I rang Linda's number. She answered straight away.

'I want you to make sure you're alone and get a cab to the place where we ate. The first time, remember?'

'Yes,' she said. 'What's wrong?'

'Something very serious. I'll tell you when I see you. Get the cab to park as close to the place as possible. Wait in the cab until you see me.'

'Jack, what's going on?' she said.

'Half an hour from now. Okay?'

'Yes. Okay.'

'See you then. Love.'

'Yes,' she said. 'Love.'

29

I got back into the Granada. Cam was reading the paper, smoking a Gitane.

'I'll get off your back in an hour's time,' I said. 'I won't take up that offer of yours. Need to disappear for a day or so.

Cam gave me a long look. 'I'll miss the excitement,' he said.

I was looking in my wallet to see how much money I had. There was a piece of cardboard in the note section. I took it out: I rembered somthing else about what you was asking about. See me at my house. B. Curran, 15 Morton Street, Clifton Hill.

Clifton Hill was as safe a place as any to pa.s.s the half-hour until it was time to pick up Linda.

'Can we take a little drive around to Clifton Hill?' I said.

The man was wearing the same outfit as before: dirty blue nylon anorak, black tracksuit pants. There was every chance that it hadn't come off since our previous meeting.

'Wondered when you'd come,' he said.

'You remembered something else about Ronnie Bishop,' I said.

He looked at me, said nothing.

I took out my wallet and offered him a twenty.

He took it. 'Had to walk round to your place,' he said. 'b.l.o.o.d.y long way. Had to take a cab back. Me legs is bad.'

I found a ten and gave it to him.

'Wait,' he said. He shuffled down the dark pa.s.sage and came back a minute later, folded newspaper in his hand. ''Member I said cops come around next door couple times?'

I nodded.

He coughed and spat past my right shoulder. 'One's a c.u.n.t called Scullin.'

'You told me that.'

He sniffed. 'Didn't know who the other was. Do now.'

'Yes? Who?'

He unfolded the paper. It was the Herald Sun. He looked at the front page. 'This b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' he said.

He turned the newspaper to face me. There was a large colour photograph of a man sitting in front of microphones. He was flanked by two high-ranking policemen in uniform.

'Which cop?' I said, studying the policemen.

'Not the cops. The c.u.n.t in the middle. The f.u.c.king Minister. That's him.'

I was about to put the phone down when the woman answered.

'I need to get in touch with Vin McKillop,' I said.

She started coughing, a loose, emphysemic sound. I waited. When she stopped, I said again, 'Vin McKillop, I need-'

'Vin's dead,' she said. 'Overdose.'

I didn't ask her any questions.

I went into the sitting room. Linda was standing in front of the huge fireplace in the centre of Cam's absent girlfriend's place off Crombie Lane in the heart of the city. Her apartment occupied the top floor of an old six-storey warehouse. She was an artist. Paintings were everywhere, mostly landscapes at different stages of completion.

'Vin McKillop's dead,' I said. 'Pixley's dead, Vin's dead. It's like a battlefield.'

'Oh, Jesus,' Linda said. 'Oh, Jesus.'

'Garth Bruce visited Ronnie Bishop with Scullin more than once around the time of Anne Jeppeson's death,' I said. 'If Scullin fixed up Danny for killing her, Garth Bruce must be part of the whole thing. He was setting us up.'

Cam was lying on a sofa, long legs over the arm, head propped up by cushions, drinking Cascade out of the bottle.

'So Bruce's got the motor's number,' he said. He'd had no trouble grasping my explanation of what was going on. It didn't seem to surprise him either.

'I suppose that was dumb,' I said, 'but you don't expect the Minister for Police to try to kill you.

'It's just possible he's not involved,' Linda said. She was dressed for business in a suit, cream silk blouse, black stockings and high heels. Overexcited though I was, the sight aroused a frisson of l.u.s.t.

'I don't think we should operate on that a.s.sumption, I said. 'What can we do about the car?' It was now in the girlfriend's garage on the ground floor.

Cam swung his legs to the floor. 'It can stay where it is. I'll get my mate to report it stolen, give me another one.' He stood up and walked off down the long room in the direction of the kitchen.

Linda's eyes followed him. 'What does he do for a living?'

'He's a gambler,' I said. 'He shot a midget firing a sub-machine gun off a motorbike this morning. That's how I'm here.'

She nodded. 'I can believe that,' she said. 'What do we do now?'

'Think. Think about evidence. Evidence is the only thing that can help us now.'

'Did you tell me once,' Linda said, chin on her palms. 'Did you tell me that Danny's wife said there was evidence he didn't do it?'

I thought back to the night, in the family room Danny built. Yes. She said a woman phoned Danny. The woman said her husband had died.'

But she didn't give Danny the evidence?'

'No.'

'I don't suppose it follows that if it's evidence that proves Danny didn't do it, it's evidence of who did', Linda said.

'It might be.' I was thinking. 'What kind of person would have the evidence? It would have to be a cop, wouldn't it?'

'Could be someone connected with Charis Corp.'

I sighed. 'That's right. This is a dead-end.'

Linda got up and crossed to a huge steel-framed window. Her high heels went tock on the polished concrete floor. She had to stand on tiptoe to look out. Her calf muscles tensed deliciously. At any other time I would have been seized with an impulse to rush her from the rear.

'Let's say it's a cop. Was a cop,' she said. 'What then?'

'Died some time before Danny was shot. At least a month.'

'How do you know that?'

'I'm a.s.suming the woman got in touch with Danny soon after her husband's death. That's when she rang. About a month before Danny was killed.'

Linda turned around. 'What date was that?'

I told her.

'Where's the phone?' she said.

'Coming up.' Cam was coming back, carrying a cordless phone. 'I'm taking a stroll to pick up some other wheels. I'll come back, see if you need anything.'

Linda took the phone from him. 'Phone book?'

'In the kitchen. On the fridge.' He gave me a wave.

When she came back, Linda took a notebook out of her bag, sat down and punched a number.

'h.e.l.lo, Police a.s.sociation? Can I speak to the secretary? Right. Who could I speak to about membership records? Oh, you've got a membership secretary. Denise Walters. I'd like to, yes.'

Linda waited, looking at me. 'Denise, hi,' she said. 'My name's Colleen Farrell. Dr Colleen Farrell. From Monash University Medical School. Denise, I wonder if you can help me. We're doing a study on police mortality in Australia. Do you know about that? No? It's at the early stages, but we think it'll help the police case for a stress loading on salaries.'

Pause. 'Yes. Abnormally high levels, we think, Denise. We've run into a little problem you might be able to help us with. We don't have any data for Victoria for the last two months.'

Pause. 'Yes, that's right. We got the other data directly from the Commissioner's office but the person there has gone on leave and I'd like to get up to date before I go on leave.'

Pause. 'That would be terrific, Denise. I'll wait on.'

We sat in silence looking at each other. Linda reached down, took the hem of her skirt and began to work it up, slowly, one thigh at a time, flexing her thigh muscles and moving her bottom from side to side. I could see the dark at the fork of her legs when she said, 'Still here. Right. No serving members so far this year. Good. What about non-serving?'

Pause. 'Two in January. None in Feb. One in March. One in April. Okay. Now, Denise, I'll need the names to check against our register.'

Pause. 'H. J. Mullins. T. R. Conroy. M. E. F. Davis. P. K. Vane. That's V-A-N-E, is it? Terrific. I see we've got them all except Vane. You wouldn't have any biographical data there, would you, Denise?'

Pause. 'Just service dates. Um. '63 to '88. Special Branch 1978 to '84. Look, Denise, you've been a great help. Thanks very much. Much appreciated.'

Linda put the phone down and pulled her skirt back to respectability. 'I can't bear to see a man salivate,' she said. 'The only possibility is P. K. Vane. He was in the Special Branch when Anne was killed, though.'

'I'd say that lets him out. They spent all their time hanging around anarchist meetings. Six people and a collie dog and two Special Branch. Our bloke would probably be in Drugs, one of Scullin's mates.'

There was a sound in the hallway. I felt my shoulders tense. Cam came in.

'All fixed up,' he said. 'Listen, I'm shooting through. You want me, press auto and 8 on the phone. It'll page me.' He opened his jacket and showed the pager on his belt.

'I'm in your debt, mate,' I said.

Cam said, 'Sat.u.r.day, that's the day we pay off debts. There's plenty of food here.' He eyed Linda appraisingly. 'Try the cupboards in the big bedroom for clothes. You're not far apart in size. Jack, there's men's clothes in the other bedroom. One of her exes. Biggish fella, I gather. Nice line in shirts. Help yourself.'

I went with him to the front door. He was outside when he said, 'That little case of mine, that's in the kitchen now. Under the sink. I wouldn't open this door to anyone if I were you.'

I detoured to the bathroom on my way back, looking for aspirin. Pumping adrenalin leaves you feeling dull and headachey. I was studying the contents of the medicine cabinet when it came to me out of nowhere.

I can remember her saying she could go anywhere in safety because the Special Branch were always lurking somewhere.

Anne Jeppeson's mother. That was what she had said.

30