have a phone.â
âI could send him a telegram asking him to ring,â Guthrie said. âOr get a message to him at the university.â
âThatâd take days.â Pat Guthrie looked at me appraisingly and seemed to find in my favour. âPerhaps Mr Hardy could go up there and see if he can help bring Ray to his senses. Iâm worried about him ranting around, especially in strange places. I think Mr Hardy and Chris would get along all right.â
Did that make me the reflective type
, I thought, scholarly, even? Flattering.
âGood idea,â Guthrie said. He went across the kitchen and put his strong, oarsmanâs around his wifeâs slim waist. âHardy?â
I said Iâd go, got the address and details on Chris Guthrieâs university courses from them, and left. I didnât have to drink the tea.
10
I got some money from the autobank at Railway Square and a surprised look at home from Hilde when I phone-booked a seat to Brisbane. She followed me as I ran around the house gathering things.
âNow?â she said. âItâs night time.â
âWe never sleep.â
âThat could be true,â she said. âYou certainly didnât sleep here last night.â I made a face at her and she went on.
âAnd from the look of you, maybe you didnât sleep much anywhere. Mmmm?â
She was wearing a tracksuit and sneakers, prepared for one of her long, late night runs. I grinned at her and mimed running on the spot.
âSleep or not, I beat a pennant standard tennis player 9-7 in the tie-breaker today.â
âIs that so? Iâm sure Helen Broadway would love to hear all about it, point by point. How was your serve?â
I grabbed her arm. âIâll break it, I swear, if you donât tell me everything you know.â
She laughed and I let her go. âShe rang a couple of times. Said sheâd be out tonight but you could ring in the morning. Sexy voice.â
âGreat voice, yes. Thanks, Hilde. Iâll see you.â
âWhen will you be back?â
âDonât know.â
* * *
I had my picture gallery, my gun, some clothes and books, and a collection of burglary tools in an overnight bag. If they were scanning the hand luggage Iâd have to put the gun and tools in a locker and go naked in the world. In my wallet I had my private enquiry agentâs licence which would mean about as much in Queensland as a Fantale wrapper. I had credit cards, which everyone would like, and electric shaver and a toothbrush, which no one could object to.
It was late and the airport was quiet; I parked, got seat-allocated and walked straight into the departure loungeâno scanner. My fellow passengers were a mixture of business folk and family folk. A couple of kids, up too late, were giving their mother hell, and the benign smiles of the two nuns opposite only made her more agitated. Me too.
We took off on time and I ordered a double scotch as soon as I could and settled down with Howard Hughes. The kids went into first class, which was a relief; the nuns were back in second class, but they didnât make any noise. I was reading about Hughesâs big-fish spending to corrupt the politicians in the little pool of Nevada and trying to tell myself it couldnât happen here, when we landed in Brisbane.
I like Brisbane: I like the warm air and the houses up on stilts and the suburban gardens that are like small jungles. I hired a yellow Ford Laser at the airport, which was the least gaudy car they had. It had nothing on the clock but its springs were shot: it had a Brisbane street directory though, and at that time of night I was glad to be hiring that as well as the springs. I drove to the address I had for Chris Guthrie in the suburb of Paddington.
The same things have happened to Paddington, Brisbane, as have happened to Paddington, Sydney (and Paddington, London, for all I know): itâs an inner-city
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