15

THURSDAY MORNING at work, I was occupied with typing my name in different fonts to see which I liked best. Stella Hardy in Verdana, Stella Hardy in Traditional Arabic, Stella Hardy in Wingdings. Stella Hardy in Wingdings 2.

Since arriving at WORMS, bleary-eyed and seedy, I’d sent emails to some contacts I had in a couple of youth-housing agencies, and given them the details of the homeless girl sleeping at McDonald’s. Then I spent a good hour reading The Age online. I read stories of the post-storm clean up — some houses were still without power. Weather predictions for Cup Day were for a cold start with rain, before the sun was expected to out and blast us like an atomic bomb.

I now turned my attention to the task of locating a Mr Isaac Mortimer. If I was honest with myself, both sides of the law were as fishy as penguin breath. Frankly, I couldn’t care who got investigated; preferably the lot of them. But threats had been made against Phuong, and that changed the whole ball of wool.

I found the police media release Phuong had given me, in a crumpled ball at the bottom of my handbag.

Division Response Unit/Guns and Gangs (DRUGGs) members have arrested a man following the execution of a search warrant in Norlane today.

About $180,000 worth of drugs were seized from the Marsden Ave property and a 32-year-old Norlane man was arrested and charged with the following offences:

- one count of possessing a commercial quantity of a drug of dependence,

- one count of possessing cartridge ammunition,

- three counts of possessing an unregistered firearm,

- one count of possessing an explosive device.

Detective Sergeant Bruce Copeland said today’s operation is a reminder of the hard work being done by DRUGGs to tackle drug-related crime.

On the back, Phuong had written Mortimer’s last known address: 15 Marsden Ave, Norlane.

The girl sleeping in the toilets at McDonald’s had said to try either the Corpse Flowers clubhouse or The Ashbrook Hotel.

I opened a browser window and discovered that tonight, at The Ashbrook Hotel in Braybrook, was parma night. A pot and parma for twelve bucks. Perhaps Brophy could be convinced to leave his studio and have dinner with me. Not the parma, of course, but maybe a salad and chips, perchance a buttered roll. Isaac Mortimer went there for the gambling, not the food, if the kid in the cubicle was right. And that was a big if.

In the meantime, I could start with what I knew for certain about Mortimer: he was a dealer. It was likely he was also a user. I rang the needle exchanges and called in a couple of favours from some friends who worked there, but made little progress. And I figured a person like Mortimer would likely stick in the memory.

‘Oi!’ Boss was looking over my shoulder. Open plan offices were a modern-day tribulation. ‘The business cards arrived.’ He dropped a small box on my desk. ‘Here’s yours.’

Boss had assigned us our job titles. I had lobbied for ‘Social Worker to the Stars’ or ‘Good-Time Girl’, but he’d insisted on ‘Client Liaison Officer’.

‘Thanks. Is that all? I’m kind of busy.’

He was unimpressed. ‘Doing what?’

‘Um. Nothing. I’m all yours.’ I stuffed the business cards and the press release in my bag.

‘Afshan called. Things are getting heated with the neighbours apparently. The police have been called. Help him sort it out.’

I was concerned for Afshan, naturally, but I was also overjoyed to be getting the hell out of this place. As I was leaving, I popped my head in Boss’s office. ‘Were you aware that children are sleeping in the toilets of Macca’s for want of a bed for the night?’

He stopped typing, looked bored. ‘Are they?’

‘Yes. Is anyone doing anything about that?’

‘I’ll check my magic answer-to-everything stick and let you know.’

‘You,’ I said evenly, ‘need a holiday.’

I took the train to North Melbourne, changed to the Sunbury line, and alighted at St Albans.

Ah, St Albans, the best phở in the west, halal meat, fresh injera, frozen yoghurt, and the highest murder rate in the state. Personally, I liked the area; it had a crazy high-adrenalin atmosphere. And a high murder rate was relative, right? I pulled out my phone and read up on a few stats: 2.9 homicides per 100,000 people was the Victorian average, while 7.2 per 100,000 people was the average around here. Global average was 6.2; the average in America, 5.2.

I quickened my pace.

The way to Afshan’s house cut through the thrumming shopping district, through the supermarket car park, along a council recreation reserve, and down a street of houses that were either neat with well-tended gardens, or rubbish dumps with a couple of cars up on blocks in the front yard. On the way, I tried Afshan’s mobile, but it was turned off. His share-house was an austere weatherboard in which seven adult men lived. Two single mattresses in each of the two bedrooms, two in the dining room, and one in a covered back veranda. They took turns to cook in the tiny kitchen, but not, if I remembered correctly, to clean it.

Afshan’s house was in its usual condition — unassuming and a little untidy. The place was quiet. I couldn’t see any bicycles on the porch or in the driveway. Maybe the bikes were put away in the garage — the roller-door was down. The street was drowsy, no traffic, no parked cars. I’d come this far, I reasoned, so I went up and twisted the doorbell gizmo. Soon, I heard stomping in the hall.

Shahid, a newcomer to the household, opened the door in his slippers and closed his eyes as he nodded me inside. His dark hair was freshly combed, the lines still visible. ‘Dude, welcome. What are you doing here, man?’

‘I heard the police were here,’ I said, a little taken aback.

‘The cops have totally gone, dude.’

‘Is Afshan home?’

‘No, no. He is visiting the neighbour. This lady, her cat was on fire, and she blames us. We would never. Afshan tells her, and the police, it wasn’t us. There is a dude in the street who is very, what is the word?’

‘Weird?’

‘Yes. He is weird.’

‘Psychopath?’

‘Maybe. For now, say weird.’

False alarm then. I was relieved, not that cat burning was acceptable. The idea shocked me. Although, I was more of a dog person. Cats baffled me. I found them grandiose and capricious. I made allowances for Brophy’s cat; Aragorn was pleasant enough.

‘Afshan will be back soon,’ Shahid said. ‘Come, you can watch a movie with me while you wait. Watching movies helps my English.’ He shuffled in his slippers to the back of the house where the TV was paused. I picked up the case: The Big Lebowski. That explained a lot.

Afshan came home just as The Dude wrapped up the mystery.

‘Nice timing. Cat lady okay?’ I asked.

‘She is still upset. But she believes me, no-one in this house would do such a thing.’

‘Are you in trouble?’

His face was serious. ‘Nothing you can help me with.’

‘You’d be surprised. I can be very helpful. Quite helpful.’

‘No.’

‘Okay. I’ll get going.’

‘I’ll walk you to the station,’ Afshan said.

Shahid jangled some keys at me. ‘We can drive you to anywhere you want to go.’

‘In what?’

‘He’s bought an old delivery van. Very cheap. Now he makes a little money driving people and make some deliveries. Black market money.’ Afshan winked at me.

‘Maybe another time.’

Afshan and I walked through the supermarket car park, where a high school punch-on was underway, in front of a small crowd, all recording it on their phones.

He put out his hand and we shook. A breeze swirled the plastic bags along Main Road West.

‘You and Shahid want to have dinner with me tonight? I’m going to The Ashbrook.’

He smiled. ‘No, thank you. We are going bowling.’

‘What? You liked it then?’

‘Yes, it’s very relaxing.’

I left him and walked through the shopping strip. I bought a copy of Blood Diamond at one of the last video shops in existence. Later, as I waited for my train, I thought about the cat. I didn’t even know the poor creature and I was upset about it. Come on, St Albans, you can do better than that. And a murder rate of 7.2. I checked my phone again. Murder rates in specific US cities: Baltimore, 34.9; New Orleans, 53.2; Detroit, 54.6.

I started to calm down. St Albans was a model of community safety and peace.