‘Put some vegies in.’
‘What for?’
‘I thought we could share them.’
‘Why don’t you grow your own?’
‘No room.’ A lie.
‘Can’t hardly walk, never mind lookin after vegies. Buy em at the super’s easier.’
‘They don’t need much. I’ll come around.’
Black eyes, Rose looked at him as if he were a Jehovah’s Witness, wouldn’t take no. He thought he had been stupid, he would take no. At the gate, he said, ‘Got my number, Mrs Quirk,’ he said. ‘You can get me.’
‘What kind of copper are you?’
‘Not just a copper,’ he said. ‘I’m a human being too.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘That’d be a first,’ she said. ‘Thirsty. Go a beer?’
‘I could go a beer.’
They sat on the front verandah in fraying, swaying wicker chairs and drank Vic Bitter out of glasses with green and red bands around the tops.
‘Smoke?’ said Rose.
‘Given up,’ said Villani. He took one. Rose clicked a pink plastic lighter, he leaned across.
‘Family man?’ she said.
‘Two girls and a boy.’
‘Wife?’
‘Wife. Their mother.’
‘Where you from? You Melbourne?’
‘No. A few places.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘My dad was in the army.’
Loud clattering noise.
Villani jerked, alarmed, heads in the street, beanies.
Skateboarders.
The street sloped, full of holes, they would come from all around to run it. He put his head back, felt the tension in his neck.
‘A wharfie, me dad,’ Rose said. ‘Bashed mum, bashed me, bashed us all. Me brother Danny run away, twelve years old, never ever saw him again. Biggest bastard ever lived, me dad.’
There was nothing to say about that.
‘Broke me little doggy’s head with a half-brick,’ she said. ‘No bigger swine ever lived.’
Villani was on the fire escape at the back door of the third floor unit when he heard the shots. He went in, weapon drawn, filthy kitchen, pizza boxes, beer cans, opened the door, a passage, went left down it, put an eye around the corner and saw Gregory Thomas Quirk, Rose Quirk’s second-born.
So you say that from the fire escape you heard Detective Dance shout?
Yes, sir.
What did you hear?
He shouted, Put it down, Greg.
You heard that clearly?
Yes, sir.
It says here, you say here, he shouted it two or three times?
Yes, sir.
And then you heard the shots?
Yes, sir.
You were outside the back door?
Yes, sir.
How far away was the back door from the front door, sergeant?
I don’t know exactly, sir.
I’ll tell you, sergeant. More than ten metres.
That could be right, yes.
Certainly is. So you say that, across this distance, through double-brick walls, you heard Detective Dance shouting?
Yes, sir.
Put it down, Greg. He barked those words?
No, sir.
No?
He didn’t bark them. He shouted them.
Of course. Sharp point, my apologies. Not a dog then. Nothing worse than a dog, is there, Mr Villani?
Detective. Sir.
Yes. Moving on, you say you heard Detective Dance shout and then you heard shots? Yes, sir.
What was the interval between the shouts and the shots?
Quick. Short.
What, a second or two? More?
I can’t estimate that, sir. He shouted, there were shots.
Four shots, you say here.
Yes, sir.
You could count them?
Yes, sir.
Widely spaced?
No, sir.
In the passage, he looked into Greg Quirk’s black sleepy eyes. Greg’s left hand was on his chest, blood running, over his fingers. He coughed, from his throat blood spurted, his chin dropped, long black strands of hair hid his face, he went to his knees.
Tell us what you saw when you first saw Greg Quirk.
There was blood coming from his throat. He dropped a firearm, a handgun, and he took a step and sort of knelt down.
And?
Detective Dance was in the door. Detective Vickery. Behind him.
And Detective Lovett?
I didn’t see him. Not then.
Nothing prepared you for it: the volume of blood; the weak sounds of life leaking away.
COLBY SAID, ‘So you put the sheepshagger on TV to say you have no idea who these dead pricks are.’
‘No. Didn’t do that.’
‘That’s the impression of the girl Gillam, who’s been shat upon by the branchstacker Orong, who rang Mr Larry O’Barry to complain.’
‘I told Kiely don’t name anyone,’ said Villani. ‘I didn’t say we don’t know who they are. Anyway, he was in the hands of Searle’s media expert. Cathy Wynn. Handpicked by Searle.’
‘So she told Kiely what to say?’
‘Well they tell you what not to say, don’t they?’
‘That’s better. I don’t know Cathy Wynn.’
On television, Anna Markham raised her chin and tilted her head a few degrees east. Good-looking women did that, it was in their genes, they had to do it.
‘Just come on board,’ said Villani, cold in his heart. ‘From the Herald Sun, possibly the fashion pages. They say recently seen going into Lake Towers in Middle Park with someone. Two-thirty in the pm.’
‘What kind of someone?’
‘Resembling a communications expert.’
‘That’s from?’
It came from an off-duty uniform via one of Birkerts’ squad.
‘I forget,’ said Villani. ‘Reliable enough.’
‘So the defence line is Homicide badly advised by said slut?’
‘We are not the defendant, boss.’
‘Moving on. Reconsidered passing this Oakleigh shit to Crucible?’
That impulse was gone. ‘No, sir.’
Colby put the phone down. Villani unmuted. Anna Markham was speaking:
…in Wangaratta today new state Liberal leader Karen Mellish rated water, health, public transport, economic mismanagement, public safety and police corruption as key issues for voters in this election…
The Opposition leader standing on the back of a truck, hair pulled back, check shirt and denims, a sea of hats in front of her.
…Labor’s brought this great state to its knees. They talk about being the party of working people. Rubbish. Party of the merchant bankers and the consultants and the investment advisors and the branchstackers, that’s what they are. It’s time to chuck them out…
Cut to the anchor, who said:
… Melbourne will tonight hear details of what its proposers call ‘a public transport revolution’ when a consortium headed by businessman Max Hendry outlines its plans at a function for city councils. Among the guests will be the premier, the leader of the Opposition and…
Villani muted, looked at what the computer offered on the current cases. It offered nothing except the blindingly obvious. He logged out, went back to the files, worked at the paper, the never-diminishing, self-replenishing paper, took calls, hoping for a call from Barry withdrawing the invitation. Maybe he should quit the job, take a package, he had the years. He could join Bob, use mysterious Indonesian oils to patch up horses, go to the races, look after the trees.