stuff.â
âStuff?â
She raised her glass and took a pull on the cigarette sheâd puffed on throughout the phone call. âFags and booze, speedâyou name it. She got desperate and called me and I went there. Shit!â
She ground out the cigarette. âTheyâre praying over her when sheâs asleep and reading the Bible at her and singing their hymns and itâs driving her crazy. I tried to get her to come away with me and I reckon she was almost ready to even though sheâs in a mind-fucked fog, and then that big bastard arrived.â
âManuma.â
âRight. Heâs got them all under the thumb. Shit, I donât know what to do. Sheâs my sister and I love her, but . . . I know sheâs trouble. Fair killed our mum.â
âWhat about the boy?â
She almost dropped her lighter on its way to the cigarette in her mouth. âYou know about him?â
I showed her the photograph.
She got the cigarette lit, inexpertly. âHow did you get this?â
I told her. It seemed to make her take my presence and interest in her sister more seriously. She flattened out a corner of the photo that had got bent. âSheâd love to have this back, Iâm sure.â
âWhy would she leave it behind?â
âShe overdosed accidentally on some bad shit. Yolande packed her up and moved her to his place. Sheâs been there ever since, under . . . what dâyou call it? House arrest. Getting the Jesus treatment. What she needs is proper stuffâdetoxification, counselling and that.â
âIs this Yolande the boyâs father? Whatâs his name by the way?â
âSamuel. Sam. No, not Yolande. Thatâs only been going on for a couple of years. Sam came along, oh, fifteen years ago.â
âBefore Eddie?â
She blew smoke. âYou do know a bit, donât you?â
âI knew Eddie. He was in the same game, but he played by different rules.â
âEddie,â she said. âWhat a loser. To tell you the truth, I donât think Billie knows who Samâs father was. She had a thing for black blokes at the time.â
âBlack as in?â
She shrugged. âKooris, mostly. We both went that way for a while. Weâre said to have a touch of it ourselves, would you believe?â
âPlenty do, they say. A lot more than know it or admit it. But youâve dodged the question. Whereâs Sam now?â
All of a sudden, the initial wariness sheâd displayed was back. âLook, youâve bought me a couple of drinks and showed youâre caught up in something involving Billie. But I donât know anything about this Clement you mentioned. Why dâyou want to know about Sam?â
I took off the sunglasses and let her see my eye. âMy client, Lou Kramer, the woman you just spoke to, claims that Clement had Eddie Flannery killed because he knew something about Clementâs business and tried to make a quid out of it. Clement found out I was working for Lou and I copped this for my trouble. Lou thinks Billie might know what Eddie knew and, if she does, sheâs in danger. The kid makes her vulnerable if Clement gets wind of him. Does any of this make sense?â
âI need another drink.â
âYouâll be too high to drive.â
âI can walk. I live here. Get me a drink while I think this over a bit.â
I kept my eye on her while I got the drink, wondering whether she might do a runner. But she sat, apparently doing what she saidâthinking. I glanced out of the window at my car and thought Lou Kramer must be frantically trying to call me on the mobile. Given the way sheâd been playing things I didnât mind the ball being in my court for a bit. I put the drink down on a coaster near the ashtray.
âNot having one?â
âIâll be driving.â
âYouâre going to have to tell me a bit more about this woman youâre
Caitlin Crews, Trish Morey