Jack Irish: Dead Point Page #5

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to enjoin, restrain

or otherwise ravish you

unconditionally under

the Marital Act in perpetuity,

habeas corpus, prima facie,

carpe diem, ad hoc,

ad hominem, ad nauseam, adios,

adieu, arrivederci, sayonara.

How much wood

could a wood chuck chuck

if a wood chuck could chuck wood?

And hereby agree

to indemnify the plaintiff

against alleged...

She's adorable.

I can probably get rid of that now.

You know, I had a guest

on the show once

who sets a place at the dinner table

for his wife every night,

even though she's been dead

for 17 years.

His second wife doesn't even

bat an eyelid.

You can't hurry

the letting go, Jack.

Well, just to let you know,

I don't have three sets of cutlery.

Cam.

Linda.

Cam.

Jack.

See ya.

Fancy a drive, Jack?

Ah... yeah, alright.

The billing address for Artie's phone

is at North Sunshine.

A-OK salvage.

Dead-end by the looks of it.

Not exactly the golden triangle.

As far as I'm concerned,

you stayed in the car.

Oi!

You Artie?

Don't know where he is.

You mind? I'm working here.

Well, it might be a good idea

if you talked to us.

Tell us where we might be able

to find him. Hey?

Why don't you f*** off?

That was a big mistake.

Cocky.

Just give us a yell

if you need a hand, Cam.

Just grab the door for us, Jack?

And grab the keys.

Get in, you maggot.

What's this about?!

Remember that day at the Valley

when you beat that woman to a pulp?

I don't know

what you're talking about!

What are you doing?!

No!

Where's the money you took?

What money?

No!

No! No!

No!

Where's the money, Artie?

This is the last time I'm asking.

That's enough! Turn it off!

What, do you always go in

the portaloo with a shotgun?

Get out!

Nice and slow.

Something amusing, is there?

I didn't touch her, I swear.

It was Artie.

God's my witness,

he just went berko. Shut up!

Where's the money you took?

Inside, behind the poster.

There's a safe.

Piss-weak dog! Lizard!

Well, why don't you show us

where that picture is, Lizard?

Classy.

Open it!

Step back.

Hey.

Irish.

Jack? It's Sienna.

I need to see you.

I think there's someone

you should meet.

Hey.

Hello?

Jack.

Welcome to the Cathexis.

You found it OK?

Yeah.

Where's Sienna?

We're out by the pool.

I believe you've met

my husband Mike.

You're not acrophobic, are you, Jack?

It's a long way down.

Husband.

Mm. I kept my family name.

Carries more weight.

This is Senior Sergeant Olsen.

He's our... like, liaison officer.

Take a seat, Jack.

Supplementing your super,

I assume, Laurie.

Yeah, well, you know.

I was kind of hoping when Sienna

mentioned a mystery guest

that I might finally

get to meet Robbie.

Why would you ID a no-name junkie

as Robbie?

Ohh... Easier to kill someone

when he's already dead.

No paperwork.

So, your, um...

pet got off the leash, Mike?

Supposed to deliver a Porsche

and went AWOL?

Thieving prick

didn't take into account

that Laurie here was on the books.

Beretta.

Better than a Glock.

Don't trust those Austrians.

What are you playing at, Jack?

Are you waiting for us

to blink first?

Is that why you're trying to

find Robbie?

Do you think that maybe

he's got the photo album?

Hey, Mike?

The neighbours.

You need to advise your client

to step down.

Now.

Colin, it's Jack.

Listen...

Ah...

I'm just going to have

to call you back.

- Jack Irish?

- Yeah.

This your vehicle?

What's going on?

You mind opening the boot for us?

Sure.

You're under arrest.

Keep your hands behind your back.

Code 33.

Dead girl in the boot, Jack.

Pretty serious warning.

They don't have it.

What?

The book.

If they did, they wouldn't have

gone to so much trouble

to stop me from finding Robbie.

You gotta get me out of here, mate.

You are good at this sort of thing,

aren't you?

I'm not a QC.

That's not really helping.

Mr Irish.

I'm Detective Sergeant Tregear,

this is Detective Constable Owens.

After the bloody siren.

Cruel A 60-metre torp.

You wouldn't bloody read about it.

She was a sweet kid, Sienna.

And they just chewed her up

and spat her out.

Who's they?

The Cundalls.

And your man, Olsen.

Sh*t.

'32 years on the force', you said.

'One of the only men I could trust.'

Adds up actually.

You know, the brass

have been trying to figure out

who's been rolling out the red

carpet on illegal imports for years.

So Olsen snaffles a few crumbs

while the mother lode

waltzes through.

The wharfies up to their necks

in it.

Owned and operated

by a right royal Cundall.

Keep your head down, Jack.

It's my arse on the line now.

Listen, how long's my car

going to be impounded?

I don't reckon they're going

to let me drive around

in one of Cam's bogan-mobiles

for too long.

You're lucky you're not impounded.

You know, cutting you loose

isn't exactly standard procedure.

Gotta go.

I have to swing past Carol's.

Promised her a knee-trembler

against the Kelvinator.

They're bluffing, Colin.

They don't have the red book.

Robbie stole their drugs

and nicked off

before they had the chance

to get it,

and he must have forgotten it

and left it behind in all the chaos,

so he had to come back.

But why?

I mean, he wasn't the focus

of the enquiry.

He was at the bottom

of the food chain.

Bargaining chip, I suppose,

in case the Cundalls went after him.

The press conference

is tomorrow morning.

After the report is handed down,

he'll have nothing to bargain with.

Well, that's right.

They'll be under arrest or in jail,

and he'll be free.

The book won't mean anything to him.

The bloody book is still out there!

If Pat and Ellie find out about this,

it'll break them.

Judicial Inquiries,

Royal Commissions, where the sh*t

interfaces with the fan.

Until that book is destroyed,

it's going to hang over my head

like a sword of Damocles.

Listen, I'll find Robbie

before they do, OK?

A lifetime of trying

to do the right thing.

The Honourable Judge,

devoted husband,

respectable family man.

But you f*** one goat...

You mustn't judge me, Jack.

Isabel adored you, Colin.

That's good enough for me.

Don't do anything rash, OK?

Moving office?

I don't have long, Mr Irish.

Listen, Robbie Colburne's not dead.

Is that a sick joke?

No.

He didn't happen

to mention anything to you

about a place to hide, did he?

We barely spoke.

So he didn't say anything at The

Snug or back at his place that night

about a holiday house or a property?

It was purely physical.

There was nothing else.

Are you sure he's not dead?

You may get your chance to kill him

after all.

Warren from Mulgrave.

I knew it.

Heard the news?

Susan Ayliss resigned.

Personal reasons.

Ah. Well, I'm on my way home.

I'll see you there.

Susan, it's Linda Hillier again.

I'm still looking for a comment

before I run the story

on the Colburne tape tomorrow.

Ah, look, if... anyway.

You have my number. Thank you.

What took you so long?

Someone just tried to kill me

in Fitzroy Gardens.

Sh*t.

Here.

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