Free Man in the Shadows by Peter Corris

I examined the big painting on a signboard which showed what the redevelopment of the foreshore would look like—park, playground, pavilion. It didn’t look any different which was fine by me; I like Bondi the way it is.
    Greenway was still asleep. I’d shaken the cans a bit and the one I opened in the kitchen sprayed. I swore and dropped another can. Greenway woke up and came stumbling into the kitchen. I handed him the frothing can.
    â€˜Brunch,’ I said.
    â€˜Great.’ He lifted the dripping can and took a long pull. I examined him while he was drinking; he was tanned and lean, almost thin but not unhealthy looking. I pointed to the sandwich on the kitchen table and he fell on it. If he was carrying the AIDS germ it hadn’t done any damage yet to his appetite or powers of recovery.
    He munched and spoke around the lettuce and carrot. ‘Well, what now?’
    â€˜You go to the clinic where you met Annie. Ask around. See if anyone was asking for her, or you. Try your description of your assailant on people.’
    â€˜Description? Assailant?’
    â€˜Improvise. Do your best. Wouldn’t be a computer buff, would you? I looked around but you don’t seem to have equipped yourself with a PC yet.’
    â€˜I know a bit about them,’ he said huffily. ‘I can get by. Why?’
    â€˜The hospital’s records are all on computer. It occurred to me the safe way to do it would be to break into the system. We could sit in comfort while a hacker found out all we wanted to know.’
    He snorted. ‘That’s in the movies. It’s more complicated than that. You have to know the codes.You’d have to work on the hospital’s system first. Comes to the same thing—a break in.’
    I opened a can carefully and waited for the foam to rise gently through the hole. ‘I feared as much. The old ways are always best,’ I said.
    Greenway left and I phoned Ian Sangster who is my friend and personal physician, also sometime tennis partner and drinking companion. I asked him what he knew about Southwood Hospital.
    â€˜Not a lot. Nothing really good.’
    â€˜Anything really bad?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜How hard would it be to identify a doctor who works or worked there just from his initial?’
    â€˜First or last initial?’
    â€˜Don’t know.’
    â€˜Jesus Christ, Cliff! What’re you playing at? There’s some very disturbed people at Southwood.’
    â€˜How hard, Ian?’
    â€˜Bloody near impossible. One of the things about the place that’s not quite . . . you know, kosher, is the turnover of medical staff. Pretty big.’
    â€˜Who’s the money behind it?’
    â€˜I’ve heard rumours but I’d rather not say—not over the phone to a person of dubious reputation.’
    I was going to tell him that I wasn’t using my own phone and then I remembered that Greenway fell into the same category, sort of. I thanked him and hung up. The day was wearing on; I had a choice between another beer and a walk. I took the walk, trying to get out of the lengthening shadows into the afternoon sun. I thought about women—Helen and Annie and Cyn and others. All different, all difficult, all more interesting to think about than men.
    I called Frank from a public phone.
    â€˜What’s all that noise behind you?’ he said.
    â€˜From the street. I’m using a public phone forsecurity. No private phone is safe in the late eighties.’
    â€˜Bullshit. Still, might be just as well.’
    â€˜What’ve you got on the hospital?’
    â€˜Nothing solid. The word is some of the staff need rehabilitating as much as the patients.’
    â€˜Meaning?’
    â€˜Southwood has been known to give people a second chance.’
    â€˜I see. Anything known about the financial setup?’
    His voice seemed to drop but it might have been my imagination. ‘Various sources. But a