Who Killed Jimbo Jameson? by Kerrie McNamara

from Marco, which I almost didn’t open because I couldn’t bear the thought of hearing what a wonderful time he and Gemma were having in Italy.

    To: Maddie Griffiths
    From: Marco Maiolo
    Subject: Jameson
    Hey Mad,
    Just a quickie between quickies and lunch. I’m getting too old for all this romantic bullshit. That woman is determined to exhaust me, so I sent her out to buy some more shoes. I’m getting too old for all this togetherness.
    There’s a connection between the murder in Melbourne and Jimbo’s. [Oh yeah, I thought.That murder where my key witness was killed. That murder that led to a cancellation of my holiday in Broome.] A connection somewhere. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there. Jameson had a daughter with Fleur Le Fraise. French. Her name’s Dominique, and she’s best friends with Giuseppe Napoli’s daughter, Maria. They were at school in Switzerland together, and they’re as thick as thieves. Literally. It seems that they cleaned up in San Tropez last year, but no-one was game enough to complain because of the Napoli family. Papa Napoli is old-style Mafioso, and most indulgent and protective of his little girl. He is supposedly retired, but there are three sons, Paolo, Leo and Aldo, and they are definitely in the family business. Paolo is the heir apparent. He’s the eldest.
    I hear that the two girls are in Australia, so perhaps they’ll turn up at the funeral.
    Ciao for now.
    Marco

    Interesting.

chapter seventeen.
    Point Frederick is on the Brisbane Waters just outside of Gosford. It’s a curious area: the original fibro houses are rapidly being replaced by waterfront mansions complete with private wharves, and medium-density townhouses and McMansions are taking over the back streets. I suppose it’s where you want to live if you grew up in East Gosford, which is just round the corner.
    We were early for our interview with Vanessa Blake, so we took the opportunity to walk around the foreshores near the footy stadium. According to Boo, Jimbo had met the Pole-Dancer at The Thirsty Crow, a waterfront restaurant opposite the footy stadium that morphs into a nightclub after 9pm.
    But the sky was clear and the sun just warm enough and the clean salty air was a change from the city, and it was hard to tear ourselves away from the pelicans.
    Vanessa lived in a waterfront apartment block right on the point. Ground floor, private garden. The block was white with lots of glass, and there was a waterfall next to the security intercom. Pole-dancing must pay well, or perhaps the tips are very good if you’re very bad.
    We were welcomed into a sunny, airy living room that was actually lived in. There were books scattered around a laptop on a coffee table, books on the floor, books stacked on side tables. A child’s scooter was propped against the kitchen wall, next to a single sneaker, and a My Littlest Pet Shop was set up on the kitchen table. The fridge was covered in stickers, magnets, tuck-shop lists and paintings.
    â€œPlease, come on through. I’m Vanessa, but call me Vinnie. Inn’t it a beautiful day? I’ve just made some tea – would ya like some? Or would ya prefer coffee? Let’s sit outside.” She kicked the sneaker out of the way, and walked out onto a paved terrace that led to a small lawn edged by a glass fence. Three pelicans looked up expectantly and waddled along the wharf towards us. If this is heaven, I’m ready to die, I thought.
    Vanessa Blake was bleached blonde with dark roots. Very thin. Huge boobs. Trout pout. Yesterday’s make-up running down her cheeks. Not a good look, but the tits were amazing. “Please, sit down while I get ya somefink to drink.” Jack might have been enjoying the view, but her voice was nasally strident.
    We sat around a weathered teak table until Vanessa brought out a tray holding three mugs,a plate of Double-Dipped Tim Tams, a box of Kleenex and a