Free The Heat by Garry Disher

said. ‘You have a phone for me?’
    Irritated, she opened her top drawer, lifted out a paper sack, and nudged it across the desk. Wyatt found a Motorola with a four-inch screen. He turned it on, ignoring Quarrell’s irritable glance at her watch, and waited for the phone to cycle through its boot-up and finally show a signal.
    ‘Satisfied?’
    Wyatt didn’t answer. Indicating the phone, he said, ‘How long have I got?’
    ‘It’s vacationing for three weeks.’
    In other words, stolen in a burglary, the householder on holiday. And therefore probably a backup phone, stowed away in a drawer.
    Wyatt said, ‘I’ll need a place to stay.’
    ‘I thought you might. Hotel? Apartment? Somewhere self-catering?’
    The words rattled like pellets and Quarrell ran her gaze over Wyatt as if his lanky height and ranginess might fit him for one type of accommodation over another.
    ‘Backpacker hostel?’ she offered, a glint in her eye.
    Now she was trying to appear human again, making a joke. ‘I think it best if you played the part of a man here on holiday with your family,’ she went on, more seriously, ‘even if no one claps eyes on the family.’
    She swivelled her chair around, found a brochure in a filing cabinet and flicked it to him across the desk.
    Wyatt saw the words Noosa Sound Apartments scrolled across the top, and on either side of the centrefold were coloured photographs: the main building set among palm trees behind a white wall, a two-bedroom apartment; a balcony; a tennis court, a swimming pool. Bright, shiny men, women and children sunning themselves by the pool, playing tennis, turning steaks on a public barbecue.
    ‘I know the property,’ Quarrell said. ‘The units are private, you can come and go without management seeing you, and the husbands and wives do their own thing. The husbands surf, the wives shop or walk along the river. No one will notice that you’re alone. I’ve already booked you a unit.’
    ‘Won’t I stand out?’
    Quarrell shook her head. ‘You’ll attract less attention there than if you were a single man staying in a hotel or guesthouse. When you pick up the key, just pretend the family are waiting out in the car.’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘You can cook for yourself, or there are plenty of cheap restaurants who’ll deliver.’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘But ditch the suit before you check in. You’re on holiday.’
    ‘Yes,’ Wyatt said.
    ‘Don’t tell you your job, right?’ said Quarrell. ‘Later this afternoon I’ll show you the target from the water.’ She checked her watch. ‘I have a window at four-thirty.’
    Wyatt shook his head. He needed time to eyeball the nearby houses and streets and trees and waterways before he eyeballed just one patch of wall inside just one house. Sunday was out, not a work day. ‘Monday.’
    Looking sly and venomous, Quarrell said, ‘And if I’m not free?’
    ‘Then I’ll hire a boat and look at the place on my own.’
    ‘No you won’t. You’ll only attract attention to yourself. If you’re with me, bobbing about in a boat with RiverRun Realty painted all over it, no one will look twice at you.’
    She was a woman in constant need of placation. As pleasantly as he was able, Wyatt said, ‘If you can find the time to help me on Monday, I’d be very grateful.’
    ‘My office, mid-morning,’ she said, mollified. ‘Wear the suit. You can be a lawyer representing overseas clients looking to buy high-end Sunshine Coast properties.’
    ‘Some lawyer,’ Wyatt said.
    Wearing jeans and a T-shirt now, Wyatt found Noosa Sound Apartments halfway along a crescent that looped down towards the river. Two buildings, one with river views, the other facing lawns, a swimming pool, palm trees and the road. Next door was a playground for the children of the caravan park between the crescent and the river. The other buildings nearby were houses, a small spread of holiday units and a backpackers hostel.
    Driving slowly past the apartments, Wyatt exited onto