"You caught me on my day off," said Rohan. "I'm there most of the time too." He paused. "Now look, first question-were the pastor's threats on his radio show about the carbon offset program?"

"They have to have been," I said. "Unless Greene is running a string of other dubious projects we've yet to learn about."

"I agree," said Rohan. "Our informants might keep trying to make out that what Greene's doing is all legal and above board, but there are state laws and federal laws that govern the land around here. There are national parks everywhere. You can't just have some tin-pot local council declaring land clearance areas." He looked at Rad. "Despite what your mum said, I don't really think Go-Go wants people talking too loudly about what he's doing. In fact, I think he'd be quite scared about it becoming widely known and having the council ruling being struck down. He'd lose big-time."

Rad smiled, apparently happy that Rohan was sticking it in the face of some of the residents of Yarra Boss. He sipped at the froth on his cappuccino.

"So, next question, why was the pastor threatening to expose this?" asked Rohan, eyebrows raised. "Because he was so full of ethics? No. I don't think so." He looked at us.

"It was part of a threat," I said. "He was obliquely saying he would reveal what was going on unless Greene took some kind of action. He said he wanted justice."

"My impression is that Pastor Reezall was pretty desperate. Greene must have done something significant to aggrieve him. My guess is that Greene was somehow swindling him. He has form. And the pastor realized what was going on. That he was being ripped off."

"Yes, but you just go straight to the police about that. Or you sue."

"Not if you have a big secret that mustn't be revealed. Like, for example, that you've been stealing all the orphans' money for the past twenty years."

I thought. "Maybe Greene found out where the pastor was getting his money and was blackmailing him about it."

Rad spoke: "It sounds like the two of them deserved each other."

"It sounds increasingly as if Greene is the killer," said Rohan. "He'd have lost a big chunk of income if his scheme were closed down. Whether it's illegal or not is something we don't know right now, but there's also a chance he could have had his license suspended again. Or worse."

"And then there's the chance the pastor was trying to get back money that had been swindled from him, or somehow misappropriated," I added.

"Yet everything we've heard tells us that the pastor was not into the high life," said Rohan. "So we still don't know the real purpose of all his investments, and that is probably the key."

He looked at us. Neither Rad nor I had anything to add.

"Well," said Rohan. "On that note, I propose that this is a chance too good to pass up."

"What is?" I asked.

"Here we are in the Yarra Valley, home of some of the world's great wines. And in our midst is a man known far and wide for the purity of his life." He nodded towards me.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you, mate. You don't drink. Unless you've turned to the bottle since we last met, which was yesterday. You're our designated driver."

"You had a few glasses of chardonnay at Debbie's house. Wasn't that enough?"

"Just a warm-up. Now all we need are some companions of the feminine gender. I'm sure Rad here knows a few local lasses who might care to join us for lunch and a glass or two of the grape. In fact, we could even invite Debbie herself. She seemed keen to extend the meeting."

"Wait a minute," I said. I took out my cellphone and speed dialed a number. Miriam answered.

"I'm actually by myself right now," she said when I proffered my invitation. "Sarah's taken Jonah to his cricket. I'd love the chance to get out of the house. Yes, I think I'd like nothing better than to go out for lunch."

We drove over to Healesville to collect her.

"Now, Rad, stout fellow, lead on," commanded Rohan. "Where can we enjoy a good meal and some of the local nectar? Not necessarily in that order."

"I've cheated," said Rad as he led us inside a restaurant in Yarra Glen called Hargreaves Hill, occupying an old building that was once a bank. "This is not actually a winery. It's one of the new craft breweries that have been springing up around here. But they've also got some excellent wine and good food."

We sat near the door by a counter bar, in a small room partitioned from the remainder of the premises. A trio of middle-aged men in shorts and sandals drank beer at the counter, but the other tables were vacant.

"Who's for wine, who's for beer?" Rad then looked at me. "Who's for ginger beer?"

"I think we come to the Yarra Valley for the wine," said Rohan. "I certainly do."

"Yes, but Rad and I live in the Yarra Valley," said Miriam. "I'm going to try the beer." She examined the menu. "Wheat beer-German-style. Sounds interesting."

"It is good," said Rad. "It's very good. It's exactly what I'm having."

Rohan ordered a shiraz. I opted for a ginger beer, and Rad also asked for a large plate of entrees.

"I'm sorry about your father," said Rad to Miriam. "I can't say we were close, but we used to meet each night at the radio station."

"I tuned in sometimes," said Miriam. "Usually to hear my father, right at the end of your show. I know your voice."

"A listener," said Rad. "A real listener. Perhaps you could come onto the program. Discuss the challenges of the teaching profession. What are the challenges, by the way? Boys with cellphones? Young girls wearing make-up?"

"Yeah, those for starters." She smiled. "I'll tell you something scary. You think it's just girls concerned about their bodies. Well now the boys are just as worried. So you see even fifteen-year-olds with these enormous muscles."

"We're talking Schwarzenegger proportions, are we?" asked Rad. Our drinks arrived. "Cheers," he said. We clinked glasses.

"No. It's strange. They do weightlifting, but then they seem to live on all these protein powders. When they're not at McDonald's. So they've got these incredibly big arms. But there's no definition-not what you'd expect if they were doing weights. They have these skinny bodies and enormous fat arms. And they're so young. It's not healthy. But you can't tell them."

"Okay," said Rad. "That's a good start. Filled up a bit of space between songs. And now we're going to talk about your favorite music."

"Joan Collins. Leonard Cohen. But I think your program is a bit more way out than that, from the very little I've heard."

"Just a bit."

"How about Meat Loaf?"

"Getting there. Getting there. Nothing against baby boomer nostalgia, of course. But I'm trying to educate the locals in some of the great music that's coming from Mali and Cuba and places like that. Didn't you feel educated?"

"When I said I tuned in, I meant for the last two minutes of your show. That's all. I just wanted to listen to Dad."

"So now I'm losing some of my audience, your father having passed away." He paused. "Your father was a fascinating man, by the way. He didn't leave you in any doubt where he stood on the issues. I admired that."

"Just so long as you didn't have to live with it," said Miriam, taking a large swig of her beer. She looked at me. "An update, please. Any nearer to finding out how Dad died?"

"The financial planner did it," said Rohan.

"You think?"

"Without a doubt. And when I've had a few more glasses of wine I'll name all the other people who definitely did it."

"But why?" asked Miriam.

"Let's see. Your dad was siphoning all his charitable donations to him. Greene started blackmailing your dad about it, and..." He paused. "No, hang on. That's why your dad would kill Greene. This wine really is quite potent. Anyway, it sounds like your father, and I say this with the greatest respect, but it does sound like your dad was threatening Greene. Some kind of blackmail. But we do need to learn more from Greene. We have to know why your dad was giving him all this money. That's almost certainly the key. What was it for?"

"Haven't you spoken to Greene?" Rad asked Miriam.

"I've never met him. I'd heard of his business from teachers at school but I didn't know of any possible connection between him and Dad until I listened to the radio show last week."

"He has to talk to you," said Rohan. "Your father was a client. Your father has been killed. Your father was bad-mouthing Greene. You need to know what was going on. You have to phone him and say you need to see him urgently. At the very least to clear up doubts you're having about what grounds your father had to be unhappy with Greene. Or just turn up in his office and start crying. That often works."

"I'll phone him," said Miriam. "When I get home. If he's in the office on a Saturday."

We'd consumed a fair amount of wine, beer and ginger beer when Rad abruptly announced: "Let's go. I'm going to take you somewhere special. It's very near. On the river."

We piled into the car and Rad directed me down a side road with no other traffic, and then another and then another. We were now on a narrow dirt lane leading quite sharply downhill. At the bottom the road ended abruptly and we confronted a wire fence, with a "No Trespassing" sign. Thick bush lay on the other side.

"We're going to have to climb through this fence. Over here." He led us down a track to a gap that appeared to have been made deliberately.

"I can smell smoke," I said. "Quite a strong smell."

"There are fires everywhere," said Rad. "But so far all under control. Or so remote that we just let them burn themselves out..."

Rohan interjected: "Speaking as a city coward who knows that the Yarra Valley is one of the most fire-prone regions on earth, are you sure it's a good idea right now to be heading into thick bushland?"

"We're with a tough firefighter," said Miriam, patting Rad on the shoulder, and causing me a twinge of jealousy. "He'll protect us."

We clambered through the gap in the fence.

"Are we on private property?" asked Miriam.

"State land," said Rad. "It's part of a protected wildlife area. The river's just down here." He took us down a winding dirt track and round a bend. And there in front of us was the Yarra River.

"So what mystery lurks ahead?" asked Rohan.

"Not much of a mystery. Just my old favorite spot. Right around this bend."

We walked a little further and suddenly encountered the ruins of an old stone house, surrounded by another high fence. We all stopped and stared. It was almost like some old gothic castle, a tall stone structure-though missing a roof-poking through the thick undergrowth. All around were tall eucalyptus trees, several of which had toppled onto the building.

"This is the Boss," said Rad.

"The Boss?" said Rohan.

"You mean this derelict old house?" asked Miriam.

"Well, the whole area," said Rad. "That house was built on the riverbank a long, long time ago, by some early settler. He set up a whole string of businesses around here, so he became known as the boss of this region. It was probably called the boss's house, or the boss's estate or something like that. But gradually this little spot by the river became known as the Boss. And then somehow the town became Yarra Boss."

"That house doesn't look in the greatest condition," said Rohan.

"It didn't last long. The chap who built it might have been a smart businessman, but he didn't know that the river used to flood periodically back in those days. Not to mention the bushfires."

Rad led us on a slow walk around the premises, pushing through the verdant thicket that surrounded the house.

"How long did this boss live here?" asked Miriam.

"I don't know," said Rad. "But probably not long. So the house is a wreck now. It's actually a bit of a danger. That's why they've put the fence around it. And made the whole area off limits. But of course all the locals know about it."

He indicated a weakness in the fence that would allow people to squeeze underneath. "The authorities keep strengthening the fencing and adding new warning signs. But we all know where to find the gaps under the fence. A lot of teenagers experience their first kisses down here."

I suddenly realized that Rohan was now some way behind us. I stopped and waited for him.

"This is the sort of place I should have been bringing my sons to," he said when he had caught up. "When they were little. When I still had them with me. Instead I was working round the clock, heading for the pub and occasionally ducking off with another woman. Didn't have much time for the kids. Funny how life hits you in the guts..."

And as I flashed him a sympathetic smile I saw that his eyes were filling with tears.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

It was late when I arrived back home after dropping Miriam, Rad and Rohan at their respective houses. Two messages were waiting on my voicemail. The first was from Miriam herself.

"I phoned a teacher who has dealings with Go-Go Greene," she told me when I called back. "She gave me Greene's home number. I phoned and said I needed to talk to him urgently, and explained why. So he said he could meet me tomorrow morning."

"On a Sunday. That's a surprise."

"He said he has some work to do in the office. He wouldn't normally meet clients, but he'll see me. Around eleven o'clock. Can you come too?"

"See you tomorrow."

The second message was from a member of the local East Timorese community in Melbourne with the phone number of Dili Children's Home, the orphanage in East Timor that was-purportedly-supported by Pastor Reezall.

I dialed the number and explained the reason for my call. Once more I heard the familiar refrain-oh yes, Pastor Reezall, a great man, had helped establish the orphanage. But at some point he declared that he could no longer continue to support it.

"Do you know when this was?" I asked. We were conversing in our native Tetun tongue.

"Oh, quite a long time ago. It must be at least twenty years since we got much money from the pastor."

"And do you know why the money stopped. Did the pastor say he had a problem raising funds? Were you around at that time?"

"I was there. I remember that he was quite agitated about all the fighting in East Timor. He asked me once if I could be sure that all the kids in our orphanage would grow up as Christians. He asked if we might not be raising future soldiers for the enemy."

"What a strange notion. So he didn't want to support your orphanage for that reason?"

"No, he didn't say that. But he was talking a lot-he loved talking-and he just kept wondering if supporting orphanages was the best use of Christian money. I told him that I had no doubts that he was doing God's work when he established our institution. But somehow he didn't seem sure."