Saving Billie Read Online Free PDF Page A

Haven’t you ever tried to do something and couldn’t make it, Cliff?’
    â€˜Sure. Tried to clear six feet in the high jump. Five eleven and a half was fine but I knocked the bar off every time at six feet.’
    â€˜So, what did you do?’
    â€˜Changed to the long jump.’
    â€˜And?’
    â€˜Couldn’t clear sixteen feet.’
    â€˜Same thing, mental barrier. So?’
    â€˜Went surfing. I could stand up on the board and if I fell off it didn’t matter.’
    â€˜Ask her.’
    Perhaps by nature, certainly by experience and habit, private enquiry agents are suspicious and mistrustful. But some friendships take and hold and I had one going back quite a way with Bob Armstrong. Bob had eventually yielded to the blandishments of one of the corporations and become a security consultant and functionary within its organisation, but before that he’d been a keen and successful independent operator. I rang him, told him I wanted to talk about a former colleague, and we agreed to meet for a drink at six in Balmain.
    â€˜In the glorious smoke-free pub where you can breathe the air and taste the beer,’ he said.
    â€˜Didn’t know there was one.’
    He named it. The day heated up considerably and I did a few routine things, like returning the dinner suit to the hirer, depositing Lou Kramer’s cheque and paying a few bills before heading to the Dawn Fraser baths at four thirty for a pre-drink and work swim. The baths have gone through a few changes over the years but not many. The water’s better now than a few years ago when the harbour around Balmain was very sludgy. I paid for a locker and stripped, wrapped my mobile in the towel and went out on the boards.
    There’s something Old Sydney, in the true sense, that I like about the place. I remember the photo of poor Les Darcy in his trunks with the kids at the Manly baths, ninety years back. He looked as hard as a rock and ready to take on any middleweight on the planet. That image was in my head as I walked towards a clear spot. The way it is with me when a case is on hand, I could hear the voices of the people I’d spoken to inside my head. This is my shot, I heard Lou Kramer saying. Les never got his shot. Should have.
    I tucked my towel and thongs into a corner, dived in and swam a few lengths. The water was choppy because a light wind had sprung up. I enjoyed the swim, pulled myself out and headed for the towel. The mobile chirped and I answered it with water still in my ears. I could scarcely make out the voice.
    â€˜Can’t hear you. Hang on. I have to clear water from my ears. Okay. Who is it?’
    â€˜It’s Lou Kramer. Why’ve you got water in your ears?’
    â€˜I’ve been swimming.’
    â€˜Swimming!’
    â€˜Healthy mind in a healthy body. What’s up?’
    â€˜I wanted to tell you not to deposit that cheque just yet.’
    â€˜I’ve already deposited it. Paid extra for quick clearance.’
    â€˜Shit, it’ll bounce. I’m sorry. I have to move some money around.’
    â€˜You’re not filling me with confidence.’
    â€˜It’ll be fine in a day or so. Just re-present it. I’ll pay the fee.’
    â€˜I’ve got a question for you. What’s your deadline for the book?’
    â€˜Why d’you ask?’
    â€˜Just curious.’
    â€˜None of your bloody business. Sorry again about the cheque.’
    She rang off. I thought a better rule than check on your client might be check on your client’s bank balance.
    Bob Armstrong once attempted to work up a PEA trade union of a sort but he had no luck. I played along for a while until it was clear there was no possibility of such a bunch of individuals with highly diversified lifestyles, values and politics ever cohering. Still, Bob stayed in touch with others in the profession as a matter of principle and occasionally organised a whip-round when someone fell on