"Sorry to hear that. I'm sure raising kids isn't easy. But my time is pretty tight too."

"Yeah, well, that's just too bad. I've got stuff to tell you, but we're going to have to do it on the move while I check out all the game rooms. I hope you've got your handcuffs with you. We might need to make a citizen's arrest."

"Doesn't he have a cellphone?"

"Of course he has a cellphone. Have you met a fifteen-year-old boy without a cellphone? But it's switched off."

We started walking down the busy footpath at a rapid clip. I was struggling to keep up with Rohan and his long legs.

"First off, no scandal on your dead pastor," he said. In the sweltering mid-morning heat he was sweating and panting. "Nothing. The most famous thing he ever did was getting killed in that fire on Monday night. Otherwise, he was a quote machine. Always obligingly ready to shoot out a statement on gay whales or whatever the media demanded."

"And his orphanages?"

"Nothing in any Australian papers. I even emailed the Singapore bureau. They cover most of South-East Asia. They did a search of their files, which are pretty extensive, apparently, and came up with a big fat zero."

"Is that good or bad? No scandal? Or just that he was brilliant at concealing it? Which suggests something major."

"Spot on, Johnny lad. In my neck of the woods no news can definitely mean big news. But if Melbourne's finest investigative reporter and best private eye together can't find any scandal, well..." He gave an exaggerated shrug of the shoulders. "Then probably none exists."

"I hate to contradict genius, but the guy was apparently taking in hundreds of thousands of dollars each year."

"Right. Fair point." He stopped and looked around. We had been walking away from Southern Cross Station towards Collins Street. "I'm pretty sure there's a place up this lane." He led me past a pub and a Greek restaurant to a game parlor with multi-colored flashing lights that displayed the name Screaming Lizards.

We walked inside. I knew such places. When I was assigned to locate missing teenagers I often came to the game parlors. The lights and the harsh noise, the riveting colors, the fast and violent graphics on the huge monitors-whether it was car racing, monster slaying, street fighting or even just tennis-they all helped the dispossessed to escape their deep internal misery.

We walked up and down the aisles, searching for Rohan's son. Even at this relatively early hour-it was about ten-thirty-the place had a couple of dozen customers, most of them young.

"He's not here," Rohan shouted to me, and we left.

"I find that slipping the manager twenty dollars is a useful way of having them phone you when someone you're looking for does turn up," I said.

"Yeah, well, when you have someone paying your expenses you can do that. What was I saying before?" He was now leading me back towards Collins Street.

"I think I'd just commented that Pastor Reezall seemed to be collecting around a couple of hundred thousand dollars a year."

"Right. And I think I probably interrupted at that point because I was too embarrassed to admit that I really have no idea where the money was going."

I smiled. "At the moment all the fingers seem to be pointing at Go-Go Greene Financial."

"Exactly. And that's where things get interesting. Go-Go Greene as he calls himself was once Brinsley Greene. Well-known resources cowboy over in Western Australia. Where my kids will be heading tonight, if I can find them."

"Resources cowboy?"

"He had a business called Brinsley Greene Financial. Specializing in buying and selling shares in little resource companies. Gold miners, diamonds, copper, that kind of thing. Western Australia's got hundreds of these little companies, and if you get your timing right you can make a fortune. He was especially big on margin lending. Do you know about that?"

"It's borrowing money to buy shares."

"Exactly. It's not for the faint-hearted. But if your shares go up you can make a lot more profit than if you were only using your own money."

"And lose even more on the way down."

"Exactly right."

"And what's this about being a cowboy?"

"He and some of his clients were ramping share prices. Sending out rumors. Using inside information. Whatever it takes to get the price up. These things are very, very hard to prove, but the authorities got enough evidence on him that they were able to take away his license for three years. I think they probably wanted to arrest him, but the evidence wasn't strong enough. So three years in the sin bin. Not much of a punishment, but better than nothing. So he disappears for three years-goodness knows where he went-and then about four years ago he turns up in Yarra Boss."

"With a new name."

"A new name and a new business. Now he's a carbon cowboy."

I stared at Rohan. "A what?"

"What do you know about...? Just a tick, I think there's a place here. Yes, here it is."

We walked into the Burning Violet game parlor. One thing I had learned from a succession of visits to these places was that they were all similar. Again we unsuccessfully traversed the aisles.

"Come on, man-how many of these places are there?" I asked Rohan once we were back outside in the relative tranquility of the busiest street in the city center. "I'm not following you to all of them. And how come you know where they all are?"

He smiled grimly. "Some questions are better left unanswered. And to your first question, dozens."

"And we're visiting them all?"

"He won't have gone far. Just the ones around here."

"But look Rohan. Your boy could have gone to the movies, to a coffee shop, he could be walking around Docklands, who knows? I think we're on a bit of a..."

"A wild goose chase. Yes, you're probably right. And if I didn't want him so much to be on that plane back to Perth this afternoon then I wouldn't be bothered."

"I'm sure he'll turn up," I said. I wasn't sure at all. "Let's have a quick coffee."

"You might be right. Ten minutes should be enough to tell you all I know, and then I'll let you go, and I can do another quick walkabout."

Coffee outlets in the Melbourne city center were as prevalent as spots on a leopard. We walked into the nearest, a franchise operation that also specialized in muffins and cupcakes.

"Sorry," he said as our coffees arrived. "I'm not normally like this, as I think you know. But three weeks with my boys has pretty much turned me into a wreck. I really can't wait to see the back of them. I'll be cheering that plane as it takes off for Perth."

I looked hard at Rohan. "That is actually quite sad."

"You're absolutely right. It's something called life. Keeps sneaking up from behind and belting you over the head when you least expect it. Who knew that this is how my marriage and family life would end up? I remember how my wife and I used to take them down to St Kilda beach when they were little. We used to talk about how happy we were. Poor but happy. Now I'm just poor."

I poured sugar into my coffee, blew on it and took a quick sip. "You were about to explain to me what a carbon cowboy is."

Rohan too drank some of his coffee. "What do you know about green investing?"

"Look, the financial world isn't my forte."

"This is the big new issue. Don't tell anyone I said it, but my newspaper The Age is greener than chopped spinach. So you won't see much appearing right now. It's still early. But one day there's going to be a major scandal over green investing. Get this. We're talking about the big new gold rush of the twenty-first century. With just one difference. There ain't no gold."

"You mean, it's illusory?"

"Exactly. When you buy shares in a company you're buying a part of a real, living company. If you invest in gold or oil or wheat or sugar or whatever you're buying a physical product." He tapped the sugar dispenser, as a visual aid. "But governments in various countries have created these things called carbon credits, that are"-he flicked his thumb and middle finger as if he were a magician performing a disappearing act-"nothing."

"They must be something."

"They're units of carbon emissions. They're new financial instruments. They're supposed to regulate carbon emissions into the atmosphere. They tell a company how much carbon it can emit. If they want to emit more they have to buy more permits. But tell me something Johnny, have you ever smoked marijuana?"

I smiled. "No. Never."

"I guess East Timorese freedom fighters lead different lives from the wayward young of Oz. Anyway, my point is, if the government made marijuana legal, would you smoke it?"

"I don't know. I doubt it. But I might try it."

"Exactly. You might try it. And you might like it and keep using it. If the government legalized marijuana lots more people would start using it. When the state government legalized prostitution it made it mainstream..."

"It's not exactly mainstream."

"Well, when upstanding citizens like you and me frequent brothels..."

His voice tailed off. I smiled. Rohan and I had actually met inside one of Melbourne's legal brothels. We were both investigating the same case. After some rivalry we become allies, and later friends.

"My point is, there are a lot more people using brothels today than when they were illegal. It's the same with carbon credits. They're essentially a license to pollute. Just pay the price. And speaking of price, every big bank and stockbroker in the world now has a green division, just to reap the rewards of this explosive new bonanza. Full of hot-shot executives on million-dollar salaries and bonuses. They're all busy creating new financial instruments as we speak, instruments that are far too complicated for even brain boxes like you and me to comprehend. How do you like all that?"

I realized it was a rhetorical question. I did not need to answer.

Rohan continued: "It's becoming a giant market like sub-prime was in the States. That started off with banks lending money to people so they can buy houses, but then it evolved into derivatives and derivatives on derivatives and all sorts of complicated financial instruments that about one person in the world can understand. And then the whole lot blew up. At least with the sub-prime mess there were actual houses there at the end of it. With carbon credits there's nothing."

"And Go-Go Greene is into them?"

"He's into it. And his particular shtick is carbon offsets. Do you know those?"

"That's what Rad mentioned. He's a guy with a radio show out at Yarra Boss. So I've been educating myself about them. But you're going to have to bring me up to speed."

"It's how rich pop singers salve their consciences. Hard to believe, but some pop singers have consciences. And politicians too, like Al Gore, who apparently lives in a mansion that uses as much power as a small African village. So they buy carbon offsets. Usually it means some project designed to reduce carbon emissions. It's organized through a kind of broker. That person organizes a project that reduces carbon emissions, like the planting of a new forest or building a wind power plant, and then the rich and guilty pay a fee."

"It sounds laudable."

"Nothing wrong with new forests. But when you have complex new financial instruments and brokers looking for new business and stockbrokers hungry for their million-dollar bonuses then you have corruption. You know, there's a group that's been trying to make billions by creating carbon offsets out of the Amazon rainforest."

"So Greene is a broker?"

"He's selling carbon offsets quite aggressively. Based on forestry projects in Yarra Boss. Quite what these projects are I'm not sure. I thought the place was already pretty thoroughly forested."

"So maybe that's what he's selling."

"Yes, but there's one little twist to this carbon offset caper. You need something called additionality. It has to be a new project. It has to be something that wouldn't have happened were it not for the ability to sell the carbon offsets. Now the trees in the Yarra Valley aren't new. So I'm not sure where all these projects are that Greene's selling."

I thought about all this.

"But so what? There's nothing actually illegal about it, as far as we know. What was the pastor threatening to expose?"

Rohan shrugged and finished his coffee. "Beats me. I'm off." He rose from his seat, then paused. "Just remembered. One more thing. My contact at the bank, a lovely lady whom I used to know well, nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more. She's married now, but will still do me the odd favor. She was able to get a quick look at the late pastor's bank statements. It seems all his money was being paid to Go-Go Greene Financial."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Another drive out to Yarra Boss, another fire. This time I actually passed it, off the Maroondah Highway, a small blaze in scrub. Warning signs slowed the traffic and allowed me to catch a glimpse of a dozen distant firefighters, like toy soldiers, working to extinguish it. I hoped Rad was not among them, but fortunately he was waiting at our appointed meeting place, the Lily of the Valley coffee shop.

"Shouldn't you be fighting fires?" I enquired. "I've just a passed a small one, about five miles south of here."

"No, I'm not required. It's another small one."

"You're a specialist? They only call you out for the big towering infernos?"

A smile crinkled across his big face. "They call out everyone for the big infernos. And for the little ones they call out whoever happens to be on the roster."

"It's good of you to see me at short notice."

"Yeah, well, happy to help. I've never met a private detective before. Plus I still vaguely feel I owe you one, after teasing you with those emails. And you had quite a yarn to tell when you were on my show. Could probably use you again. We didn't even get into all the stories you must have about when you were a freedom fighter. With two hours every night-well, two and a half now-that's a lot of time to kill. I mean fill. Even I'm getting sick of some of the music I'm playing."

We got into my car and Rad directed me down a side street and then along a short series of country lanes, bordered with tall gum trees.

"Who exactly are we meeting?" I enquired.

"I'm taking you to a woman who's invested in carbon offsets. Through Go-Go Greene."

We drove to a small farm. At the end of a driveway was a modest creamy-colored weatherboard bungalow with a neat cottage-style garden at the front. Rad walked straight inside, through the unlocked front door. "Hey ho," he called. "It's your good-time fellow."

We were in a small hallway with walls lined with what appeared to be family portraits. A woman arrived, followed by a fluffy white Pomeranian dog. I recognized her immediately-she was the woman I met at the wine bar when I was lost and was looking for Boss Radio. "Hi handsome," she said to Rad. "So you've come to spend a little time with a lonesome old lady."

"I happen to know you're happily married to a wonderful man, and that you've even got a handsome and hugely intelligent son. I've come with my new best friend Johnny Ravine. He's a private detective."

"You mean your new bunny," she said, and the two of them burst into laughter.

"Johnny, meet my mother," said Rad. "Mom, this is Johnny."

She looked at me with twinkling eyes. "Nice to meet you again, Johnny. I do remember you. I never forget a handsome man." She was strikingly handsome herself, despite her plump figure, in designer jeans and a bright red blouse with Spanish-type frills at the front. Again she was heavily made up. "Rad said you want to find out about our carbon offset nest egg."

She led us into the living room, the walls of which were also covered with family photos. We sat in large armchairs, and immediately the dog started yapping around my ankles. I thought back to my freedom fighting days. When food became especially short we readily dined on stray dogs.

"Put her outside," she said to Rad, who picked up the dog and pushed it into the hallway and then closed the door.

I explained the background to my enquiries.