Chapter One #5
“Well . . . no. He’s a good boy, I told you.
” Billie noticed she was now gripping the bag in her lap like a woman on a roller coaster.
When it came to these initial meetings, clients were an even split in Billie’s experience—half of them loved pouring out every sordid detail of their lives and their traumas, and the other half were something like this, finding every detail painful or embarrassing to share with a total stranger, paid or otherwise.
Mrs. Brown didn’t like this conversation.
Billie ignored the constant reinforcement of Adin Brown’s high moral standards. People did not come in just two kinds—good and bad—and in any event Billie wasn’t there to judge. “How much would he keep on him, normally?” she asked.
“Only a few pounds for snacks and the tram.”
You couldn’t get far on that. Billie leaned back in her chair again. The woman had barely touched her tea. “Is there anything else you think I ought to know?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” The tone was almost accusing.
“I don’t mean anything by it. The more I have to go on, the better,” she explained.
“He’s a good boy, Miss Walker. I . . .” She trailed off, unable to finish her sentence, and looked down, her brow creased. The large brown eyes looked wet again.
“I’ll do my best to find your son for you, Mrs. Brown, and quickly. We’ll start right away.”
“Tonight?” It was now after four.
Billie nodded. “Yes. Normal business hours don’t apply to this work. And we’ll work through the weekend.”
Mrs. Brown’s features perked up a little, her mouth relaxing, the sense of immediacy seeming to put her more at ease.
Or perhaps it was that Billie had accepted the retainer and something was being done.
Billie stood and opened the communicating door for her, and bade her new client good day.
Sam was sitting at his desk, pretending he hadn’t been doing his best to listen through the door.
He opened the office door and stepped back to allow Mrs. Brown into the hallway.
“Thank you, Miss Walker,” Netanya Brown said again, and disappeared toward the lift as they watched, that fur stole having never left her shoulders.
Sam shut the door gently. “Nervy one,” he commented.
Billie nodded thoughtfully and wondered if she was the one who had called that morning. She was just nervy enough to hang up on Sam when she heard a male voice.
“She is quite anxious. Not without reason, perhaps,” she mused. “How much of that didn’t you catch?”
He smiled. “The amount of the retainer.”
Billie laughed out loud. “Ten pounds, Sam. Ten. We won’t have to close up shop just yet. I could have pressed her for more, but that will do for now. There isn’t exactly a stampede rushing the door today.
“I want you to head to the hospitals as soon as you’re ready,” she continued.
He was good with the nurses, she’d noticed, and it wasn’t necessary for her to go with him.
He knew that drill well enough by now. “Take this photograph with you. We’re looking for an Adin Brown, age seventeen.
Five foot nine, slim build, no tattoos or identifying scars.
” She handed over the photo. “Check out the main city hospitals: Sydney, RPA, Prince of Wales, Prince Henry, and St. Vinnie’s.
Royal South Sydney, too. Have a good chat and find out about any male patient who came in during the past two days—since Wednesday night—and might vaguely fit the description of our boy.
Don’t bother heading across the bridge yet, but I might send you out there tomorrow, and to the smaller hospitals if we must, though a ring around might suffice for some of them.
I’ll make a visit to some of his friends, and tonight I’ll drop in to see if he’s—”
“In the death house,” he said, completing her sentence.
She nodded. “Yes. Let’s hope not.”
The first ports of call for missing persons were always the places you hoped you wouldn’t find them.
Billie would make a visit to the Sydney City Morgue, but not until well after dark, when she knew she would be welcomed by the man at the desk.
It was all about who was on the shift, and if she was right, the best timing would be after eleven, when everyone else was gone.
But if Adin was lucky he’d be with one of his friends, or perhaps being harbored by a ladylove his mother wouldn’t approve of.
If Netanya Brown was right—there was no girlfriend, his friends hadn’t seen him, and he only had a few pounds to his name—that did indeed spell trouble.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to tag along?” Sam asked.
Billie looked at the list of friends. “I can handle these boys,” she said.
“Much as I like having a case to pay our rent, time is of the essence with something like this.” Stretching it out was no good.
Billie glanced at the clock again. “When you’re finished I want you to have a good meal, but give me a call at eight o’clock sharp—try the office and then my flat—and tell me what you’ve found.
Hopefully then you’ll be able to knock off, but I can’t promise you’ll have much time off this weekend.
If there’s no dice tonight, we’ll be visiting the fur company tomorrow. ”
She grabbed her trench coat off the rack. “You’ve enough petrol coupons for your motorcar?” she asked. The rationing allowance was around fifteen gallons each month. They could share coupons normally, but Billie was out for the month.
He nodded, not seeming overly disappointed that his workday had not ended early after all, or that his weekend would be busy. An hour’s wage was an hour’s wage. They locked up and set off.