Man in the Shadows by Peter Corris Page B

losses that might be sustained through your actions.’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜I’m told this hospital has million dollar lawyers, the kind that own racehorses. You’d be so up to your balls in writs you’d forget what this was all about.’
    He rubbed his hand across his face. ‘Yes,’ he said wearily. ‘You’re right. What
is
it all about, anyway?’
    I made the turn. ‘We’ll go and ask Dr Krey. Let’s hope he’s home.’
    The road into Jannali wound around the natural features of the landscape. There seemed to be a lot of roadworks going on devoted to changing those features. The suburb was quiet, like a country town all closed down for the night. I drove through unfamiliar streets with big houses contending for the high ground to the down-market section where the planners seemed to have run out of names. I wondered what it would be like to have as your address No. 1 First Street, or No. 2 Second Street for that matter. Seventh Street was undistinguishable from the others—widely spaced fibro bungalows on standard sized blocks. It was short and dark; several of the street lights were out of commission.
    â€˜Not much for a doctor,’ Greenway said. ‘Looks like the sort of place they dump defectors in—where nothing happens and nobody goes.’
    He was right; the street wore an air of uniformity and dullness that didn’t seem to fit with the personality of Dr Krey as I remembered him. I recalled the vein bulging in his forehead and the sense of pressure building up in him like an overheated boiler. I imagined him living in a penthouse or a slum, not low-rent suburbia. I drove slowly past the house; no lights were showing but the tailend of a big white car protruded from the driveway on to the wide grassy strip—the street had no footpath.
    Greenway leaned across me and squinted into the gloom. ‘Could be a Volvo.’
    â€˜It is.’ I drove on to the end of the street and parked. Most of the houses had garages or carports but there were a few cars on the grass strip—kids’ bombs mostly but a few sedate sedans like mine.
    I dabbed at my eye, found a torch in the tool bag and got out of the car. ‘You wait here.’
    â€˜No!’
    â€˜Shut up! D’you want people calling the cops? This is a nervous neighbourhood. You have to stay here to guard the documents and to give me a warning if anyone comes. Two honks, okay?’
    â€˜Bullshit, no one’ll come.’
    â€˜Just do as I say.’
    I closed the car door quietly and walked along the grass. Although my footsteps were silent a few dogs growled in the backyards and some lights indicated late night movie watchers but I had the street to myself. I examined the car at No. 20. The Volvo was heavily laden with boxes, bundles and cases. Dr Krey was planning a trip. I moved cautiously towards the house. I could see now that there was a light at the back. I went into the garage and used my torch to locate its back door. This opened on to a bare patch with a trellis gate through to the backyard. No dog.
    The house was quiet and I had a feeling that it was empty, the way you get a feeling after a few rings that no one is going to answer the phone. I’ve had the feeling often; sometimes I’ve been right and sometimes wrong. I had it once and walked in on three dead bodies. I tried the back door and it opened easily and quietly. That took me into a porch; the door to the kitchen was open. One lightburned and the stove was warm. There was an oil heater with a red light glowing in the dark living room. I looked quickly into the two bedrooms, using the torch. Both empty and more or less stripped. One had been used as a study but all that was left were some newspapers. I stood in the front room smelling loneliness, frustration and fear. I moved the torch beam around carefully and saw something on the ledge above the built-in electric fire. I touched it and