Crooked by Camilla Nelson Page A

chase down the last of the witnesses in the O’Conner case, wind up the paperwork. He’s got to see Allan later tonight.’

    Gus left Agostini at the Corinthian and set off along the pavement. He had extracted no comfort from the morning’s conversation, and though he still attempted to convince himself that his friend was wrong-headed, he found that no matter how he arranged his thoughts – in squares or in circles – he couldn’t abandon some feelings of doubt.
    â€˜What was Agostini rabbiting on about in there?’ said Pigeye, tossing Gus the keys to the car.
    â€˜Nothing,’ said Gus. ‘The usual,’ he added, climbing in.
    â€˜Let me give you a piece of advice. Don’t hang around with Agostini as much as you do. The other coppers at CIB don’t think very much of him. Now Tanner’s got a high opinion of you, and that’s enough to keep you on side with the rest of the squad. But you don’t want to waste it, hanging around with the wrong sort of element.’ Pigeye glanced sideways to make certain that Gus caught his meaning.
    â€˜Sure,’ said Gus, eventually, with heightened colour.
    â€˜Good for you,’ said Pigeye, seeming satisfied.
    But the words only caused Gus’s face to redden further. He knew he should’ve rushed to the defence of his friend. For the first time in his life he was thoroughly ashamed of himself.
    Gus eased the unmarked out into the traffic, heading onto the Cahill Expressway and over the Bridge. He drove up the Pacific Highway, past rows of used car yards, mechanics’ garages, plumbing and electrical supply stores, before veering off themain road into the green, leafy suburbs. The day wore itself away in the grinding of shoe leather as witnesses were tracked down, re-interviewed, and crossed off the list. The heat gathered, melted and floated away, and a soft-yellow dusk was falling as they came back into town.
    Gus threaded the unmarked through the William Street traffic, then swung right into a shabby cul-de-sac of pink stucco and purple brick apartments. An early moon rode low in the sky above the ridge of the buildings, and a soft tang of moist leaves hung in the air. Gus drew up alongside a clump of garbage cans, and peered through the windscreen. ‘Who’s next?’
    â€˜Thought you’d recognise the place. We’re going to see Dolly Brennan, Harry’s mate.’
    â€˜Dolly is a witness?’ Gus gave a start of surprise.
    But Pigeye didn’t seem to notice. He swallowed the warm remains of his hamburger, and disgorged from the car.
    Gus trailed Pigeye up the footpath. The flat building was grown over with bougainvillea and fronted by a rusty iron gate that had dropped off its hinges. The place was dark, but here and there above the tangle of night-blackened branches a window shone brightly, illuminating the red-washed cement path that led to the door. A series of bells nestled in a splatter of crazy wiring by the entrance. Gus read, ‘Bobby two rings’, ‘Zelda three rings’, and ‘Horn for Sale, $25. Flat six’. The bottom bell said, ‘Brennan’. Gus pushed it.
    Dolly was standing in the doorway a few seconds later. ‘Well, if it isn’t Harry’s little friend.’
    Dolly was dressed in a pair of green silk pyjamas and feathered mules. Her face was brittle with make-up, her hair piled up on her head. She was wearing fake lashes.
    Gus cleared his throat. ‘Detective Donaldson and I would like to ask you a couple of questions. May we come in?’
    Dolly’s face registered a fleeting look of discomfort. But she opened the door and they followed her to the end of the hall.There was a telephone in an alcove at the foot of the stairs. The sign tacked above it read, ‘Pay First in Office. Thank You’.
    Dolly stepped down onto the lower landing, unlocked a door and drew them inside. The apartment was crammed with odd bits