Beware of the Dog Read Online Free PDF Page A

searched my memory for some recollection of Paula Wilberforce at the Post Office, on the road and at Granville—some subconscious mental image that I hadn’t bothered to process. Nothing. Her question hit the nail on the head. Here I was, congratulating myself on handling a tricky situation with aplomb, and I hadn’t noticed a crazy woman keeping tabs on me in broad daylight.
    The implications of that failure troubled me more than the fact of her attentions. I’d dealt with unstable women before—telephone callers, letter writers, window breakers. They tend to have low stamina and to be pretty easily deflected onto some other grievance.
Are you getting too old for this? Maybe you should take Dan Sanderson up on
his
offer.
I shook the thought off as I made myself a sandwich and poured a big glass of white wine. It wasn’t even an option. I was of value as an instructor
because
I was a practitioner. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise,a reminder not to get slack just because most of the things I do I’ve done a thousand times before.
    I ate the food and drank the wine. I had the shower I’d missed in the morning, then I set about tidying the kitchen Glen and I had left in such a hurry. I went upstairs to do the same in the bedroom. The bed was a mess with the fitted bottom sheet adrift and the blankets in a tangle. Our love-making after last night’s meal had been vigorous and both of us were restless sleepers, contending for space and the bedclothes. I sat down on Glen’s side. I could smell her in the sheets and on the pillows. I wouldn’t have her tonight to talk to or to hold. I missed her.
Soft, Hardy. You’re getting soft.
I straightened the bed roughly, collected the glasses and mugs and went down to make more mess in the kitchen.
    Dan Sanderson answered his phone on the first ring, he was that kind of a man.
    â€˜Dan?’ I said. ‘This is Hardy.’
    â€˜You’re not crying off? It’s 10.00 tomorrow. That leaves you all day to fight crime.’
    â€˜No. I’ll be there. I just wanted some information about one of your students—Mrs Paula Wilberforce.’
    â€˜Hey, I thought you were happily attached.’
    â€˜I am. This woman’s harassing me. I can handle it, don’t worry. I just thought a little extra dope might help.’
    â€˜Just a sec. I’ll get her on screen.’
    I heard the tapping of keys and wondered whether I should computerise my operation. Maybe the computer would analyse all my cases and come up with solutions in advance. Then it wouldn’t matterthat a mad woman could follow me around and stick me up on my own front porch.
    â€˜Got her,’ Dan said. ‘Bright, very bright. HDs all the way in her BA. Doing a PhD on wards of the state and recidivism.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜You know, broken homes and criminal careers. Roger Maurice is her supervisor. I know him slightly.’ 
    â€˜Married, right?’
    â€˜Not according to what I have here. Look, Cliff, I shouldn’t really be doing this.’
    â€˜Come on, we’re almost colleagues and my girlfriend’s a policeperson. Just give me her address and phone number and that’ll be it. It’s no big deal, really.’
    He gave me the address, in Lindfield. As an afterthought I got the contact number for Dr Roger Maurice at UTS. Then I made a few calls. Paula Wilberforce was the registered owner of a white Honda Civic, KTP 232. Her credit rating was shaky—she was over her limit on Bankcard and teetering on the brink of having her Visa card snipped in half. Her last tax assessment on an income of over $80,000 hadn’t been paid and her telephone and electricity accounts were in arrears. While I was at it, I ran checks on Patrick and Verity Lamberte. An Escort for her, a Saab for him. She was sitting pat, he was seriously over-extended.
    I needed sausages, bread and beer for the evening meal I was planning.