The main building was a long, low piece of colonial architecture, much modified over about a hundred years. A series of signs directed deliveries to the back, patients to one verandah entrance, business callers to another. My visit to the other clinic had filled me with confidence about my robust health; I was here on business.
I responded to a ‘Please Open’ sign on a door and found myself in a waiting room that resembled something you’d see in an accountant’s office. Leather armchairs, low table, business magazines. A disembodied voice said, ‘Please make yourself comfortable. Dr Macleod will be with you in a moment. Please avail yourself of the refreshment facilities.’ This meant a coffee machine and a fresh juice dispenser. I made a cup of coffee and sat down. The seat hissed under me the way well-upholstered vinyl pretending to be leather will and I felt better. The coffee was lousy.
A second door opened and a huge man entered the room. He was over 190 centimetres and built like Sydney Greenstreet; chalk him down for 140 kilos. I began to get up but he moved quickly and had to bend down slightly to offer me his hand.
‘Mr Hardy,’ he said in a strong Scots accent, rolling the Rs. ‘I’m Bruce Macleod.’
The hand was soft from the heel pad to the fingertips. Shaking hands with him was like mixing dough.
‘Afternoon, doctor. Good of you to see me.’
He wore a double-breasted business suit, grey with a muted pinstripe, a white shirt and burgundy silk tie. His appearance said, ‘I’m wealthy and successful.’ I wondered what sort of patients responded to that. He bent at the knees to support his weight and lowered himself into a chair.
‘Not a medical matter, I believe.’
‘It is and it isn’t. I’m a private detective as I told your…’
‘Secretary. Yes.’
‘Right and I’m looking for information about one of your patients.’
‘Damien Talbot. Most unfortunate. I’ve heard of the trouble he’s in.’
‘It seems he’s seldom been out of trouble. I’m working for the mother of the young woman who’s with him. Naturally, she’s concerned about her daughter. I want to find Talbot and get the girl away from him.’
‘Anticipating the police, I take it?’
He was probing. It suggested that the police hadn’t yet made the connection to him. A marginal advantage to me, possibly. ‘That wouldn’t hurt.’
‘I see. And what d’you want from me, Mr Hardy?’
He was a smooth number, self-assured, confident – almost arrogant. Not a guy to threaten, maybe a guy to flatter. ‘First,’ I said, ‘your professional assessment of Talbot. How dangerous is he? How serious is his physical impairment? Anything you can tell me along those lines. I know there’ll be limitations to what you can reveal.’
He frowned and tented his fat fingers. ‘Very severe limitations I’m afraid. And secondly?’
‘Can you help me to find him?’
‘Help how?’
‘Can you get in touch with him?’
He smiled, revealing expertly capped teeth. It struck me that he was vain, despite his bulk. In fact he gave the impression of being proud of every kilo and their arrangement. ‘Help you to trap him in other words.’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’
‘I daresay you wouldn’t. I’m afraid I’ll have to think this over, Mr Hardy.’
‘Why’s that?’
He frowned. ‘As you suggested, there’s a serious matter of confidentiality involved.’
‘There’s also the public interest.’
‘And your own.’
‘You’re being offensive.’
I recognised the technique. This guy was a master at putting you on the defensive. I struggled to get back into the action, considered mentioning the police, but he didn’t give me the chance. He was levering himself up and he was just a touch short of breath when he gained his feet. ‘As I say, Mr Hardy. I’ll consider what you’ve put to me. It’s not something to be undertaken lightly. I take it my secretary can get in touch with you?’
He glided out on what I suddenly realised were very small feet. Twinkle toes. I stayed where I was and waited for the announcement. It came a few seconds later. ‘Please leave the waiting room.’ I sat still and looked around. The camera could’ve been anywhere but I made guess at the ventilator high in the wall opposite me. From there a swivel mounted camera could survey the whole room. I poured the cold coffee into a vase of flowers, put up two fingers and left the room.
Once outside the building I expected to be escorted to the gate but no-one appeared so I drifted around to the back to see what else the doctor had on the premises. A four-berth carport with two 4WDs at home, several small Besser-block buildings and another drive-in entrance. Back here grass gave way altogether to concrete and the whole area gave off an air of high security. As I stood there in the weak sunshine with the breeze cutting into me, a man emerged from the main building. He was stocky and looked uncomfortable in his suit as if his natural uniform was more like mine – something allowing quick movement and travel over rough ground.
‘Help you, sir?’
From the nicely balanced way he stood, he looked more ready to hit than help.
‘Not really. I’ve just seen the doctor…’
‘And now you’re leaving. The gate’s that way.’
He pointed but not the way an untrained person points, not so as to disturb that precise balance. He was about my size but a good deal younger and I didn’t fancy a physical contest with him even if there’d been something to gain from it. I wondered if I could get the edge in other ways.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Just off. What goes on there?’ I pointed to one of the small buildings and let my jacket come open so he could see the . 38. He did, but it didn’t faze him.
‘That’s the doctor’s library. The other building is a pathology laboratory.’
‘Uh huh. Well, I’m on my way.’
He said nothing but I could feel his eyes on my spine as I walked away, around the main building towards the front. A button released the gate and I went out to where the air was free to breathe and there was no-one watching your every move. Or so I thought.
I was irritated and dissatisfied. I had questions: how often did Talbot see the doctor; when did he last see him; what was the nature of their relationship? Macleod wasn’t going to tell me and neither was the well-balanced attendant. I looked along the street. The clinic occupied at least two frontages with a vacant block on one side and a paved car park serving a small electronics factory on the other. Privacy. Opposite, it was a different story. The houses on large blocks had deep gardens. Some were double-storeyed behind high hedges; some were set close to the street and some further back. I wondered if there were any sticky-beaks, nosey-parkers, snoops behind those hedges and gates. You never know.
I decided to try my luck at the houses and started at the end of the street, a hundred metres or so from the clinic. I took a risk, saying that I was from the sheriffs office with a warrant to serve. The ID card I carried to that effect was legitimate but specific to the warrant it related to and long out of date, but it opened some doors. I asked several women, one man and an adolescent with a heavy cold if they’d ever seen Talbot’s van and learned nothing. At a house almost opposite the clinic, the door was opened by a small, elderly woman of the kind that used to be called a little old lady.
Standing on the doorstep she barely reached to my chest which made her not much over five feet in the old measure. She had white hair but her blue eyes still had a lot of colour and were bright. Her hands were well worn and the skin on her face was finely lined rather than wrinkled. She held her thin body very straight. I guessed her age at about eighty but judged there was still plenty of mileage left in her.
The path up to the house was flanked by lines of tall pines and other trees dominated in the garden and the temperature was several degrees lower than out in the street – nice in summer, a bit chilly for now. The woman was dressed for it in slacks and a heavy cable-knit sweater. I gave her my spiel and she looked at me as if she was considering calling the dog. Another miss, I thought, and put the card away.