She hadn’t been talking about Ian Barbie, she’d been talking about Marcia. Marcia was Barbie to Barbie’s Ken.
‘What’s Rick say?’ I said.
‘Gone to water. Says he had sex with the girls at the farm, left them with Andrew and Tony. Only found out later that Andrew killed them. On video. We got the videos. In the basement at Andrew’s mansion. Safe buried in the floor. Found it with a metal detector. Make you puke, tell you.’
‘Crewe’s in the picture?’
‘Not. But there’s enough. Got dates, times from Barbie’s last letter. Crewe was up here for all of them. They picked girls being discharged, nowhere to go, no family. So they just vanished, no-one looked for them.’
He came around and looked at the cool blade, picked it up. ‘Nice,’ he said. ‘You do good work. There’s something else. Ned. Been waiting for people to get back to me. Cop in Brisbane, he’s been trying to nail a bloke called Martin Gilbert for years, reckons he’s Mr Rent-a-Rope, priors for assault, attempted murder. Smart guy. Joe Cool. Three hangins up there, all got the smell, plus one in Sydney, one in Melbourne. One Brisbane one, car belongs to mate of Gilbert’s, bloke’s interstate at the time, car’s a block from the scene at the right time.’
‘That take us where?’
‘Got a picture of Gilbert,’ Shea said. ‘Nice colour picture. Had the troops takin it around the motels. Slow business.’
He had something to tell me.
‘Motel up the top of Royal Parade had two blokes come in on the night, just before midnight. One’s Gilbert, bloke’s a hundred percent on it. The two got pissed in the room, made a lot of noise, manager had to get up, copped a lot of abuse from Gilbert. I’m goin down tomorrow, show him the pictures come today. Some of Gilbert’s mates.’
I’d got this large, pale, sad-looking man very wrong. ‘You do good work too,’ I said.
Shea said, ‘There’s more. We done the car rentals for the day, ran the IDs, got a rental, cash, false ID. Brisbane troops seen it before, think it’s used by Gilbert.’
I started to say something.
Shea held up his hand. ‘Small rental place this,’ he said, ‘not too many paying cash these days. They remember this roll of plastic tape, black plastic tape, found in the boot of the rental when they cleaned it. Still got it too, lyin there in the office. Thought it’d come in useful, says the bloke.’
Shea shifted his buttocks, couldn’t get comfortable, got up and went over to stand in the doorway. ‘Forensic’s had another look at Ned’s pyjamas, Brissie cops told ’em what to look for. Now they reckon there was tape on the pyjama sleeves, on the pants.’
‘You do more than good work,’ I said. ‘You do excellent work.’
He looked away. ‘Forensic think they might have missed some acetone stuff, like nail varnish remover, used to clean Ned’s face, round the mouth. Same on two hangins up in Brissie. Reckon this Gilbert knows his stuff.’
‘The plastic tape,’ I said. ‘Match it with the glue?’
‘Tomorrow, we’ll hear tomorrow, next day. Soon.’
‘Be enough?’
He shrugged. ‘Get a positive ID from the motel on Gilbert’s mate, he might shake loose.’
He looked out of the door. It had started to rain. ‘Got to go,’ he said. ‘Be in touch.’
I went out with him, put out my hand, ‘Glad we drew you on the night.’
He shook my hand. ‘Gettin there. Any luck, we get the bastards. Then they get a smart lawyer and they walk.’
I was finishing up for the day when the phone rang in the office.
‘Gather your local Member’s the first item on the news tonight.’ Berglin. No greeting.
‘So I hear. What’s with our friend in the Vatican?’
‘That’s why I’m calling. Scully resigned this morning.’
‘They going to prosecute?’
‘No.’
‘No? The bastards. He’s a murderer, how many times over.’
‘Can’t prosecute.’
‘Can’t? Can’t? What kind of…’
‘Can’t prosecute the dead. He shot himself. In his garage at home.’
I sat in silence for a while, telephone forgotten, looking out of the window at the tattered clouds blowing south, at the willows down at the winter creek sending out the first pale green signal of spring.
Berglin cleared his throat. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘there endeth the lesson.’
I said, ‘Amen.’
We limped off after the third quarter, six goals down, our supporters-now grown by about ten thousand percent- giving us a sad little cheer. Kingstead got a roar, hooting, small boys jumping and punching one another.
Mick tried his best in the break. ‘Six goals is nuthin, fellas. Knock ’em off in the first ten minutes, cruise away to a magnificent victory. Make it all the sweeter, that’s all…’
‘You goin to play Lew or not?’ Billy Garrett said. ‘What’s the bloody point of him sittin on the bench?’
‘Keeps ’em guessin, Billy, keeps ’em off balance. Expectin any minute we’ll bring on the young fella, brilliant talent, legs of steel…’
‘They’re not bloody guessin,’ Billy said. ‘They’re not off bloody balance. They’re bloody kickin our arses, that’s what they’re doin. You gonna play him or not?’
Mick put his hands in his anorak pockets, looked around for understanding. ‘Can’t, Billy, boy’s in the golf tournament of his life tomorrer. Tiger Woods in the makin, how kin I put him out there, some great lump kicks him in the leg, stands on his head? Great career ruined. My fault. Swore I wouldn’t play him except in an emergency.’
‘Emergency?’ said Billy. ‘You think a bloody emergency is like what? Only bloody Grand Final I’ll ever play in, thirty-six points behind, side’s absolutely bloody knackered. Not an emergency? You off your bloody head?’
‘No need to shout, Billy,’ Mick said. ‘Don’t want ’em to think we’re not of one mind, gives ’em a psychological hold over us…’
‘They don’t need a bloody psychological hold over us, you mad Irish prick,’ Billy said. ‘They’ve got a hold on our actual balls, squeezin.’
I was at full forward, second game back after four weeks out, leg almost healed. Garrett and company had got along fine without me, winning three out of four.
Flannery and I walked on together. ‘Christ, be glad when this is over,’ he said. ‘It’s not the losin I mind, it’s havin to play so long after you know you’ve lost.’
‘No time for defeatism, Flannery,’ I said. ‘We mature players are supposed to set an example.’