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By Root 185 0

For everything. Sitting in a Canberra hotel room waiting for inspiration is easier knowing I have you. And believe me, I’m not forgetting you, despite thinking of Billy K all hours of the day. Though I’ll be honest and admit there is another young lady that I painfully miss too. I took a walk around the lake earlier, then had lunch at a café and tossed the last of my sandwich to the ducks. And God, how I missed my Gemma. I could see her clear as day, right there on the steps, throwing handfuls of bread. I actually forgot myself, what I was doing on the other side of the world. Why I was alone.

But then back at the hotel I was reminded. Flicking through the channels I flashed past a John Wayne Western, quiz shows, an Aussie Rules game and FOX news. Then finally the man himself. The video playing was ‘The Philistine Burns with Eyes Closed.’ Billy K struts around a prison wing in flames, walking the landing with his guitar as burning paper falls from the cells above. The prisoners dance as they riot, and Billy K opens up cell doors as he walks.

‘I’m going to find you,’ I said aloud. ‘Even if it kills me.’

I’ve convinced myself that if I get him, I get my life back.

And sitting there by myself, no number to call, no one to talk to without deception, I wondered if Billy K is made to run for ever.

But then who is?

Too much time to think. If I don’t have a line of enquiry by tomorrow, I could be flying home. At least I’d get to hold my gorgeous Gemma. And you.

x x

From: anna_m@hotmail.com

To: paraphernalia1278@yahoo.com

Date: Thu 19 Jan 2005 13:55 + 1300

You know I’ll be waiting if you do. But also know I’ll be ready to assist if you do play rogue detective a little longer … Now, believe it or not, I’ve just been over to your house and turned it upside down. Roberts, in his cunning, decided it was time to check for clues of your whereabouts. He also decided that a criminologist accompany the search team, and that the criminologist should be yours truly.

Does he really know the two of us are that involved? If so, it was a cruel thing for him to do. Thank God I’m not the love letter type! As PCs Laurel and Hardy lifted up seat covers and opened cupboard doors, Roberts walked me through the house, asking for a ‘professional and personal’ hypothesis on where you might run, who would you contact to help … But apart from your taste in underwear and how much you love your daughter – Does your ex know how many pictures you have of Gemma? – Roberts learned nothing new. Was he hoping to find something that would incriminate us both? That I’d suddenly crumble and tell all on the sight of my own bra?

Within an hour of being back at the station Roberts informed the team that your details, including photo, had been passed on to the Australian police and customs. He already knew about your $10,000 withdrawal at the bank in Sydney – smart move making one debit then using cash. Tension on his face tells me this is all he has. But be careful now.

Anyway, I am with you whatever.

A x

So, I’m officially a wanted man. And not for the first time, though I suppose I was a wanted boy as a teenage runaway, a bloodied knife folded in my pocket.

That day by the motorway, I had no idea where I was going, only that London glittered like some spinning carousel, a fairground ride I could hop on-board and forget who I was. And what I’d done. I’d stood on the edge of a motorway and waited for a magic carpet to whisk me all the way there. As if it was London I was heading for, and not just a clear blue sky.

This time I fly by plane, to Alice Springs, the red heart of Australia. From this height the land looks uninhabited, pockmarked and scorched. I watch our winged shadow race across the desert floor.

What beautiful country to drive I dodge kangaroos and skittering iguanas, the bickering vultures on the edge of the road fighting for the carcasses of run-over cattle. No people, just the odd tree, defining the curve of the earth, growing from the horizon on nearing.

Thinking again about Cal stranded in the desert, I hired the best kitted-out