The Broken Shore by Peter Temple Read Free Book Online Page B

the girl to follow him. They went around the shed. He said, ‘Got a complaint you’d like to make against this man, Stacey? Made you do something against your will? Threaten you? This’s your chance.’
    She closed her eyes, shook her head. ‘No. Nothin.’
    ‘Sure? I’m going to write all this down, that I asked you. Want to talk somewhere else, on your own? A woman cop?’
    ‘No,’ she said.
    Cashin went back and beckoned to Morris, walked down the block a few paces. The man came, not easy in his skin, a rabbitty look. They stood in the weeds. White clouds moved across the pools of rain on the concrete slab.
    ‘What’s she to you, then?’ said Cashin.
    ‘Cousin, some kind, I dunno exactly.’
    ‘Yeah?’
    ‘She’s on at me all the time, come to me work even. I done nothin. Today’s the first…anyway, nothin happened. I swear.’
    ‘Not Deke Gettigan’s granddaughter, is she?’
    Morris scratched his head with both hands as if suddenly attacked by lice. ‘Mate, they’ll fuckin kill me,’ he said. ‘Please, mate.’
    ‘Don’t bring any more kids here to root, Allan,’ said Cashin. ‘Nowhere near here. There’s an alert on your van from now on. And you’re not the builder here, are you?’
    ‘Me mate, he’s kind of, he’s the…’
    ‘You come down this way to do a bit of building, that’s building I’m talking about, not fucking under-age girls, you let me know, Allan. Then I’ll tell the school they don’t have to worry about a man with his cock out, he’s just having a piss. Okay?’
    ‘Right, sure. Thanks.’
    Cashin looked back as he walked away. The girl held his eyes. She knew she was out of this, he wasn’t going to dob them, and she smiled at him, bold, sexual, ancient wisdom.

 
    AT THE station, Carl Wexler came out of the front door making flexing bodybuilder’s movements. He was a year out of the academy, not stupid, third in his course, but a city boy, resentful about being posted away from the action.
    Cashin lowered his window.
    ‘Cromarty rang, boss,’ Wexler said. ‘Senior Hopgood for you.’
    Cashin went in and rang.
    ‘Your mate Inspector Villani sends his love,’ said Hopgood. ‘How is it that wogs have taken over this force?’
    ‘Natural selection,’ said Cashin. ‘Survival of the best dressed.’
    ‘Yeah, well, he’s given me the benefit of his wog opinions. He wants you to ring.’
    Cashin didn’t say anything. Hopgood put the phone down.
    The city switch put Cashin straight through.
    ‘How’s retirement?’ said Villani. ‘I went down there once. Very nice. I hear the surfies call it the Blue Balls Coast.’
    ‘Wimps,’ Cashin said. ‘What?’
    ‘Joe, listen, this Bourgoyne was news to me but the media put that right. Then Commisioner Wicken yesterday explains to me how connected the step-daughter is, senior partner at Rothacker Julian, the Labor Party’s legal wing.’
    ‘That now carries some weight in a homicide?’
    ‘I’m finding out all kinds of stuff. Today Mr Pommy CommissionerWicken gives me hints on conducting myself in public. Fashion tips too. What suit, what shirt, what shoes. I enjoyed that so very much.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘I want you on this.’
    ‘I’m the cripple running Port Monro now. Send that prick Allen.’
    ‘Joe, we are thinner than the Durex Phantom. Jantz, Campbell and Maguire, all retired in one month. DePiero quit, Tozer’s on stress leave, your mate Allen, his wife buggered off with a butcher from Vic Market, took the kids. Now he’s found some mystical shit, living in the fucking moment. I wouldn’t send him to a Buddhist domestic.’
    A pause.
    ‘Also,’ said Villani, ‘when the newspapers get down there in a few days, you’ll see the former drug squad’s criminal mates are again killing each other. The big boss woman’s supposed to have sacked all the dirtbags and elevated the cleanskins but whoopy do, here we go again. So I’ve got a number of people committed to the utterly pointless shit of