Part 20 (1/2)

Cam got in. 'Marie, Jack Irish. Your mum knows him. He's a lawyer.'

'Hi,' she said again. 'I've only got a minute. What's it about?' Her speech was rushed, nervous.

Cam took out his Gitanes, offered her one. She took it, leaned across for a light, had a coughing fit.

'Jeez,' she said, 'what is it?'

'There's somethin milder here somewhere,' said Cam.

'No, it's cool.' She coughed again. 'Just a shock.'

Not turning, I said, 'Marie, we're trying to find out who bashed your mother.'

I could hear her exhale smoke. 'Yeah,' she said. 'Yeah, that's good. It's like a nightmare. Weird.'

I waited a few seconds. 'How long have you had a habit?'

Silence. 'Christ, what's this s.h.i.+t? I'm out of...'

Cam leaned over the seat, draped his arm. 'Marie, listen, it's not about you and drugs, right? It's about who nearly killed your mum. You love your mum, don't you?'

More quiet. Marie began to cry, a sniffle, throat noises.

'Don't you? Love your mum?'

Then she was making crying noises, not loud, and saying, 'Oh, Jesus, oh Jesus...'

We waited.

After a while, I said, 'Tell us about it, Marie.'

She did a lot more sniffing, then she said, 'Mum sent you?'

'No,' said Cam. 'Your mum told me you'd had a problem, but that now you're clean. She's proud of you, your mum.'

The sniffing resumed. Then she said, courage plucked, 'There's nothing to tell, like. What's this-'

I said, 'Last chance, Marie. You could go to jail for this. Conspiracy.'

This time it was a cry from deep down, a wail, then more sobbing. I looked at Cam. He was looking at Marie, flicked his chestnut-brown eyes at me. I thought I detected a hint of compa.s.sion. Probably just the light.

We waited.

'I just told this bloke my mum did big-money bets,' she said, sad voice. 'Don't even know how it works-'

'Which bloke?'

A long silence.

'Can't go back now, Marie,' said Cam, gently. 'Which bloke?'

'Around the bike shop. He deals, everyone knows him, it's safe.'

'Why'd you tell him?' Cam said.

Sigh. 'I dunno, I just told him one day.' Sigh. 'Like I thought it was smart, like my mum didn't do ordinary kind of... Just stupid. Mum always said... Oh, s.h.i.+t.'

'You told him that and then what happened?' I asked.

She became matter-of-fact. 'He said, give us the word when you've got a horse. I didn't know anything about that, Mum never said a word, all I knew is some days she's got something on at the races, she's phoning people, you can't understand what she's saying to them.'

'You told him you never heard the names of horses?' I said.

'Yeah. Then one day he says, tell me when your mum's going to the races and I'll give you a hit.'

Silence, waiting, Cam leaning over the seat, looking at Marie, tendons like cable in his neck.

'And?'

'That day, I was hanging out, didn't have a cent...'

'You told him,' said Cam.

'Yes.' Tiny voice. 'I'd've cut my wrists before I told him if I knew what...'

'Where's the bike shop?'

'Elizabeth Street.'

Cam started the vehicle and waited to pull out.

'My mum,' said Marie, 'you're going to tell Mum?'

'No,' said Cam, getting into the traffic, 'you've got your punishment. This bloke always there?'

Marie sniffed. 'Most of the time. He sees you're chasin and he meets you at the Vic Market. Keeps the stash there.'

'We'll drive by. See if you can point him out.'

We went around the corner into LaTrobe Street, turned right into Elizabeth Street.

Marie saw him almost immediately.

'Next to that white car, the bloke on the bike.'

'Sit low,' said Cam.

He was across the street from the motorcycle dealers, sitting on a black BMW, helmet on his lap, talking to someone in the pa.s.senger seat of a car. We got a good look at him tall, curly red-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, short beard around his mouth.