The Broken Shore Page #3

This picture's interesting.

- Why would they slash that?

- Good taste?

That's the old kids' camp.

Part of the land development.

- It's up for sale, isn't it?

- Yeah. Yeah, I believe so.

- Is that what you were here for?

- Hmm. Yeah.

- So there's an interest in the estate?

- Hmm. Yeah.

S'pose that's what it looked like

before it burnt down.

Yeah, sort of.

Anyway, the fire was March 12, '83.

- That's a good memory.

- Oh, no, no, no, no.

No, I've got a very bad memory.

No, it was the...

It was the night my mother died.

She fell down those stairs.

That's Charles's

pottery workshop.

I take it that's not

your father's work?

Ah, no. He used to run classes

occasionally for children.

Are we finished?

What's that?

No idea.

Rejects. You right?

- Why the bodyguard, Erica?

- Comes with the job.

Really? I had no idea being

a Labor Party lawyer was so fraught.

You don't know politics.

Get you to give that back to John

for me.

Hey.

- What are you like at jigsaw puzzles?

- I hate them.

- Ah.

- What is this?

Oh, you're going to

put it back together for me.

- No.

- Yeah.

Why?

I thought we could reintroduce

arts and crafts back into the force.

No?

I'm lousy at jigsaws.

Well, you start with the base pieces.

81's kind of blue.

79's kind of green and flecky.

Work your way up from there.

Afternoon's work.

There you go. Want a nice

almond bickie to go with that?

Oh, no, thanks, Liam. I'm right.

Right, well, there goes my profit

for the winter.

Eight weeks a year

this place comes to life.

The rest of the year it's pensioners,

the unemployed and the unemployable.

You're forgetting the halt and the lame.

There is always us.

Two virile, single young men, marooned

on an island of old women in sandals.

How did we end up here?

What the hell brought you back?

- I'm recuperating.

- Liam?

Would you mind if I put one of these up?

And this petition?

Yeah, sure.

Might galvanise the five people

who see it into a political frenzy.

- Joe.

- Helen.

- Got a permit for that?

- Oh, here we go.

You are going to try and prevent us

from having a peaceful march?

Am I? Why would I do that?

Well, it figures that anyone

who can erect fences

without any sort of consultation...

I take it you checked with the council

and you discovered I was right.

This is a giant development

smack on the river mouth.

But you're more worried

about your damned forms.

- Pretty worried.

- Will council pass this?

Uh, following a detailed three-minute

environmental impact study,

yeah, they'll jump on it.

Bourgoyne's dead.

You know, bring on the bulldozers.

So now I guess my fight begins

with you and your permit.

You have to have one.

And how long is that going to take?

Oh, what, including the walk to

the station? Probably... eight minutes.

Oh, OK. I mean,

it's eight minutes I'd rather...

Or I could have someone drop it into

your office if that's more convenient.

Mm, yeah, that might work. Thanks.

Two months ago I was a corporate lawyer

so it's difficult.

I haven't lived here for a while.

But that shouldn't need a permit.

In a democracy.

Mate, three Aboriginal boys

tried to pawn

a Branlau watch in Sydney yesterday.

Oh, people still wear watches

these days, mate.

The pawn shop manager

did the right thing and got the rego.

Nissan twin cab, TJH 419.

Martin Frazer Gettigan,

14 Holt Street, Cromarty.

Not another Gettigan.

- You know them?

- There's a lot of Gettigans.

OK, find out about the ute

without spooking anyone.

Don't take too long.

Martin Gettigan.

- You know him?

- What?

- I'm in a hurry. You know him or not?

- Yeah.

Right, I want to know

who's driving Martin's twin cab.

I don't do no bloody police work.

- Hey, hey...

- Two words-someone's niece.

You got five minutes.

So Gettigan lent his ute

to Luke Walshe and two other kids.

You know 'em?

Your typical Daunt

first Australians.

They've got some minor form.

Suspected of doing some burgs together,

which means they did.

Luke's the oldest,

he fancies he's a fighter.

Pascoe's off his face all the time and

Donny's a little retard who tags along.

You know Luke's the venerable

Bobby Walshe's nephew?

- Yeah, I figured. How old are they?

- Oh, 19, 20.

Donny's younger, maybe 17.

Well, it looks like one of them's tried

to sell Bourgoyne's watch in Sydney.

What say we go pay our respects

to the Coulters?

Well, that'd be seriously bloody stupid,

wouldn't it? Hey?

You're telling me what's stupid?

I'm conveying a message.

We're not to spook

the Aboriginal community at this point.

Oh. So let's all just head down

to the Daunt and say sorry.

Yeah.

And I'm gonna need

Bourgoyne's financial records.

Believe you've got 'em.

For Christ's sake, put it away, Sybil.

I'm the local bloody cop.

Oh, stop fussing. I'm your mother.

Now, I heard you're fixing up

your great-granddad's old ruin.

- Yeah.

- Well, you do know that it's cursed?

It sent Tommy Joe mad.

No, I reckon it's where

the Cashin black dog all started.

I've got a bloke fixing it up

and we'll see how it goes.

I thought your stay here was meant to be

temporary, just till you got better.

Well, life's pretty temporary,

isn't it, Sybil?

Pour yourself a tea.

Is Harry having Nam flashbacks,

is he?

Love the smell of napalm in the roses.

Your brother just bought himself

a new unit in Sydney, on the water.

Two bedrooms, one and a half bathrooms.

What's Michael do in half a bathroom?

Take half a piss?

- Is this hash oil?

- Yeah, one drop.

It's good for the nerves. And for pain.

These tablets seem to be making him

a bit happier.

Yeah, I s'pose they've got medication

for that now, don't they?

Being gay and

having your lover go back to his wife.

- Ah, but is he really gay, though?

- No.

He's a single 44-year-old man

who loves design magazines.

You are such a Cashin.

Even a tragedy's only a tragedy

for five minutes and then it's a joke.

Just like your father.

Well, he needs to get off the tablets

and come here.

No. Nobody needs here.

This place is not good

for either of you.

I don't know how you can spend a night

in that old place. Those horrible rooms.

It's just a place.

Joseph, after what you've survived,

you could have gone anywhere.

- Yeah, alright, then.

- You were the bright one.

The police force.

You spend one minute more

in this town than you have to,

you'll be stuck here forever. Or worse.

Come on, boys, hurry up!

Please, just hurry up!

- Where are we going?

- We're going on an adventure.

A family adventure. Come on, Joe.

Mum, when are we coming back?

Well, it wouldn't be an adventure if we

knew. And don't call me Mum anymore.

I'm Sybil.

Very f***in' convenient.

You were sleeping.

I didn't know where to put 'em.

Oh, so you thought the middle

of the driveway would work.

Oh, I heard you got domestic staff.

Your face is familiar.

- You from round here?

- No.

Dave, this is Bern.

- Ever play footy around here?

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