sharon, but I gather that's not an option.'

'No,' I said. 'Some high-powered people will be checking precisely that.'

Ian lit the cigarette, drew deeply and sipped the coffee. 'Okay. I'll leave you some Valium and I can arrange for a nurse to come here and give her the antibiotics and ventolin and monitor her progress for forty-eight hours. That's the best I can do. If she's not significantly improved by then she goes to hospital whatever the consequences. Cliff, you know I'm putting my licence on the line here.'

'Thanks, Ian.'

'Thank you, doctor,' Sharon said.

'I'll bill you, Cliff. Big time.'

'I can pay,' Sharon said.

I waved away Ian's smoke. 'He's joking, Sharon. We work it out in bottles of red.'

'Blokes,' Sharon said.

Ian left and I went out to see how Tommy was getting on and to do some thinking. He'd cleared most of the lantana and other vines and was working on a corner of the yard choked by some shrub with multiple stems and stalks that looked ready to take over the world. He stopped and wiped away sweat.

'You're doing a great job.'

'Thanks. It's harder than I thought but I'm getting there.'

'Mike been round?'

'Once. He seemed happy.'

'Should be. Sorry about barging in like this. Couldn't think of anywhere else to go.'

'Cops after you?'

'Could be, but they're not the main worry. We won't be here long.'

'Not a problem. How's the sickie?'

'Not too good, that's why we'll have to move soon. Found anything interesting under all the crap, apart from the statues?'

'Mostly bottles, man, mostly bottles.'

I hadn't thought about the police for a while and I began to consider them as the best option despite Sharon's earlier objections. Things had got more serious since then. I went back into the house to find Billie sitting up and nursing a big glass of brandy. Two pills lay on the rug.

'She won't take the Valium,' Sharon said. 'Reckons she's all right. I've been thinking. Looks to me as if we'll have to go to the police and tell them the whole story.'

'No,' Billie yelled and then collapsed with a fit of coughing. She hung on to the brandy though.

Sharon tried to put her arm around her but Billie shook her off. 'Look, Billie, I know there's warrants and stuff on you but we can work it out. Cliff'll help, won't you?'

I nodded but I could see Billie wasn't buying it. She fought for breath and took a big drink when she was able. 'I can't have anything to do with the cops.'

'Why?' Sharon said.

'I can't tell you.'

'Jesus, after all I've-'

Billie could only get a few words out at a time. 'That's the… fucking trouble… with you… Sharon. Always fucking… doing things… for me.'

'And you're never fucking grateful.'

It sounded like a script they'd played too often in the past and I didn't want to watch a re-run. I moved away and left them to it. After a few more exchanges they were both crying and Billie's breath was coming in ever shorter gasps. At this rate, I wouldn't have the forty-eight hours to work with. Eventually there was silence in the room and I could hear the birds outside and the resounding thunk of Tommy's slasher.

Billie sucked in a painful gulp of air. 'Please, please… please… no cops.' She picked up the pills and popped them into her mouth with a big gulp of brandy.

Sharon jumped forward to try to stop her but Billie swallowed and lay back with a smile on her face. 'Don't worry, sis. I've built up a lot of tolerance. Just let me dream for a bit. And, Sharon…?'

'Yes.'

'I want that twenty grand.'

Sharon looked at me helplessly. 'I should just piss off and leave you and her to work it out. Taking care of Sarah, that's my responsibility.'

'Won't work, Sharon. Clement and Greaves both know you're involved. But you should get on to Sarah and tell her to stick close to her boyfriend and be careful about where they go.'

'Great. They'll love that, like being in a movie. I don't think.'

'Can't be helped. Is there any chance Clement or Greaves can find out where Sammy is?'

Sharon considered. 'No, but I take your point. Another reason why I can't just walk away. Come on, Cliff, you're the man of action who's dealt with these sorts of bastards for years. What can we do? Don't forget I'm paying you.'