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Wanda smiled indulgently at me and touched Terry every chance she got. They fed me on Wanda’s vegetable soup and home-made bread and then Terry took me across to the lot.
    The staff had finally knocked off. It took Terry ten minutes to deactivate the alarm system. Wanda hadn’t had any effect in that department. His operation had expanded since I’d last seen him. He had a big service area and an imposing customer lounge. There weren’t many cars around which I took to be a good thing, business-wise.
    â€˜I can let you have a Land Cruiser, Cliff. How long would you be wanting it?’
    â€˜A week at the most.’
    â€˜That’ll be okay. Did you say you wanted camping gear?’
    â€˜A bit. Nothing fancy.’
    â€˜D’you want a mobile phone?’
    An hour later I was on the road. I had a one-mantent, a groundsheet, foam-rubber slab, sleeping bag, parka, thick gloves, tilly lamp, torch, binoculars, a Panasonic camera with zoom lens, primus stove, matches, a thermos full of soup and a half bottle of Johnny Walker red label. The Land Cruiser had a full tank of petrol and was running smoothly. I turned on the radio and caught the nine o’clock news but there was nothing about Sir Phillip Wilberforce. I wondered how he’d made his money and how much there was of it. I could feel the folded photograph in my pocket. It was my only glimmer of a lead in the Wilberforce case. It would be useful to ask Sir Phil about it, Dr John Holmes also, possibly. No chance of that for now.
    I punched the radio buttons as I drove. The quiz on the ABC station held me for a few minutes when I knew some of the answers and lost me when I didn’t. I ran through a blizzard of commercials, religion and talk-back until I got Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto on FM. It’s one of the few classical pieces I can listen to without drifting off into thoughts carnal or mundane. The First Movement, great stuff. I tapped my totally unmusical fingers on the steering wheel and began to feel better. The night was clear and the traffic was light. The heater worked. I was heading for the pure clean air of the Blue Mountains. If I’d had any solid idea of what I was going to do when I got there I’d have felt almost in charge of my life.

8
    I stopped at Emu Plains and bought some supplies at an all-night service station—bread, cheese, instant coffee and milk. Also a detailed map of the Blue Mountains. I studied it carefully, approximately locating the Lamberte block. The four acres appeared to be well out of the town and reached by several roads of ever-decreasing importance. Verity Lamberte had mentioned Bells Line of Road and the railway. There was a valley between them and the block. The Electricity Commission had a track through it to service overhead power lines and there were several fire trails.
    It was cool in Emu Plains; it would be colder in the mountains. I filled a plastic water bottle I’d found in the back of the Cruiser. I bought a cup of coffee, spiked it with the whisky and sipped it slowly. When I couldn’t put it off any longer I called Glen on the mobile phone.
    â€˜I got your note,’ she said quietly. ‘Thank you.’
    â€˜I’m sorry. I think this is the way to do it.’
    â€˜It’s not. You’re being stubborn and stupid. Where the hell are you now? Not that you’ll tell me.’
    â€˜Glen, all the explaining, the paperwork, the sittingabout would take up days. I’ve got things to do. If nothing works out I’ll come in. I promise.’
    â€˜Meanwhile that crazy woman is running around with your gun.’
    â€˜So she’s still got the gun, has she?’
    â€˜Yes. How many rounds were in it?’
    â€˜Eight.’
    â€˜Terrific. She put one in her dad and shot off another six or seven.’
    â€˜Which? six or seven?’
    â€˜They don’t know. D’you see, Cliff? She might have one bullet