He persisted with his aggrieved, bloody-minded attitude at the police station that evening. Achilles and a policeman sat in a first-floor room with no door and a sink. Crates of old newspapers along one wall. The policeman asked about the funeral, yet to be held. He enquired about Valia, if Achilles knew where she now resided (he didn’t).

‘But what you must do is find the person who killed Penelope,’ said Achilles. ‘What can you tell me?’

‘I want to ask you that question, Mr Achilles … Your last name is unpronounceable.’

‘No, what happens is you do the police work. My daughter is dead. She had a German friend, a man called Walter something. Start there.’

‘Canberra police have already questioned Walter Schüller. He was in Bega that night.’

‘Where? Suspicious! You go question him.’

‘Tell me about your insurance policy,’ said the policeman. He gave the impression that he knew when someone was trying to put one over him.

‘It’s with Scott and Roberts Insurers.’

‘What will you do with the money if the company pays out? They might not like the claim. Are you aware of the term “Greek Lightning”?’

‘I don’t accept that term.’

‘How did the fire start, you reckon?’

‘You tell me the answer! What kind of police are you? Do you work here? This is wasting time!’ said Achilles.

‘We think the fire was deliberately lit. Did you burn down the Achillion?’

‘Don’t ask me that.’

‘Did you pay another person to burn down the cafe? To be clear: I’m not accusing you of murdering your daughter. Perhaps someone you know lit the fire, for insurance purposes, but no one expected anyone to get hurt. Is that right? Mistakes happen, Mr Achilles.’

‘A few months ago I threw out some customers. Maybe I got too rough on these men. They might be responsible for burning down the cafe. Almost three months back, it was.’

‘That’s a long time. But we’ll look into it.’

‘Maybe they waited. Maybe they let time pass so we wouldn’t suspect them. Here, I can describe these men for you.’

‘We’ll get you some paper.’

‘Let me say this: if don’t you find who started the fire, I will kill someone,’ said Achilles, his voice rising. ‘Maybe even a policeman.’

‘I think we’d better put you in a cell until you calm down.’

Achilles stood, raised his fists and settled his feet: ‘You what? Ella, you son of a bitchy!’

They handcuffed Achilles and pushed him against the room’s brick wall, pressing on his chest until he fainted.

The police removed his shoes and wallet and worry beads and put him in a cell for the night. Before falling asleep, he was solely occupied in working out descriptions of those customers he’d attacked months earlier at the Achillion. He dreamed of Penelope walking in Centennial Park, where he took the girls one Christmas Day in wartime.

9.