Good Money by J. M. Green Read Free Book Online Page A

Mabor shuffled in. When he saw me, his eyes darkened with scorn. ‘What?’ he demanded.
    He watched me as I closed the door — then we were alone. ‘I’m not the enemy, you know,’ I said.
    A hint of a sneer. ‘You? You’re nothing.’
    â€˜Then who is?’
    He shook his head and sat behind a desk. ‘What is this? Huh? What do you want?’
    â€˜Are you in trouble?’
    His face was deadpan, but his thumbnail was gouging at a crack in the desktop.
    â€˜Can you tell me what’s going on with you? Who are you protecting?’
    â€˜You spying on me?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜I’m not protecting anyone.’
    I considered my next move. ‘A long time ago, when you were just a kid, there was an incident at the flats, same building as yours. There was a young couple living a few floors down from you, and they were junkies. One night they overdosed and they both died.’
    He looked up, slightly bewildered. ‘So?’
    â€˜I wondered if Adut ever told you about that.’
    His puzzlement was clearly not an act. ‘Adut? No, why would he?’
    â€˜You sure he never mentioned it?’
    â€˜What’s this shit you’re on about, huh? Junkies dying years ago — why would he care? Why would I ? I’ve got enough problems to worry about.’
    â€˜Yes. Well. You were only about eight at the time, but gossip gets around. I thought you might have heard about it.’
    â€˜Can I go now?’
    â€˜Because there were lots of rumours at the time. People said there was money in the flat — drug money.’
    â€˜So of course you think me and Adut took it. If I was eight then he was ten; we were probably watching The Simpsons or some shit.’
    â€˜Of course you didn’t take it.’ This was not going well.
    â€˜I’m missing a science test for this garbage.’
    â€˜Just one last thing, Mabor. What is Funsail?’
    â€˜What?’ He looked at me for a moment, then he closed his eyes and sighed. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I watched him stand and head for the door. Before leaving, he turned to me. ‘Stay out of things you don’t understand.’
    I don’t understand? The nerve of him, the little juvenile delinquent. I understood all too well. I considered the events of the morning. I considered the book. The gangster type in the coffee shop. Then there was also the exchange of a bag, probably belonging to Adut, passed through the window of a four-wheel drive in the middle of the night. Clearly, it was time to swallow my pride and go see Phuong. Time to tell her everything I had heard. She could refer me to one of the detectives working on Adut Chol’s murder. If that went well, maybe I could even show her the book, explain my reasons for taking it — after all, was it even a crime if the owner was himself a criminal? No, I could not tell her about the book. Never.
    I pulled out my phone. There was a text from Boss, asking where the hell I was. I replied that he should calm down, and that I had been doing a home visit. Then I took a deep breath and rang the Footscray police station. Eventually, someone picked up. I said, ‘Phuong Nguyen, please.’
    â€˜She got transferred. St Kilda Road.’
    I hung up and checked my watch. Boss wouldn’t miss me for another hour or so. It was time for a visit to the St Kilda Road police complex.

6
    THE DESK sergeant was short, with a wrinkled-up face, grey hair in a basin cut. He was old-school — not the kind of man who might, say, photograph his food. I signed in and he issued me a visitor’s pass. I was a little surprised that I was not required to reveal the contents of my handbag or walk through a metal detector. All that stood between me and about three hundred cops upstairs was a swinging metal gate, which opens when swiped with a security pass. Maybe they thought that, with so many cops