Out in the night, Ambrosine’s cottage had subsided to a smouldering heap. The fire hadn’t spread to the trees along the creek. There was no wind and both the bare soil surrounding the cottage and the dusty lane had acted as a fire break. First thing in the morning, it would be cordoned off as a crime scene. The shooter was almost certainly well on his way to Sydney by now. Even so, Harrigan wasn’t going to send anyone out into the dark. He decided Ambrosine and her children would be as safe here for the night rather than making the trip to Coolemon. He told the uniformed officers to wait while he went to talk to her. Right now, he wanted information.
She was in the kitchen sitting at the table. Sheets of paper, a small array of pencils and a pencil sharpener were scattered around her. She was drawing; quick constant lines crossed the page. A bottle of whisky stood on the table with a partially drunk glass of it next to her cigarettes.
‘Fucking hell, mate,’ she said when he walked into the room. ‘I didn’t look at you properly before. You can tell you’ve been in fight. What does that other bloke look like?’
‘Worse, I hope.’
‘Do you want a drink? Harry won’t mind.’
He did need a drink. Now that he had time to think about them, his bruises were beginning to hurt. He poured himself a whisky and sat down. There was a sense of late-night exhaustion in the room.
‘Where’d you get the stationery?’ he asked.
‘Out of the drawer over there.’
‘Where are the kids?’
‘I got them into bed. They’re asleep. They already have nightmares, poor buggers. It’ll get worse now. Want a cigarette?’
‘No, I don’t smoke any more. You know that.’
‘Yeah, you gave them up, didn’t you? You used to smoke like a fucking chimney. How’d you do it?’
Brutally, during a long, scorchingly hot drive to Sydney in a car without air conditioning, the day he’d left Coolemon for good. He had woken in the morning sodden and seedy from the previous night’s celebrations, melancholy with post-alcohol blues, his throat sore from too many cigarettes. Somehow he’d got through the farewell ceremonies. The senior sergeant replacing him, the mayor and the local state school principal had all come to shake his hand. On his way out of town, he’d seen by the roadside a rusting 44-gallon drum with a sign painted on it in bright yellow letters: Plese put yr rubish in here. Thank u. On impulse he stopped, threw his cigarettes and lighter into it, and drove on. For the next six or so hours, air at 42 °C had blasted in through his windows. By the time he reached Sydney, he felt he’d sweated every lingering trace of nicotine out of his body, along with the alcohol from the night before. His shirt was drenched yellow. He hadn’t had a cigarette since.
‘Never mind that,’ he said. ‘You can tell me the truth now. Did the Ice Cream Man find you out here?’
Ambrosine was lighting her own cigarette.
‘Fags will follow me to my grave. That was pretty fucking close tonight,’ she said. ‘Yeah, Mike came and saw me. He died out here too. How did he know I was here? Did you fucking tell anyone?’
‘No, mate. It’s your arms.’
She looked down at them, bare to her shoulders. They were marked with tattoos and psoriatic lesions.
‘He paid someone in the health department for a list of all the chemists who were dispensing the ointment you use under the Pharmaceutical Benefits System. That list had to say Coolemon Chemist. He knew I’d spent time out here; he as good as sent me here. He just joined the dots.’
‘Jesus. I never thought of that. I hardly ever go into town, just when I have to do my shopping. He must have followed me and the kids home.’
‘When was this?’
‘End of September.’ Ambrosine put down her cigarette and started to sketch again. ‘We hadn’t been back from town that long. I’m unpacking things in the kitchen. Little Man was looking out the back door. He says, “Man, man.” It was Mike. He was getting out of his car.’ She stopped and took a drink. ‘When you live like we do, you expect it to happen. We had a plan. If Mike turns up, the kids go out the back window and they head for the creek bed. I try and get to the car. If I get away, I pick them up. If I don’t, they keep going till they get to a farmhouse somewhere.
‘They got out but I didn’t even make it to the front door. Mike got me. He was sitting on my back with his gun at my head. “Hi, Ambro. Long time, no see.” Arsehole. He wanted to play games. I’m lying there, crying. Then there’s a shot outside and another. Mike’s off me and he’s heading for the front door. It opens and someone I’ve never seen before walks in. Just like that, he cracks Mike one in the shoulder. It breaks the bone, I can hear it. Mike drops his gun, he’s down. This guy smacks him one on the head and he’s out for the count. I run for the back door but the man gets me from behind and pushes me against the wall. His gun’s on my head and he says, “Are those your kids, man? They ran down into the creek. You call them back or you’re dead meat.”’
‘What did he sound like?’ Harrigan interrupted.
‘He was South African. You know how they talk. I said, “Fuck you. No way.” I was just waiting. Water’s coming out of my body anywhere it can, I’m pissing myself. He turns me around, wants to know my name. “This man wanted to kill you. You don’t care what happens to him, do you?” I said, “I don’t give a shit and I know how to keep my mouth shut.” He takes out his wallet and it’s thick. Puts ten hundred-dollar notes in my hand. “Get your brats, get your car and get out. Don’t come back until you’ve spent every cent of that money.” I didn’t look back. I was out the door.’
‘What kind of car did he have?’
‘It turned out he’d been at the house waiting for us and Mike before we got back. He’d put it in the shed so we didn’t see it. The kids did though, when they were running away. It was some big, black four-wheel-drive. My kids heard me driving along the creek. They came out and we drove away as fast as I could. I told Laurie to keep watching just to see if that black thing was behind us. But he didn’t come after us. But that’s not the end of it.’ She stopped and poured herself more whisky. ‘About three weeks later, one night out of the dark, the guy walks in the door again with a gun in his hand. We’re dead. Laurie goes for him and he hits him so I call him a fucking bastard. He laughs and he grabs me. “You don’t want to die. You don’t want your shitty little kids to die. You just keep your mouth shut. Because I can watch you. I’ve got my own dirty copper. If you tell anyone about this, you’re all dead.” Then he lets me go and walks out the door. We can hear him driving away. My poor kids. They were so afraid, they were all twisted up. You know why he didn’t kill us? It was just too messy. If he had, one way or the other you and your mob would come crawling all over this place and who knows what you’d have turned up. But he was going to come back for us one day, I knew it.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?’
‘He said he had his own bent copper. How did I know it wasn’t you? That guy was after Mike. I thought maybe you were getting your own back.’
‘For Christ’s sake,’ Harrigan snapped. ‘You had no reason to think that.’
‘Didn’t I? There’s enough fucking rumours about you and him. Jesus, mate, we’re talking about Mike! What the fuck did it matter if he was dead? I was so fucking paranoid, I didn’t know who I could trust. Me and my kids slept in the same fucking bed for weeks afterwards. Every time we heard a noise, we freaked! I don’t know how many times I’ve lain awake at night thinking, we’ll just get in the car and go. But I knew if we did, one day we’d walk into a shotgun somewhere else. I didn’t have any money anyway.’
‘Did you find anything in the house when you came back?’
‘My kids did. Laurie got up in the roof space one day, he was playing around. He found some ropes and a shirt with blood on them. Mike’s, it had to be. Then Jen was playing outside and she found this funny-looking thing in the dirt. Some little metal stud with a logo on it.’