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The clear blue sky forced me to consider my carbon footprint. I quickly searched up the local Returned and Services League, and Google Maps said it was a twelve-minute walk from my current location to the end of River Road. It was close to four o’clock, and I already anticipated a few schooners with George. Sure enough, I found the RSL in under twelve minutes, situated at a bend in the road and nestled by a reserve that overlooked the inlet itself.
I stepped into the air conditioned cool of the reception area and signed in as a guest. A large cabinet displayed medals and artifacts from World War II, and photos with stories underneath them honoured men and women who have served in the Defence Force. I rounded the corner, found the bar, and ordered a schooner of Carlton Draught. They’d recently renovated the place. New paint glistened on the walls, and a large area housed at least thirty poker machines. I found a chair by a large window that looked out to the water, sat down, and took out my phone. With an hour to kill until George arrived, I conducted some online research and found out Sussex had a population of sixteen hundred people, the majority of which were aged over sixty, and ninety-eight percent of which were Christian.
How very vanilla.
I couldn’t find anything relating to a murder in the area for the past two decades.
I was lost in my phone when someone tapped my shoulder, and glanced up at George. ‘Sorry, mate, didn’t see you.’ I put my phone away.
He grinned. ‘You want some food or something?’
‘I’ll have some chips if you’re offering.’
He winked and made his way to the bar. He wore a light blue, collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, dark blue chinos, and heavy, steel-capped boots. He soon returned with a beer and two packets of plain Smiths chips. He sat down in the chair opposite, peeled back the foil packaging and we took turns scooping up handfuls.
I said, ‘Tough day at the office?’
‘Yeah, I need to replace the air conditioning unit on a Subaru, but the Japs put the unit behind the centre of the dashboard. Means I have to pull the whole dash out to get to it. Bloody big job.’
‘I really appreciate your time, George. Thanks for talking to me.’
‘At least you are talking to me. It’s more than that other dickhead did.’ He pointed to the folder. ‘Looks like you’ve been doing some homework?’
I nodded. ‘Just some notes.’
The sharp throbbing pain suddenly flared in my groin, forcing me to readjust my position.
George noticed and frowned. ‘Did you do a hammy, bro?’
‘No. Just something I have to get checked out.’
George nodded. ‘I hope it’s nothing serious, mate. It’s just I play squash and, the way you sat, looked like you pulled a hammy. I’ve torn my calf muscle twice, down here, and I still get these fucking annoying... what do they call them? Heel spurs? Fucking painful, mate. You play?’
‘I played squash ten years ago and, for some reason, gave it up. I hit the gym these days—free weights, rower, that sort of thing.’
I took a pull on my drink, enjoyed the crisp freshness of freshly poured tap beer, and took a moment to get a good look at George. The ‘soft’ comment from his father had a ring of truth to it.
He was blessed—or cursed—with a baby-smooth face, and the back of his neck appeared pink and free of creases. His hands, whilst grease-stained from mechanical work, were slender for someone of his build. The boy in him refused to let go wholly and completely.
‘So,’ I said. ‘Who was this other guy your father hired?’
George licked his top lip and shook his head. ‘Stupid fuckwit called Sam Mooregold. You heard of him?’
I hadn’t.
‘Private investigator from Gladesville. Total dipshit. Couldn’t tell his arse from his elbow. He poked around for a few days, then last Thursday, I think it was, Dad got a call out of the blue from this dickhead. He said there wasn’t anything he could do. Didn’t even have the common fucking decency to see my Dad face to face. Dad was fucking pissed. You should have seen him. Five grand down the drain. I had a look at his contract and it was tight. There was nothing we could do.’
I nodded sympathetically. It explained their trepidation back at the automotive business, and the intense scrutiny over my contract. I thought about the possible reasons why this Mooregold fellow packed it in. Was he a barrel scraper—an opportunist capitalising on Carmine’s misery—or did he discover something potentially dangerous? I had to remind myself that, when Carmine signed the retainer, I’d committed to possibly entering a circle of violent criminals dealing in and using ice, and I was in no position to predict their behaviour.
‘I remember you from years ago,’ George said. ‘You’ve bulked up a bit, haven’t you? You look like you could take a bloke on.’
My outer, grizzled appearance helped with business, and it felt nice to gain George’s confidence.
I took a pull on my beer. ‘I worked for a security firm, and they made me bulk up as part of the contract. I put on fifteen kilos of muscle. I got into a couple of scrapes, but nothing life threatening. Investigation work gets me into some confrontations.’
George laughed. ‘Yeah, I bet.’
I ate a handful of chips and took a long pull on my beer. ‘Tell me a bit about Rob.’
He took a big breath and looked out to the water. ‘He was a good bloke. He was just sixteen months older than I was, so we were pretty close growing up. We were both into cars and bikes, all that sort of shit, you know? We’d go riding up through the mountains on weekends on these trails. I think Dad had dreams of Rob taking over the shop at some stage. I think that’s what hit Dad the worst, you know? Rob got caught up in all this ice shit, and it fucking ruined him.’
‘Do you know anyone in Rob’s social circle who might have had it in for him?’
‘Oh, Rob loved rubbing people up the wrong way. There wasn’t a weekend where he didn’t get into a fight with someone. Throw a rock and you’ll hit a guy who had it in for him. There were a couple of blokes he didn’t get on with, one called Michael Le Mat, and some Vietnamese guy, Li Nguyen, drug runner loser who lives in Jervis Bay. I think he was mouthing off, making threats, but I don’t know. Don’t quote me on it.’
I entered the names into my phone and sipped some beer. ‘Is Michael Le Mat from around here?’
‘I think he’s in Huskisson, but no one’s seen him since Rob was killed. I think the cops are trying to track him down.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘Um, medium height, skinny like a greyhound, scruffy blond hair. He’s got a southern cross tattoo on his neck, and he’s got a rat’s tail.’
‘Did Rob have a girlfriend? A partner?’
George pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Yeah, a fiancée. I call her....’ George made quotation marks with his fingers. ‘...The Leech’. Her name’s Amanda Hotchkiss. She works in Nowra at Nicholson and Law, a tapped-out drug skank high out of her scone most days. I have absolutely no time for her. She bled Rob dry over the years.’
I asked George for her home address, and created a memo on my phone. ‘How long were they together?’
‘They met back in high school. ‘Childhood sweethearts’ and all that shit.’
‘Which school was that?’
‘Nowra High. That’s where Rob got hooked on ice.’
‘How so?’
George scooped up some of the larger chips and ate them one by one. ‘There were these guys, local dealers, selling to school kids at the back football oval. It was a big problem for a while, you know? Fuck, they reckon it’s worse now. That’s when Rob tried some. I think he was seventeen or so. And mate, it was downhill from there, you know? He just got more and more into it.’
‘Did Rob deal?’
‘Oh, here and there. I don’t know the details, but never in the street. He always transacted at home.’
‘Did Amanda and Rob live together?’
‘No, they kept their own places. I didn’t stick my nose into it too much. It was poisonous. They brought out the worst in each other. I reckon Rob didn’t trust her. Just my opinion. She was a fucking drain on him—emotionally, financially, you name it. I don’t know what he saw in her apart from a tight little arse, know what I mean? Not that she’s got much. Fucking hips like a fourteen-year-old boy.’
‘When was the last time you saw Rob?’
‘Couple of weeks ago. We hardly got together since he wanted to get stoned every day. I flat out refused to get involved in that shit. He was doing his thing and I was doing mine. That was the line in the sand for me. Well, truth be told, we had a falling out.’
‘Over what?’
‘Dad and me leant Rob some money. He was looking at some property and needed some help with the deposit. It fell through, and the developer took the money and disappeared. Twenty-two grand.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Gone. Now Amanda thinks she’s entitled to some money as a de facto. We don’t owe her a dime. I know what you’re thinking, but mate, I didn’t bash my brother’s brains in over money, all right?’
I raised my hands. ‘Yeah, absolutely. I believe you. Any idea why he was at the work site at that time of night?’
‘No idea. The only thing I can think of is the contractors had pressure to finish the job, so the foreman offered overtime. I can’t imagine Rob took him up on the offer, though. His work ethic wasn’t exactly good, so I don’t really know why Rob was there. There’s no way he would have gone back to the site after knock-off time.’
George rubbed his eyes and looked away. Then he raised his hands. ‘Look, this shit is between you and me, yeah? This doesn’t go back to the cops, okay? What I’m about to tell you is personal.’
I nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘Do me a favour? If you talk to Amanda, don’t mention me or my Dad. We had nothing but trouble from that bitch since Rob died.’
‘What we say to each other stays confidential.’
The conversation steered away from Rob, and soon we were talking about nostalgic things, memories from weddings and family functions. Time went quick, and soon George told me he had to head back to the shop to work on a mate’s car.
We shook hands.
‘Thanks for your time, George. I really appreciate it. We’ll catch up again before I leave.’
He smiled. ‘No worries, cuz.’
