‘Turn the car around,’ he said.

Five hundred dollars made him the boss for three days. I turned the car so it was facing back up the street. Greenway got out carrying his bag. For the first time I wondered what was in it.

‘Have you got a gun?’ he said.

‘No.’

‘Good. The hospital’s down here.’ He pointed to the trees. ‘We can take a look from the high ground and I know where we can get through the fence.’

‘Why?’

He looked at his watch. ‘It’s exercise time. I want to see that Guy’s all right. That’s all. We can talk about what to do next afterwards.’

He was suddenly much more decisive and alert. I was still worried; I wanted time to think about it but he plunged into the bush ahead of me and I followed him, feeling confused but protective. The trees shut out the light and made it seem later in the day than it was. I squinted ahead as Greenway forged on, pushing branches aside and crunching dried leaves underfoot. Then we were through and light flooded over a large open space ringed around by a high cyclone fence. There were buildings inside the area, concrete paths, garden beds. I saw a swimming pool and a tennis court half buried in shadow.

The blue water of Port Hacking hemmed in all the land. The sun still lit up the western edge but the advancing shadows were turning the water darker by the second.

Greenway tugged at my arm. ‘Down here.’

We scrambled along the perimeter until he located a section of fence where the metal post was standing slightly askew. He hooked his bag over one shoulder, gripped the post and heaved. It came out of the ground; the fence sagged close to the ground for five metres on either side. Greenway trampled over it. ‘Come on!’ he shouted.

He raced down the slope towards the centre of the compound. I could see light shapes moving slowly around behind a hedge. What could I do? Stand there and watch? I ran after him, more with the idea of hauling him back than going with him, but he was covering the ground like Darren Clarke.