Man in the Shadows by Peter Corris Page A

bit difficult to follow. I printed some of it out. I tell you, the printer sounded like a machine gun in there.’
    â€˜What about the staff and the money angle?’
    â€˜Nothing on the money. It’d have taken all night to get into that. The staff stuff’s strange, man. It’s as if files are being kept on them too, like the patients. Some of it’s stuff they wouldn’t like everyone to know. Kinky . . . ’
    â€˜Spare me. Is there a doctor with “K” in his name?’
    â€˜Several. Some of the files are hard copy, I mean paper. The personnel stuff has photographs, good ones.’
    â€˜That’d be in filing cabinets. How’d you handle that?’
    â€˜In for a penny in for a pound. I jemmied them with a metal ruler. I took a chance and used the Xerox machine.’
    â€˜That must’ve been the light I saw.’
    â€˜There was no way to shield it.’
    Greenway drank, and ate some more chicken; he licked his fingers and I noticed that his hands were steady. He’d handled himself very coolly throughout. ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ I said. ‘Let’s see the pictures.’
    He arranged them on the table. I glanced at the seven faces quickly and then examined each in turn closely. I held up the third. Greenway nodded.
    â€˜Dr Bruce Krey. He fits physically. Bald, see. No moustache but look at his shoulders. And his personal file’s a beauty. He’s had a fair bit of treatment over the years. Boy, does he have problems. I copied a fair bit of his file, didn’t bother with the others. Hardy?’
    I was scarcely listening. The face was that of the doctor who’d examined me as I was regaining consciousness at the hospital on day one. His bald head had been covered then by some kind of cap. I’d misheard his name as ‘Grey’.
    Greenway was looking pleased with himself. ‘Here’s the trump card. Shit, where is it?’ He shuffled the papers frantically.
    â€˜Closin’ time,’ the girl called.
    â€˜Christ, I can’t find it!’
    I stood and collected the papers. ‘Take it easy. It’ll be there. This kid’s shagged, she wants to knock off.’ I left two dollars under the chicken tray and the girl gave me a smile as we went out the door. In the car I used a torch to help Greenway locate what he wanted. A single photocopy sheet.
    â€˜It was on the boss’s desk,’ he said. ‘Look. Krey resigned today.’

17
    K REY’S address was given in his file—25 Seventh Street, Jannali. I checked the directory, started the car and headed back up the Princes Highway. Greenway didn’t speak and I was happy to be left with my own thoughts. The intelligence that Krey was our man posed a lot of questions. ‘Dr K.’ was one of Annie’s good guys—he’d helped her get out of Southwood. So why was he an apparent instrument of her death? And why had he hired Greenway to do something that made no sense, especially when he was on the spot in the hospital himself? Just knowing Krey was a source of trouble took us no closer to knowing what the real trouble was and what had killed Annie.
    Greenway coughed. ‘I don’t want to look nerdish or anything, but isn’t it something for the police?’
    I concentrated on not missing the turn-off. My eye was still watering and I dabbed at it. ‘How would you like to explain what we did at the hospital?’
    â€˜We’re investigating a crime, a series of crimes.’
    â€˜What crimes?’
    â€˜Murder for one and . . . ’
    â€˜Accidental death.’
    â€˜Assault.’
    â€˜On who?’
    â€˜Me.’
    I laughed. ‘You’re a bisexual out-of-work actor playing at being a detective. You’ve never even met your client. You’ve got no protection. Are you bonded?’
    â€˜What’s that?’
    â€˜Insured against damage you might cause,