I rummaged in the box holding the bits and pieces I’d collected in the office, pulled out a roll of masking tape and sealed the file. I sat down and couldn’t help thinking about Justin Hampshire, someone I never met but who had occupied a corner of my mind for years. I hated to think of him dead under a thorn bush in Africa or rotting away in some South American jungle, but that was the likely outcome.
I dropped the folder into the box with the others and took a last look around the room. I hadn’t been there very long but it had grown on me. Hard to say how long Hank would be able to stay. This stretch of King Street was being tatted up quickly, and someone was bound to take over the shop below, spend money up here and raise the rent or need the space.
The wife, who’d prevailed upon Hank to give up PEA work in favour of installing security devices and providing computer upgrade services, had left him for greener pastures, and getting back to the kind of work he liked and did well was a good idea. I’d managed to transfer to Hank a couple of cases I’d been keeping warm while my licence cancellation was still under review. That would give him a start. Best I could do. I left the fax machine – hardly ever used these days – and the clunky old Mac laptop for his use. I suspected the Mac would find its way into the council clean-up service.
I locked the door and carried the boxes and a bag of garbage down to the car. Call me sentimental, but I’d arranged to have the Falcon put up on blocks in a friend’s unused garage. He promised to start it up from time to time. I knew I’d be back, but I didn’t know when, or what I’d be doing.
No time to think about that now. Frank and Hilde were waiting at Glebe to drive me to the airport. I had a plane to catch.