The Broken Shore Read Online Free

She waved at the raked gravel, the trimmed hedges. ‘Well, now his boy Tay does. Bit simple, Tay, never says a word. Bruce sits on his arse and smokes mostly. They come Monday, Wednesday and Friday. And when he drives Mr B. Sue Dance makes lunch and dinner. Gets here about twelve, cooks lunch, cooks dinner, leaves it for him to heat up. Tony Crosby might as well be on a wage too, always something wrong with the plumbing.’
    The male paramedic came out. ‘There’s a chopper coming,’ he said. ‘Where’s the best place to land?’
    ‘The paddock behind the stables,’ said Carol. ‘At the back of the house.’
    ‘How’s he doing?’ Cashin said.
    The man shrugged. ‘Probably should be dead.’
    He went back inside.
    ‘Bourgoyne’s watch,’ said Cashin. ‘Know what kind it was?’
    ‘Breitling,’ said Carol. ‘Smart watch. Had a crocodile-skin strap.’
    ‘How do you spell that?’
    ‘B-R-E-I-T-L-I-N-G.’
    Cashin went to the cruiser, got Hopgood again. ‘They’re taking him to Melbourne. You might want to have a yarn with a Bruce Starkey and his young fella.’
    ‘What about?’
    ‘They’re both part-time here.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘Thought I’d draw it to your attention. And Bourgoyne’s watch’s probably stolen.’ He told him what Carol had said.
    ‘Okay. Be there in a couple of minutes. There’s three cars coming. Forensic can’t get a chopper till about 10.30.’
    ‘The step-daughter needs to be told,’ Cashin said. ‘She was here the day before yesterday. You can probably get an address from Cecily Addison in Port Monro, that’s Woodward, Addison & Cameron.’
    ‘I know who Cecily Addison is.’
    ‘Of course.’
    Cashin went back to Carol. ‘Lots of cops coming,’ he said. ‘Going to be a long morning.’
    ‘I’m paid for four hours.’
    ‘Should be enough. What was he like?’
    ‘Fine. Good boss. I knew what he wanted, did the job. Bonus at Christmas. Month’s pay.’
    ‘No problems?’
    Eyes on him, yellow flecks in the brown. ‘I keep the place like a hospital,’ she said. ‘No problems at all.’
    ‘You wouldn’t have any reason to try to kill him, would you?’
    Carol made a sound, not quite a laugh. ‘Me? Like I’d kill my job? I’m a late starter, still got two kids on the tit, mate. There’s no work around here.’
    They sat on the steps in the still enclosure, an early winter morning, quiet, just birdsounds, cars on the highway, and a coarse tractor somewhere.
    ‘Jesus,’ said Carol, ‘I feel so, it’s just getting to me… I could make us some coffee.’
    Cashin was tempted. ‘Better not,’ he said. ‘Can’t touch anything. They’d come down on me like a tanker of pigshit. But I’ll take asmoke off you.’
    Weakness, smoking. Life was weakness, strength was the exception. Their smoke hung in sheets, golden where it caught the sun.
    A sound, just a pinprick at first. The dickheads, thought Cashin. They were coming with sirens.
    ‘Cromarty cops’ll take a full statement, Carol,’ he said. ‘They’ll be in charge of this but ring me if there’s anything you want to talk about, okay?’
    ‘Okay.’
    They sat.
    ‘If he lives,’ said Cashin, ‘it’s because you got to work on time.’
    Carol didn’t say anything for a while. ‘Reckon I’ll keep getting paid?’
    ‘Till things are settled, sure.’
    They listened to the sirens coming up the hill, turning into the driveway, getting louder. Three squad cars, much too close together, came into the forecourt, braked, sent gravel flying.
    The passenger door of the first car opened and a middle-aged man got out. He was tall, dark hair combed back. Senior Detective Rick Hopgood. Cashin had met him twice, civil exchanges. He walked towards them. Cashin stood.
    The whupping of a helicopter, coming out of the east.
    ‘End of shift,’ said Hopgood. ‘You can get back to Port.’
    Irrational heat behind his eyes. Cashin wanted to punch him. He didn’t say anything, looked for the chopper, walked around