Chapter 2: The police come visiting

A middle-aged and obvious beer drinker wearing a large open-necked short-sleeved pink shirt and a ring of faded hair held up identification and introduced himself. 'Sorry to wake you. We won't bother you for long. I'm Inspector Lucas and this,' he rotated a shoulder in the direction of a uniformed figure behind him, 'is Constable Evans. Constable Evans attended the scene of the accident.'

He screwed his eyes in an effort to clear his head and shielded them with his hand. 'I don't remember much. The car started to burn and someone pulled me out. Or so the doctor said. I don't remember.'

The inspector shifted his feet. 'What about before that? Before the accident. What about the passenger?'

He wished for them to disappear. He lifted his hand. They were still there. Constable Evans had a notebook. 'I was driving.' A throb was developing over his eyes. 'He wanted a lift. I picked him up.'

'You were on the coast road north.'

He let his hand fall. 'Was I?' He gave it a second. 'North of where?'

It had the desired reaction - a perceptible softening. 'Cairns, Mr Cameron. You're in Cairns.'

He let them see him absorb the information. Without emotion, as though past the point of being able to feel he said, 'He didn't say much. Who was he?'

'Sydney businessman by the name of Alexander Patton. Up here on holiday from what his office says. Poor bugger. Mercifully he was already dead before the fire got him. The person who pulled you out didn't know that though and won't forget in a hurry.'

He must have looked puzzled.

'Got herself burnt. First freeing you and putting out your hair ...'

That accounted for the frizz.

'Then trying to free Patton. He hadn't been wearing a seat belt and got thrown around. Ended up in the back and the car was on its roof. She had no hope of getting him out but she tried.'

The passing motorist. 'Was she badly hurt?'

'Second degree burns to her hands and arms.'

'Is she here?'

'Was for a week. I've got the address of the guest house she stayed in if you want it, but I doubt she's still there and she asked that we don't hand out her home address.' The inspector rose on his toes. 'She was behind you when you veered off the road. Says the car seemed to go out of control, flipped over an incline and rolled until it hit a tree. She followed, pulled you out, then called for help.'

It all sounded like it should belong to someone else. 'Who was she?'

'Tourist by the name of Noel Valentine.' The inspector cleared his throat. 'What happened to cause the accident?'

Ceiling fan blades stirred the air. His nostrils flared, punctuating the breath he drew in. 'I don't know,' he said wearily and, he hoped, convincingly. 'I can't remember anything between driving and waking up. I'm sorry. Maybe a tyre blew, or I hit a rock or something.'

The inspector swung his head in a negative. 'We checked the car and accident scene. Nothing.'

When he kept his mouth shut the inspector provided an excuse. 'It's easy to miss that curve in the dark. You're not the first to go over.'

He lifted his hand palm up, fingers spread. 'I'm sorry.' Then, because he was not well enough for a prolonged inspection from a trained eye and wanted to know where he stood said, 'I'd like to fly down to Sydney when I get out of here. Will that be a problem?'

The inspector shoved his bottom lip up under his nose and made a smacking noise separating them. 'No. It's a pity you can't shed any light on things, but if you can't remember, you can't.'

His armpits were very soggy.

Lucas retrieved his jacket from the end of the bed. 'Constable Evans here,' Lucas took the envelope that was being held out by his subordinate and laid it on the bedside cabinet, 'brought along the bits and pieces that were picked up at the scene. Registration papers, your wallet. They must've been in the glove box - it burst open and what was in there scattered as the car rolled. Hope you're back to normal soon. You know where to reach me if there's anything you can add.'

When next he was sensible the blinds had been drawn against the window and the lights switched on. A plate with a warming lid and glass of milk anchored a tray to the trolley at knee level. He lay looking at them, indulging in a little self-pity before hooking the trolley with a knee. A sandwich, left because he had missed dinner. Minced chicken. He thought he'd better eat it, drank the milk to push it down and felt worse, if that were possible.

The room was small and his alone. The ceiling was high and the fan kept the air moving slowly, comfortingly. The walls were a very light yellow, or at least he thought so under the fluorescent lighting. The sheet covering him was white, as was the plastic tag circling his wrist and bearing the information: Cameron, C East. A curtain track hung above the bed with curtains gathered either side. A wardrobe, sink and bedside cupboard on his right completed the furnishings. On the cupboard was a jug of water, tissues, a glass and É a wallet. He slapped his hand over it, not that there was anyone else around to beat him to it.

He searched the worn leather folds. $63.54 in notes and coins, a scratch lottery ticket, a Cairns hotel registration slip acknowledging receipt for one week, and car registration papers for a Commodore that was of no use whatsoever anymore. No credit cards, no driver's license. Nothing much to show for his life. The litter sprinkled his chest.

The hotel registration reminded him of another address. He reached for it and held it close to his nose. Noel Valentine, 2 Grove Street.

Later he had his last visitor for the day. The sister who had been with the doctor when he first woke.

'Are you awake?' she asked softly.

He lifted his wrist from his eyes and grunted. She bent over him, solicitous, friendly.

'Would you like a sleeping pill?'

He shook his head. She felt his brow and took his pulse.

'Sister,' he said when she collected her paraphernalia to leave. 'The woman who helped me. She was here too, wasn't she?'

'For a week. She had second degree burns to her arms and hands. She came back to Outpatients for another couple of weeks, and to visit you.'

'Visit me?'

'She said she felt responsible for you.'

Why would she feel responsible? 'What was she like?'

A spontaneous smile widened her cheeks. 'If you'd been awake you wouldn't have to ask.'

'Nice then?'

Her top lip stretched and thinned to show pink gum. 'Yes.'

He struggled up. 'How often did she come?'

The smile tightened and colour streaked into her cheeks. 'Every day until you regained consciousness.' She backed away. 'Sleep well. I've got rounds.'

She was embarrassed. Why? 'Why only till then?'

She stopped by the door. 'Like I said. You regained consciousness.'

The logic escaped him. 'But ... '

'Mr Cameron,' her voice was firm, 'I have no idea why she hasn't come back. Goodnight.'