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grandmother. Smokes dope and God knows what other drugs. Swore at my spiritual director. Father Basil was a gent about it, but I was ropeable. Thinks he can just lob up at my mother’s place or my place any time and sleep on the floor,’ said Earl, his tone becoming more and more heated. ‘You know I’ve had to leave my nice house down there and live in a rented place?’
    I took down the details out of habit. Glebe Point Road was a major thoroughfare these days and must be noisy, I thought, compared to the bungalow in Kincaid Street, Deakin.
    ‘I wouldn’t know how to contact Jason, anyway,’ Earl added.
    ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Brian Kruger will be in touch then to get further details. And you must not call me again. Everything’s being done according to the book. I was there myself and I can assure you of that. So from now on, no more contact, okay?’
    ‘But I’m really scared they’re going to come after me. You’ve got to make sure the scene and the expert analysis is handled properly. My bloody life could depend on it! Jack, we were friends!’
    ‘We were what ?’
    That did it. Despite Earl Richardson’s delusions about the state of the past relationship between us, I had done what he’d asked. Getting religion must have softened his brain worse than I’d believed and the bad head cold I had must have softened mine even more. ‘I’ve gotta go,’ I said, and tucked my mobile back on my belt.
    I waved at Harry who was also about to leave. ‘Will you do something for me?’ I asked. ‘Get those earrings over to Cec Peabody, the jeweller, before they’re returned to the family? I want to know what he says about them.’
    I’d been piqued, more than I was prepared to admit, by the blonde palynologist’s observations.
    Harry gave me a long stare. ‘You don’t look too well, Jack. How long since you had a check-up?’
    I laughed and brushed off his concern. ‘ You should talk.’
    I’d packed my wagon, bundled everything up for disposal and was about to start the drive to work when I remembered something. I walked over to Brian.
    ‘That comment you made about Tianna Richardson liking a bit of rough? Was it recent?’ I asked.
    Brian’s eyebrows reached their highest altitude. ‘I can’t remember.’
    ‘Think.’
    Brian shook his head. ‘I think it was at a conference. Or in the meal room.’
    ‘Why was Tianna Richardson the subject of gossip in a police meal room?’ I asked.
    ‘Search me,’ said Brian. ‘Crime scene people don’t get to have meals.’
    Back in my wagon, I wondered if the rumour had any substance and puzzled about why a woman might seek out rough handling. One for my brother Charlie, the clinical psychologist, I decided.

 
Three
    On the drive out to Weston, I thought about Earl Richardson and whether he was capable of killing Tianna in a fit of jealousy or anger. Finding myself on this mental trajectory about men and their estranged wives, I realised it had been a while since I’d heard from Genevieve. I’d spoken to her a couple of times a few months ago, about the kids. Greg, now twenty-one, was living in a communal house in Stanmore while studying for a Communications degree at the University of Technology Sydney. Despite the bad times she’d endured, nineteen-year-old Jacinta had begun her first year of a science degree this year. At fifteen she’d run away and lived on the streets of Kings Cross. I’d eventually tracked her down and she’d finally come home and got clean and sober shortly after, going on to spend time at a rural rehabilitation establishment in Queensland where, between milking cows and putting in fence strainers, she’d begun to learn how to get on with other human beings, starting the long road home towards healing mind, body and soul. It was much the same journey I’d been forced to undertake years before, when I’d faced up to my alcoholism and stopped drinking. Now she lived at Malabar, in the house I’d bought after the