The Broken Shore Read Online Free Page B

Went into general revenue. Catch today’s pollies doing that? Take a coin out more likely. Rorters and shicers to a man. Did I tell you they wanted me to stand for Parliament? Told em, thanks very much, I’m already paid for being involved with crooks.’
    ‘Charles Bourgoyne,’ said Cashin. ‘I’ve come about him. You pay his bills.’
    Cecily blinked. ‘Indeed I do. Known Charles for a very long time. Clients of the firm, Dick and Charles, Bourgoyne & Cromie, we did all their work.’
    ‘Bourgoyne & Cromie’s a bit before my time. Who’s Dick?’
    ‘Charles’s dad. Bit of a playboy, Dick, but he ran the firm like a corner shop, argue the toss over a couple of quid. Not that he needed to. Go anywhere in this country, all the Pacific, bloody New Zealand, B&C engines everywhere. Put the lights on all over the outback. Powered the shearing stands, made a mint after the war, I can tell you. Whole world crying out for generators.’
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘Dick kicked the bucket and Charles sold the business to these Pommy bastards. They never intended to keep the factory going. Just wanted to cut out the competition.’
    Cecily was staring out of the window, smoke curling through her fingers. ‘Tragedy,’ she said. ‘I remember the day they told everyone. Half Cromarty out of work at one fell swoop. Never worked again, most of them.’
    She scratched where an eyebrow had been. ‘Still, can’t blame Charles. They gave him assurances. No one blamed him.’
    ‘About the bills.’
    ‘Bills, yes. Since old Percy Crake had his stroke. Attend to matters on his behalf. Not that Charles couldn’t do it himself. Just likes to pretend he’s got better things to do.’
    Cecily took a final vicious drag on her cigarette and, without looking, inserted the butt into the vase of flowers on the mantelpiece. A hiss, the sound of silk brushing silk. Mrs McKendrick, her ancient secretary, put flowers in the two rooms twice a week, first emptying urns full of foul beer-dark water and Cecily’s swollen cigarette ends.
    ‘Who’d try to kill him?’ said Cashin.
    ‘Some passing hoon, I suppose. Country’s turning into America. Kill people for a few dollars, kill them for nothing. Thrills.’ A bulge moved in her cheeks, suggested something trying to escape. ‘Drugs,’ she said. ‘I blame it on drugs.’
    ‘What about close to home? Someone who knew him?’
    ‘Around here? If Charles Bourgoyne departs, it’ll be the biggest funeral since old Dora Campbell kicked it, now that was a send-off. A lovely man, Charles Bourgoyne, lovely. They don’t make gentlemen like that any more. He was a catch, I can tell you. Still, the girls all hadlong teeth by the time he married Susan Kingsley. They say old Dick told him to get married or kiss the fortune goodbye. Said he’d give it to the Cromarty old-age home.’
    ‘What happened to Erica’s father?’
    ‘Erica and Jamie’s father. Bobby Kingsley. Car smash. Had another woman with him unfortunately.’
    ‘Charles have enemies?’
    ‘Well, who knows? Bourgoyne Trust’s put hundreds of kids through uni. Plus Charles shells out to anyone comes along. Schools, art gallery, the Salvos, the RSL, you name it. Bailed out the footy club umpteen times.’
    ‘How does attending to Bourgoyne matters work?’
    ‘Work?’
    ‘The mechanics of it.’
    ‘Oh. Well, all the bills come here, credit card, everything. Every month, we send Charles a statement, he ticks them off, sends it back, we pay them out of a trust account. Pay the wages too.’
    ‘So you’ve got a record of all his financial dealings?’
    ‘Just his bills.’
    ‘From how far back?’
    ‘Not long. I suppose it’s seven, eight years. Since Crake’s stroke.’
    ‘Can I see your records?’
    ‘Confidential,’ she said. ‘Between solicitor and client.’
    ‘Client’s been bashed and left for dead,’ said Cashin.
    Cecily blinked a few times. ‘Not going to get me in trouble with the Law Institute this? Don’t