Her head came around, her hair swung. ‘You don’t deserve a break and I’ll have a survey done, we’ll see about this fucking boundary.’
Cashin watched her climb the slope. She had a few slips, a few slides. Half-way, she turned and looked down at him.
‘What are you looking at?’ she shouted. ‘Why don’t you just fuck off?’
In the shower, thinking about what he should have said, the phone rang. No towel. He went, dripping.
‘Draw a line under this then,’ said Villani. ‘They switched off Bourgoyne. We’re never going to know exactly what happened that night.’
‘Exactly?’ said Cashin. He was shivering, the place was a giant fridge. ‘We never had the vaguest fucking idea.’
‘The watch, Joe, the watch. Not found in a lucky dip at the church fete. Someone took it off an old bloke…anyway, what the fuck, it’s over.’
Cashin wanted to say more but he caught himself, his gaze fell on his shrivelled penis, lying in the wet crinkly hair like something in a tidal pool.
‘The harassment stuff,’ he said, ‘there’s something about that…’
‘Cromarty should have been purged long ago,’ said Villani. ‘They had the chance after the deaths in custody. But no, they moved the boss and put in a cleanskin, made his name in Traffic, Traffic dynamo. And presto, six months later Hopgood and his cocksucker offsiders were running the show again.’
‘I’m not happy,’ said Cashin.
‘Nor am I,’ said Villani. ‘I’m at home. They say I’m never here. That’s right, that’s the way it is. So I make an effort tonight to eat with my kids and there’s no one here. How’s that?’
‘I have no sympathy. Go back to gangland. I’m always home alone.’
In the night Cashin woke, tried to hypnotise himself with the measured breathing, the words to stifle thought. He was falling when he saw the Kettle, the clouds parting, a full moon lighting the world silver-grey, huge waves coming in, fretting at the top, exploding through the keyhole, pure untrammelled murderous power.
CASHIN ROSE early, unease in him like a stomach ache, took the dogs on the long route. They crossed the creek high up and walked back on the path below the shining new fence, on Cashin land, now demarcated.
After they had all breakfasted, he loaded the dogs and set off for his mother’s house. Near the coast, he took the road that ran between the two volcanic hills, their caldera lakes home to swans, ducks, swamp hens, wicked-eyed bickering gulls by the hundreds. The lakes were never known to dry up. Cashin thought about the swims in them when he was living with the Doogues. They rode out on bicycles, five or six boys. They waded out in the black water, cold mud oozing through their toes, shivering on the hottest days. They walked around the dead tree trunks, avoided the branches that lay almost submerged like big snakes, green with moss and slime, streaked with birdshit.
At a shout, they would all throw themselves in and swim. In the middle, they crowded together, treading water, feeling the black and sucking deep beneath them. The idea was to dive and come up with a handful of grey mud. But no one wanted to be the first. Eventually, the boldest duck-dived. They would wait for him to come up before anyone else went down. Once Bern dived and swam away under water, rose silently behind a dead tree.
They waited for him to appear. They looked at one another. Then they panicked. Cashin remembered that, no signal given, they all made for the shore, swam for their lives, abandoned Bern.
When they were standing in the shallows, Bern shouted: ‘Cowardly bastards. How’d you know I wasn’t stuck down there?’
The news came on.
Four people, including a policewoman, are in hospital after what Cromarty police claim was an attack on a patrol car in the Daunt Settlement outside the city last night. Police said a car on routine patrol was stoned shortly after 10 pm. Two other cars went to the scene. They found the first car on fire and a hostile crowd blocking the street.
The officers attempted to drive through the crowd to reach their colleagues, a police spokesperson said. However, they were forced to leave their vehicles and shots were fired before order was restored. Police Minister Kim Bourke today defended the police actions. ‘Of course this will be fully investigated but it’s clear that it was an extremely dangerous situation. The officers’ lives were in danger and they feared for the lives of their colleagues. They took what action was necessary.’
A forty-six-year-old man, a young woman and a youth from the Daunt Settlement were admitted to Cromarty Base Hospital with injuries. They are in a stable condition. A policewoman with head injuries is also said to be off the danger list. Two other people were treated and discharged.
A routine patrol? Through the Daunt on the night they found Donny Coulter? What kind of station commander didn’t tell them to keep out of the Daunt?
You drive the poor frightened kid to suicide, now you don’t have to make any case, he’s made the case for you. And everyone else’s dead, all suspects dead. Because your fucking mates killed them.
His mother and Harry were having breakfast in the kitchen, muesli and fruit, eating out of lopsided purple bowls.
‘Had breakfast?’ said his mother.
‘Not yet.’
‘Probably nothing to eat in that ruin.’ Sybil got up and filled another bowl with muesli from a glass jar, poured the remains of the tin of mixed fruit into it.
Cashin sat down. She put the bowl in front of him, brought the milk jug closer. He poured and ate. It was surprisingly edible.
‘Michael rang,’ she said. ‘He’s fine, very chipper.’
Harry nodded. ‘Very chipper.’ He was a repeater, it was his role in the marriage.
‘Good,’ said Cashin.
‘An accident,’ said Sybil. ‘All that stress he’s under in the job. So high-powered, it’s not a good life.’
Cashin’s eyes were on the bowl. What were the black bits? Pips?
‘He’s coming down soon to have a bit of a rest.’
‘Bit of a rest,’ said Harry.
‘Chance for you to spend some time together,’ said his mother. ‘He was very warm about you, very appreciative.’
‘I love being appreciated,’ said Cashin. ‘It’s so rare in my life.’
Harry laughed but he caught Sybil’s eye and he choked it, gazed into his bowl.
‘Probably been over-appreciated,’ said Sybil. ‘The love and care that’s been bestowed on you.’
Cashin thought about drunk Sybil in the caravan, the nights of waiting for her to come back. He ate a piece of peach and a piece of something else, pinkish. The same taste.
‘Disgraceful business in the Daunt last night,’ said Sybil. ‘It’s turning into Israel, police provoking the dispossessed into violence. Manufacture of deviance.’
‘Manufacture of what?’
‘Of deviance,’ said Sybil. ‘You’re part of that. You produce the justification for your existence.’
‘Me?’
‘The machinery of control. You’re an unselfconscious part of it.’
‘You get this from uni?’
‘I’ve always felt it. Uni gives you the intellectual back-up.’
‘I think I could use some intellectual back-up. What’s this course called?’
‘Finish your food, I don’t want that muesli wasted. It’s organic, cost the earth, I bought it at the farmers’ market.’
‘The farmers’ market,’ said Harry, and smiled, he had the smile of a mother’s boy.
Sybil came with him to the vehicle. The dogs went berserk. ‘They don’t like me,’ she said.
‘Barking’s not a judgment on you. It’s just barking.’
Sybil kissed him on the chin. ‘Keep in touch with Michael, will you, dear,’ she said. ‘Ring him. Promise?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me Dad killed himself?’
She took a pace back, clutched herself. ‘He didn’t. He fell. He slipped and fell.’