The Broken Shore Page #4

- Take your pants off for that, do ya?

Kiss with your bum?

You married, Allan?

- Sort of.

- Sort of?

They got that now, do they?

You do a sort of ceremony

in a kind of church?

Did he threaten you, love?

Did he force you into anything?

- Want to make a complaint?

- No, nothing.

Please, I don't want any trouble.

Alright. Wait here.

Taking a risk, aren't ya?

Stacey Drouin?

Steve Drouin's niece, isn't it?

Please don't tell them. Please, alright?

They will f***ing kill me.

Please.

She's... She's been

coming onto me day and night, mate.

- Well, she's only human, isn't she?

- That's right.

Allan, I'm going to put an alert out

on your van.

So you come to Port Monro again,

you do it to build.

Not to root barely legal kids. We clear?

- Crystal clear.

- Good. Piss off.

- How's your nana?

- Yeah, she's OK.

Yeah? You mind waiting for me

in the car?

- Yeah?

- I went down your way once.

I hear the surfies call Port Monro

Blue Balls Coast.

- It's cold enough.

- Listen, Joe, this Bourgoyne thing.

Commissioner tells me

she wants it handled by proper cops.

Apparently, the stepdaughter's

some Labor Party lawyer.

Who f***ing microwaved the pies?

You don't microwave pies'. Jesus.

- I want you on this.

- Well, hang on, you're...

You're forgetting I'm the cripple

running Port Monro now.

Joe, we're in the middle of a gang war

and all my people are currently

committed to the pointless task

of trying to find which particular prick

killed some other prick

for whose death

we should be eternally grateful.

You're still a member of Homicide.

Mate, your partner's dead and buried.

Not your fault. It's time to move on.

- Forensics come up with anything?

- Very useful. He got bashed.

Alarm was off, no break-ins,

no strange DNA

and one wanker watch missing.

It's a homicide.

The old boy died three hours ago.

- What about Cromarty? Hopgood?

- They're not Homicide, mate. You are.

You're the best man to lead this.

Mental health sabbatical over.

Look, I want you to have a chat to

the stepdaughter, Ms Erica Bourgoyne.

- How's Singo?

- Go and visit him.

Go and sit and stare at

the hospital wall for a couple of hours.

John Jacobs, Orton Private Security.

I look after Ms Bourgoyne.

We're going to need to see some ID.

Doesn't really work that way, John.

I'll ask the questions, mate.

Right now I'll get you to wait out here.

This is a crime scene.

Ms Bourgoyne, I'm Joe Cashin.

I'm very sorry for your loss.

Um... let's make this

as quick as possible.

Of course.

Did your father keep money

on the property?

My stepfather? I... I don't know.

You don't notice anything

out of place here, do you?

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