Man in the Shadows by Peter Corris

pool. I heard a groan and a protest from Pope. He was crawling along the edge of the pool towards me.
    â€˜Get away!’ I had matches in the tool bag. I groped for them, lit five or six together. The man rolled off to his left as I threw the blazing matches into the pool. There was a roar and a sheet of flame leapt five metres in the air and danced across the lapping water.

 
    16
    I ran away from the intense heat and light into the darkness, working my way towards the meeting point with Greenway. There was a lot of noise—men and women shouting and one of the alarms was still ringing. I heard glass break. Ahead I saw a flash of white and a crouched, fast moving figure.
    â€˜Greenway?’
    â€˜Here.’ He was carrying a bundle of paper, struggling to keep the flapping sheets under control. ‘What the hell did you do?’
    â€˜Later. Let’s go!’
    We raced up the slope towards our exit in the fence. I sneaked a look back before we scrambled through: the fire was dying down in the swimming pool; the front gate was open and the patrol car had pulled up in front of Smith’s flat. Lights were on everywhere—in the flat, in the wards and in the administration building.
    We were both panting when we reached the car. Lights showed in some of the houses; shapes moved at windows. No time to hang about. I threw the bag into the car and gunned the motor. Greenway clutched his paper to his chest as we took off fast, the way the old Falcon never would.
    We travelled a few minutes in silence. The eye I’d damaged a few years back that sometimes gave me trouble when I was under stress was aching now and watering. I slowed down. ‘There’s a flask of rum in the tool bag,’ I said. ‘Let’s have a drink.’
    Greenway gave me first swig and then took one himself. ‘We did it!’ he said. ‘What was burning?’
    â€˜The swimming pool. You don’t think I’d set fire to a hospital, do you? Did you find out what we wanted?’
    â€˜Some of it. I haven’t exactly had time to analyse it thoroughly . . . ’ He giggled and took another drink.
    â€˜Okay. We don’t want you going into shock. Calm down.’ I could feel him glaring at me as I drove and I realised that the sarcasm was my expression of relief. I reached across for the rum. ‘We’ll stop somewhere soon and take a look. You did pretty well.’
    He was glad to be mollified. ‘So did you. Some diversion.’
    â€˜Yeah. I hope nobody got hurt. Have another small swig.’
    We stopped at a take-away chicken place wedged in between the car yards in Kirrawee. I bought some chicken and Coca Cola and took it to one of the two tables. The tired-looking girl serving eyed me suspiciously. She pushed back her orange-dyed hair and rested her hip against the counter. ‘How long youse goin’ to be?’
    â€˜Why?’ I said.
    â€˜I’m closin’ up in twenny minutes.’
    â€˜That’s long enough.’ I realised I was hungry. I ate the chicken and sipped the Coca Cola, after I’d put rum in it. Greenway was sorting papers. He ate some chicken; he had natural good manners and was careful not to get grease on the sheets. ‘What did you get?’
    â€˜The patients are or were, Michael McCleod, Renee Riatoli, Eddy Forster and John O’Brien.’
    â€˜Why were they there?’
    â€˜Drugs.’
    â€˜What? Drugs!’ The girl looked sharply at usand checked her watch. I dropped my voice. ‘Drug problems and they were operated on?’
    â€˜That’s what it looks like. There’s a lot of psychology stuff—depression and all that, but when you boil it down . . . ’
    â€˜Shit! Where are they now?’
    He shrugged. ‘Don’t know. I didn’t have much time and getting into some of the files was complicated. They sort of . . . exited the filing system. The codes’re a