Drainland (Tunnel Island Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

uniform sleeves. He was O’Conner . She remembered that name; O’Conner was the cop from the phone.
    The last guy shot himself.
    O’Conner spoke first. “Romano? What’s that, Italian?”
    “Something like that,” she said.
    “The whole house has been anticipating your arrival. The whole service, both of us even, have been real, real excited,” said the other one.
    They sat there and smirked.
    “That’s ah…You going to let me in or what?”
    Chandler sighed. “Step round to your left there.” A door opened into a small antechamber. Chandler pushed out his huge hand, introducing himself as a Senior Constable. “I’ll give you the tour if you want?”
    “Lead the way.”
    As they passed, Romano stopped at the counter room where the other one still sat.
    “I’m Denny,” he said. “Welcome to the end of the line, baby.”
    “Thanks.”
    Chandler pushed open a wide timber door and they stepped out into a courtyard. A sheltered corridor lined four walls, surrounding a neat green lawn.
    “Jeez, it’s still coming down, aye,” said Chandler, putting a hand out to catch the rain. “Been wet lately. Doesn’t usually do this. Where you from?”
    “Melbourne.”
    “Never liked the place. Too cold,” said Chandler. “Now, see this, this is all us. It’s an old convict goal house. This is where the boys did their exercise back in the day.” He waved a hand across the yard. “Now we’re stuck here.” Chandler continued on around the interior corridor, talking her through the building’s history, its ghosts, the prisoners executed out back, and so on, before moving along to a long building abutting the whole left side of the property. They went in. The interior of the building had been gutted and was lined with case files. “This is where the bodies are buried.”
    Romano scanned labels: old homicides, financial investigations, fraud cases, a huge collection of vice records, most of it dating back to the seventies and eighties. Pre-Fitzgerald.
    “If we’re talking official duties, this is where Denny and I are supposed to spend most of our time. But keeping this garbage in order, it’s a waste of time.”
    “Are they digitising it?”
    “Christ, no. No one wants this going anywhere. This is over here so none of that happens.” Chandler took her out to an adjoining building, a small chamber divided by glass partitions into five discrete offices. “This is us,” he said. “Though Denny and I don’t spend much time out here either. That’s you.” He opened the door of one of the offices. She had a desk and a chair. No phone. No computer. Years of dust covered every surface. “Computer’s on order,” he said. “Should be here in a few weeks.”
    “Why are you and Denny on counter duty?”
    Chandler laughed. “Look around.” He walked down the building and out another door, back into the courtyard. “Now, the holding cells, booking, and evidence are all out there, through that corridor down back, behind us. There’s no one out there at the moment. And over there”—he pointed at the rear of the building that housed the reception—“Actually, you should come and put your head in here. You don’t need to worry about any of these guys, but it’s good to see for yourself.”
    Chandler took a thin passage off the courtyard to a closed fire door. Once there, he knocked loudly, then stepped inside. At the front of the room there were two open plan areas: a set of lounges with a widescreen television on one side, a full kitchen on the other. Three uniformed officers, all men, sat at a small kitchen table playing cards.
    “Who’s this, then?” said one of the men, more interested in his hand.
    “Old Bill’s replacement,” said Chandler.
    “Christ,” said one of them. “’bout bloody time.”
    A man across from him looked at Romano. “You play bridge?”
    “No,” she said.
    He turned back to their game.
    Chandler started off down the room and she followed. Behind the kitchen was