Saving Billie

'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?'

'Thinkin' about it.'

I folded the incomplete sketch and stuck it in my pocket. We shook hands.

'Thanks, Cliff,' Tommy said.

I wasn't sure that I'd earned it, but I accepted it anyway, from him.

A storm had been building all day and it broke as I was driving home. First, some big hailstones pelted down, big enough for me to feel them crunching under the wheels and to make me worry about the windscreen. The rain followed in bucketfuls; the gutters overflowed within minutes and we drivers were slowed to a crawl while trying to keep the revs up through water that was axle-high across dips in the roads.

I parked outside my house, collected my bits and pieces and got thoroughly soaked just getting to the front door. I didn't care. The air needed clearing, the dust needed laying, and I needed a shower anyway.

24

The security cameras had picked me up and the police hauled me in. Detective Senior Sergeant Piers Aronson, who I'd dealt with before, interviewed me in the Glebe detectives' room. I had my solicitor, Viv Garner, present and I wasn't expecting to have much fun. Aronson switched on the recording equipment, identified himself, me and Viv, and got down to it.

'You were present in the Queen Victoria Building when Barclay Greaves was killed?'

'Yes.'

'How did you come to be there?'

'I arranged the meeting between Jonas Clement and Greaves to try to resolve a matter I was working on.'

'That matter was…?'

'Confidential between my client and myself.'

'You don't have that privilege,' Aronson said.

Viv said, 'It's a moot point, Senior. Depending on the client. I suggest you move on.'

Aronson didn't like it, but he wasn't about to make an issue of it at this stage. 'You handed a bag to Jonas Clement.'

'Did I?'

'Video evidence says you did.'

'Those videos are fuzzy and jumpy and people cross the line and make the action confusing in my experience,' Viv said. 'Are Mr Hardy's fingerprints on this alleged bag?'

Aronson wasn't going to fall into a question and answer session. 'You provoked Clement into attacking Greaves. What did you say to him?'

'I forget. What does Clement say I said?'

I'd told Viv all I needed to convince him that I hadn't meant to bring about Greaves's death. His advice was answer questions like this with a question about Clement, who would certainly be getting the best possible legal advice himself. Ride piggyback on Clement's high-price brief.

Aronson's reaction confirmed Viv's advice. He was discomfitted, almost angry. Clement had told them nothing damaging to me, possibly nothing at all. Aronson kept it up for as long as he could, hammering away at my lack of confidentiality protection, my absenting myself from the scene and my conviction some time back for destroying evidence and obstructing justice. Viv and I fended him off enough so that he eventually finished the interview.

I thanked Viv and he left. I stayed where I was because I knew Aronson and I hadn't finished.

'Off the record, Hardy, I'm going to go after your licence as strong as I can. You've been up to some shit here and I'm sure you caused that man's death. Does any of that worry you?'

'The death, no. The licence, yes.'

'Good. You can expect to hear from the appropriate people. I think you're gone.'

'I've been through it before and survived.'

'Your luck's run out.'

'We'll see. I tell you what, Piers. When you lot get a conviction against Jonas Clement and have him safely locked away for, oh, five to ten for manslaughter, we can get together and I'll tell you all about it.'

That's how we left it. I'm still waiting to hear about the suspension of my licence, which is a good sign. The system is that suspension is followed by a searching interview with all sorts of bureaucratic bullshit, before an absolute de-licensing can happen. I'm still hopeful.

I followed the Clement case in the papers. Greaves, who was described as a financial adviser, had been dead on arrival, of course. Clement was charged with murder initially but the charge was reduced to manslaughter. Legal technicalities delayed the case coming to trial and it could be a while longer before it's heard. Rumour has it that Clement's defence is going to claim that the death of his son placed him under a strain and reduced his responsibility for his actions. Clement Junior's death was attributed to an accident. Might work.