An Iron Rose by Peter Temple

we go, drillin halfway to the hot place, fifty bucks a metre. Two holes bone dry, third one a little piddle comes out, takes half an hour to fill the dog bowl. Still cry when I think about it.’
     
    Flannery was in one of the sheds working under the hood of a Holden ute by the light of a portable hand lamp. The vehicle was covered in stickers saying things like Toot to Root and Emergency Sex Vehicle and Bulk Sperm Carrier.
     
    ‘ My cousin’s boy’s,’ he said. ‘Virgin vehicle. Never had a girl in it.’
     
    ‘I can see he’s waiting for someone special,’ I said. ‘Listen, you know of Ned ever going around asking for jobs?’
     
    Flannery was wiping his large hands on his jumper, a garment that qualified as a natural oil resource. ‘Ned? Ask for a job? You smokin something?’
     
    ‘Second question. He ever talk about a doctor called Ian Barbie?’
     
    ‘What’s this? Doctor? Ned wouldn’t know a doctor from a brown dog.’
     
    I looked into the engine. ‘Dirty.’
     
    ‘Clean inside that matters,’ Flannery said. ‘Let’s go a beer. Got some in this little fridge over here, bought it off Mick.’
     
    ‘I can see the dent.’
     
    ‘What dent?’
     
    ‘Dent it got falling off the truck.’
     

The perfect is the enemy of the good. Making knives would be easy if all you wanted was a good knife. But you don’t. You want a perfect knife. And so, in the endless grinding and filing and fitting and buffing, the mind has plenty of time to dwell. Today, moist Irish day, sky the colour of sugar in suspension, I dwelt on Brendan Burrow’s parting words. All I wanted from Brendan were the details of Ian Barbie’s suicide. And then he said: The Lefroy thing. Heard Bianchi was in that pub in Deer Park one day around then. And I said: Yes? And he said: Mance was there too.
    Mance was there too.
     
    The feeling of missing a step, of walking into a glass door, of being shaken from deep sleep. With Bianchi? At the same time as Bianchi? I knew the answer. Just before noon, I finished polishing a small paring knife and the dog and I went over to the office.
     
    The file was at the back of the cabinet, not looked at for years. I sat down at the table and took out the record of interview. I didn’t want to read it again. I read it.
     
RECORD OF INTERVIEW
DATE: 5 June 1994.
TIME COMMENCED: 3.10 pm.
TIME TERMINATED: 3.25 pm.
NAME: MacArthur John Faraday, Detective Senior Sergeant, Australian Federal Police.
OFFICERS PRESENT: Colin Arthur Payne, Inspector, Australian Federal Police. Wayne Ronald Rapsey, Detective Inspector, Internal Affairs Division, Australian Federal Police. Joseph Musca, Detective Inspector, Victoria Police.
SUBJECT: Matters relating to the surveillance of Howard James Lefroy.
D-I RAPSEY: For the record, this is a resumption of the interview with Detective Faraday terminated at five forty-five pm yesterday. Detective, do you have anything to add to your statements yesterday?
DSS FARADAY: No. Sir.
D-I RAPSEY: I want to go over a few things. The decision to wait for Howard Lefroy to dispose of the heroin. You made it.
DSS FARADAY: Yes.
D-I RAPSEY: Did you inform your superiors that Lefroy was in possession of the heroin?
DSS FARADAY: No.
D-I RAPSEY: Why was that?
DSS FARADAY: I was afraid it would jeopardise the operation.
D-I RAPSEY: Reporting something to your superior officer would jeopardise an operation. Serious statement, detective.
DSS FARADAY: Yes, sir. As I said last time and the time before, it was not my superior officer I was worried about but other officers.
D-I RAPSEY: Equally serious. What was your reason for waiting?
DSS FARADAY: I believed Lefroy was dealing with a top-level distributor. We had no idea who. Just take Lefroy out, some other importer takes his place. Nail everyone at the pick-up, we at least have a chance of finding out who’s buying. Small chance, but a chance.
D-I RAPSEY: You say you discussed this with Inspector Scully.
DSS FARADAY: I told him.