"Who?"

"Ego Lemos. He's a hot singer from East Timor. He was on the Balibo soundtrack. You know, the movie. Are you sure you're not from Manila? I've got some Freddie Aguilar." His eyes were about the only part of him that were not big, and they blinked hard when he talked.

"I left Dili a few years ago. Anyway, I didn't really follow the music scene."

"Too bad. Too bad. But I'm more interested in you."

"What do you...?"

He held up a hand. He was a big man, but still, it was a remarkably large hand. That hand could stop an advancing army. "Silence. I'm on."

The song came to an end. He turned a knob that lowered the sound, and then he flicked a switch. Behind him on the wall a large light changed from red to green.

He placed a large pair of headphones over his ears and pulled the microphone towards him. "That was Youssou N'Dour from Senegal. One of my favorites. And you're with Boss Radio and In Your Face." He spoke a little more slowly than when he'd been addressing me, and with a clear diction, but he lacked the timbre and resonance of a real radio announcer. He was just a guy off the street who was on air. "Coming up soon, a very special guest..." He dragged my card from his pocket and squinted at it. "Johnny Ravine. And he's a private detective from East Timor. What a story he has. But first, East Timor's hot property of the moment, Ego Lemos, from his O Hele Le album."

I squirmed. I had fought in the jungles of East Timor for two decades, but seldom had I felt as uncomfortable as I did now.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

The light changed to red and music came again from the speakers. I wondered what sort of people in Yarra Boss would enjoy music like this. I guessed that was why the program was called In Your Face.

Rad stood and walked around his desk to me, then dragged a microphone out from a panel in the back of the desk, extending it until it was near my mouth. He sat back down. "Speak into the mike. Just say a few words, will you. What's your name, again?"

"You have my card. You already..."

"I need to do a sound check. Tell me your name and what you do." He pointed at the microphone that jutted out in front of me.

"Johnny Ravine. I'm a private detective."

He was watching a dial. "A little closer to the mike. Try again."

"Johnny Ravine. I'm a private detective."

"Excellent. What a voice. A star in the making."

He passed over a set of headphones. "These are yours. Tell me if they're too big. Not that we have any others."

I placed them over my head. They fit snugly around my ears. "I think they're okay," I said. At least, I thought that was what I said. I couldn't hear myself. I felt a rush of claustrophobia.

He flicked a switch with giant fingers. "This song is short. You're nearly on." His voice was coming through the headphones. Then he raised a hand in front of my face to silence me. He moved another switch, and the green light came on again behind him. He turned a knob. Through the headphones I could hear the music slowly fading.

"Ego Lemos," said Rad. "That's music from East Timor. And with me in the studio from East Timor is Johnny Ravine. Welcome to the program, Johnny."

I nodded my head.

"Welcome to the program, Johnny." He looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"Thank you," I said. "Hello."

"Johnny forgot to mention it, but he's delighted to be here. Tell us about that music, Johnny. Ego Lemos. Memories?"

"Not really. As I told you, I've been in Australia a few years and wouldn't know the latest singers in East Timor. Even when I was there I didn't follow the music scene so much."

"Some penetrating insights from our special guest Johnny Ravine. More in a few minutes. But first, let's listen to some music from Brazil. Gilberto Gil, another favorite, with the monumental Asa Branca."

The music came on, and the light changed. Rad removed his headphones and indicated I should do the same. "Come on, man," he said. "You've got to do better than that. I'm trying to promote you here. I had a feeling you could be the next big star of Boss Radio."

"I think you caught me a bit unprepared. I just want to ask a few questions. About Pastor Reezall."

"Okay. Shoot."

"Did you see him a lot?"

"Yeah, of course. Every night. Except weekends. I do my show nine to eleven, and he was on at eleven to eleven-thirty. So he'd be in here around ten-forty-five, setting things up." He began looking through the piles of CDs on the bench beside him.

"You talked a lot?"

"Yeah. He liked talking. And I like talking." He raised an arm again for silence and put on his headphones. He indicated that I should do the same.

The music died.

"Gilberto Gil. Asa Branca. You're on Boss Radio. I'm Rad Blacken and I'm in your face. Tonight our special guest is Johnny Ravine, from East Timor. Johnny, how long have you lived in Australia?"

"About three years."

"And why did you come here?"

"To look for my father."

Rad smiled. Perhaps he had a journalist's instincts for a good story. "Your father had run off to Australia."

"My father was Australian. My mother was a local East Timorese girl. But he disappeared. Before I was born. So a few years ago I got sick of my life and decided to come to Australia to look for him."

"Any luck?"

"No. Unfortunately. And given that he must be pretty old by now, well..." I shrugged. "I have to accept that he may not even be alive any more. I think I've pretty much come round to accepting by now that I'm never going to find him."

"Never Say Never. One of my favorite James Bond movies. Sean Connery or Roger Moore?" He pointed at me.

"No idea."

"Trick question. It's actually Never Say Never Again. With Sean Connery. Now, we're going to move on with another number, and after that we'll hear some more from our special guest Johnny Ravine."

He started the music, and this time I recognized a samba beat. We removed our headphones.

"Great story," he said. "There's potential here. A half-hour show, once a week, people looking for their lost relatives. Reunite them live on air. We have the makings of a blockbuster."

I smiled and changed the topic. "What did you talk about with Pastor Reezall?" I was starting to feel more comfortable. Rad might have the build and the bluster of a football player out on the town, but I suspected that deep down he was a pussy cat.

"Oh, everything and anything. He was a well-informed man. An opinion on everything. Mainly to the right of Genghis Khan. Plus the fact that we're all sinners and the world's going to end at exactly seven-twenty next Wednesday evening. That sort of thing. But he had a good strong voice. And he was on late enough that the committee running this station didn't mind. They're all local greenies. Behind his back they called him their F and B."

"F and B?"

"Their fair and balanced. It's a community station. It gets government funding. It's meant to represent the entire community, not just the greenies. So they were happy to have him on. Late, when hardly anyone's listening. And with extreme views that would have everyone switching off."

"And he seemed happy recently? Not worried or concerned?"

"Happy? He was the least happy man I've ever met." Again he raised his hand, and we went through the headphones ritual again.

"That was Clara Nunes from Brazil. A favorite of mine, as regular listeners well know. Singing Ijexa. This is Boss Radio, I'm Rad Blacken and I'm in your face. With me is special guest Johnny Ravine. Brazilian music, Johnny. You grew up in East Timor when it was a Portuguese colony. You must have heard Brazilian music."

"Yes, it was very popular. I heard it a lot. Especially at the bars. And the sailors used to bring the latest cassettes."

"Bars. Sailors. Clearly you had a very sheltered upbringing."

I breathed deeply. "It's my dark secret. My mother got kicked out of home after becoming pregnant to some visiting Aussie. Sadly she spent a lot of time working in bars and brothels. Meeting sailors. Those are some of my childhood memories. I was largely raised by Christian missionaries."

Rad had the decency not to get too in-your-face with those revelations. He put on some music he said was Caribbean, then stood. "Want a coffee?"

"Yes, actually I would."

He raised his eyebrows at me. "And...?"

"Milk and a couple of sugars," I said.

He opened a door by the red/green light and I heard the sound of water running.

I called out: "The pastor. You say he wasn't especially happy. But recently-the last couple of weeks. Any changes? Was he concerned about anything? Anything new? Apart from the world coming to an end, of course."

Rad returned with two coffees. He placed one before me, then took his seat. "I actually think that the world coming to an end was the one thing that made him happy." Then he paused and for the first time since our encounter it seemed that he was becoming reflective. "It's an interesting question. Because he was expressing a lot of anger to me about a local financial planning group. Go-Go Greene Financial."

"Yes, that's exactly what..."

But Rad had raised his large hand again. The music ended. We replaced our headphones.

"That was David Rudder. We're with our special guest Johnny Ravine, who's looking for his dad. What more can you tell us about him?"

"Not much. A while back I found a newspaper clipping that mentioned an Australian soldier in East Timor named John La Vinne. He was there around the time I was born. I'm guessing that was him. But I haven't been able to track him down."

"Do I recall correctly that you are a private detective?"

He was quick. I smiled. "Yes, even a private detective can't locate him. I think I've done everything humanly possible. I've reconciled myself to the fact that I'm never going to find him. I presume he's dead."

"But you are forgetting that you are in the presence of Special Operative Rad Blacken. With a loyal audience of in-your-facers who are ready to spring into action when they receive the secret signal. So now I call on my loyal followers-find this man, General John La Vinne. I'm assuming he's a general by now."

"If he's still alive, which I doubt, he'd be long retired. He was a lieutenant, according to the newspaper clipping. Lieutenant John La Vinne. I don't know what happened to him after that."

Rad put on something from Africa.

"I've been told that the pastor actually attacked the financial planning firm on air," I said. "Did you hear what he was saying?"

"Go-Go Greene Financial? No, I always gathered up my CDs and was out of here once my show was over. I only ever heard the beginning of his program. But when we were chatting, before he came on air, he was steamed. Reckoned they were destroying him. Or destroying Yarra Boss. Or both. I'm not sure. He told me he was going to attack them on his show."

"Destroying? How?"

"Look, if you want to know the truth he talked a lot, and I wasn't always exactly listening. It became a bit much. Every night. Trying to save me, as well. Wanted me down on my knees confessing my sins. I kind of switched off a lot."

"So what might Go-Go Greene Financial be doing? Do you know the company?"

But again the hand was raised, and he put on a new track.

"Go-Go Greene Financial?" I asked again. But Rad just shrugged, and began sorting through his CDs. I changed the subject. "You're a volunteer fireman?"

"Yeah. With the local fireys."

"Your summers must get busy."

"It can be pretty full on."

"And you got a call out for the fire that killed the pastor?"

"Yeah. Though of course I didn't know it was his place. Anyway, by the time we got there the house was destroyed and the fire had moved up the hill to the trees. There wasn't much we could do except put up a containment line. Fortunately there was no wind, so it burnt itself out quite quickly."

"And it seemed someone lit the fire deliberately?"

"That was pretty obvious. Smell of petrol everywhere. And then they found the body and the cops got called."

"Any clues about who did it? Did the police say anything?"

"I didn't meet the police. And I've heard nothing more."

Once more I changed the subject. "I'd really love to be able to listen to some of the pastor's programs. Are they recorded?"

"Yeah, sure. Everything here gets recorded onto a hard disc."

"And can I listen to a few of his shows?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. Why not? Did you bring a USB stick?"

I smiled. "Unfortunately not."

"Doesn't matter. There're usually a few lying around. A lot of the announcers here bring their music in on a USB. I probably should as well. Instead, I bring half my CD collection in each evening, and take everything home when I leave, which is pretty silly when you think about it." He opened a couple of drawers. "Yes, here's one. Give me a few minutes and I'll copy the pastor's scintillating words for you."