his predecessor, a useless Pom from Liverpool who left suddenly for a job in Canada.
‘A joke, Stephen,’ said Barry.
Villani nodded, humbly he hoped. He noticed a white substance on the side of his left shoe. Birdshit? Please, God, not something from Oakleigh.
‘This election. Now I’m no expert on local politics but I’m told there could be changes coming, people moving around. That’s likely.’ He stared at Villani. ‘We could work well together, you and me. A team. What’s your feeling?’
‘I think we could, boss.’ Villani had no idea what he meant.
‘Can I advise a bit of an investment in presentation? It’s important. Couple of new suits. Dark grey. Shirts. Light blue, cotton, buy half a dozen. And ties. Red, silk, Jacquard silk. Black shoes, toecaps. Good for morale, shoes, the women know that.’
Villani thought it best to say nothing.
‘Now I haven’t offended?’ said Barry.
‘No, boss.’
‘I’m looking out for you, Stephen.’
‘I appreciate that.’
‘Good. So Oakleigh, we need a result, that’s the ticket. Your clearance rate overall needs a boost.’
‘Boss.’
The clearance rate was all luck. A decent run of domestics gone sad, pissed fights, gatecrash stabbings, gang bashings, fatal clashes among the homeless and hopeless—easy, you could clear the lot inside a week or two, it looked pretty good, efficient.
‘And the Prosilio woman? What’s happening there?’
‘Making progress in identifying her. A lot of work done. Yes.’
‘Good, good. Keep me posted on anything I should know, won’tyou?’ said Barry, raised his hands, made pistols, brought the muzzles together. ‘Directly.’
‘I will, boss.’
‘And I don’t think we need to refer to Prosilio. There’s a degree of sensitivity about that too. With me?’
‘Boss.’
Rising in the building’s intestine, air like dry-cleaning fluid, Villani thought of lying down on a hard bed in a cool, dim room, pulling up his knees and going to sleep. His mobile rang.
‘Tentative conclusions,’ said Moxley. ‘Man near entrance is shot in the head at close range from behind. The other two, multiple stab wounds, genitals severed, other injuries. Also head and pubic hair ignited, shot, muzzle in mouth. Three bullets recovered, 45 calibre.’
‘So you can’t rule out an accident?’ said Villani.
‘Any other questions?’
‘Time. Not a problem on television, the cops get answers,’ said Villani. ‘Up to speed on modern forensics, professor?’
‘No more than twelve hours.’
‘That’s something, I suppose.’
‘May I say how much I miss the professionalism of Inspector Singleton?’ said Moxley. ‘Goodbye.’
VILLANI SAT at his desk and the phone rang.
‘Mr Searle, boss.’
‘Okay.’
‘Steve, mate,’ Searle said. ‘Mate, I’d love to be first call on stuff like Oakleigh. Just someone give me a buzz. You know we never sleep.’
‘There’s a long queue for first call,’ said Villani. ‘Why don’t you take it up with my superiors? As I plan to take up the issue of the strange treatment of the Prosilio murder on fucking Crime Stoppers.’
Searle whistled. ‘Steady on, that’s a bit hostile.’
‘As intended,’ said Villani.
‘Right. I’ll move on.’
‘Giving me an explanation or what?’
‘Some misunderstanding, that’s all I can say,’ said Searle. ‘I take it Oakleigh will go to Crucible?’
‘Don’t you know a homicide when you see one?’
‘Okay, okay. Huge story like this, I suggest I embed Cathy Wynn with you. Everything run by you, of course, you’re in total control.’
Singo had hated Searle. ‘Mongrels, every last fucking Searle,’ he said when he heard of Geoff Searle’s appointment. ‘This prick’s the runt of the litter.’
‘Embed?’ said Villani. ‘Emfuckingbed?’
‘I can promise you will be happy with the result. And the process. Absolutely no downside. At all.’
‘Over my dead body.’
‘Right. That’s fine. Respect your
‘A joke, Stephen,’ said Barry.
Villani nodded, humbly he hoped. He noticed a white substance on the side of his left shoe. Birdshit? Please, God, not something from Oakleigh.
‘This election. Now I’m no expert on local politics but I’m told there could be changes coming, people moving around. That’s likely.’ He stared at Villani. ‘We could work well together, you and me. A team. What’s your feeling?’
‘I think we could, boss.’ Villani had no idea what he meant.
‘Can I advise a bit of an investment in presentation? It’s important. Couple of new suits. Dark grey. Shirts. Light blue, cotton, buy half a dozen. And ties. Red, silk, Jacquard silk. Black shoes, toecaps. Good for morale, shoes, the women know that.’
Villani thought it best to say nothing.
‘Now I haven’t offended?’ said Barry.
‘No, boss.’
‘I’m looking out for you, Stephen.’
‘I appreciate that.’
‘Good. So Oakleigh, we need a result, that’s the ticket. Your clearance rate overall needs a boost.’
‘Boss.’
The clearance rate was all luck. A decent run of domestics gone sad, pissed fights, gatecrash stabbings, gang bashings, fatal clashes among the homeless and hopeless—easy, you could clear the lot inside a week or two, it looked pretty good, efficient.
‘And the Prosilio woman? What’s happening there?’
‘Making progress in identifying her. A lot of work done. Yes.’
‘Good, good. Keep me posted on anything I should know, won’tyou?’ said Barry, raised his hands, made pistols, brought the muzzles together. ‘Directly.’
‘I will, boss.’
‘And I don’t think we need to refer to Prosilio. There’s a degree of sensitivity about that too. With me?’
‘Boss.’
Rising in the building’s intestine, air like dry-cleaning fluid, Villani thought of lying down on a hard bed in a cool, dim room, pulling up his knees and going to sleep. His mobile rang.
‘Tentative conclusions,’ said Moxley. ‘Man near entrance is shot in the head at close range from behind. The other two, multiple stab wounds, genitals severed, other injuries. Also head and pubic hair ignited, shot, muzzle in mouth. Three bullets recovered, 45 calibre.’
‘So you can’t rule out an accident?’ said Villani.
‘Any other questions?’
‘Time. Not a problem on television, the cops get answers,’ said Villani. ‘Up to speed on modern forensics, professor?’
‘No more than twelve hours.’
‘That’s something, I suppose.’
‘May I say how much I miss the professionalism of Inspector Singleton?’ said Moxley. ‘Goodbye.’
VILLANI SAT at his desk and the phone rang.
‘Mr Searle, boss.’
‘Okay.’
‘Steve, mate,’ Searle said. ‘Mate, I’d love to be first call on stuff like Oakleigh. Just someone give me a buzz. You know we never sleep.’
‘There’s a long queue for first call,’ said Villani. ‘Why don’t you take it up with my superiors? As I plan to take up the issue of the strange treatment of the Prosilio murder on fucking Crime Stoppers.’
Searle whistled. ‘Steady on, that’s a bit hostile.’
‘As intended,’ said Villani.
‘Right. I’ll move on.’
‘Giving me an explanation or what?’
‘Some misunderstanding, that’s all I can say,’ said Searle. ‘I take it Oakleigh will go to Crucible?’
‘Don’t you know a homicide when you see one?’
‘Okay, okay. Huge story like this, I suggest I embed Cathy Wynn with you. Everything run by you, of course, you’re in total control.’
Singo had hated Searle. ‘Mongrels, every last fucking Searle,’ he said when he heard of Geoff Searle’s appointment. ‘This prick’s the runt of the litter.’
‘Embed?’ said Villani. ‘Emfuckingbed?’
‘I can promise you will be happy with the result. And the process. Absolutely no downside. At all.’
‘Over my dead body.’
‘Right. That’s fine. Respect your
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