‘All right. Okay. I get it. Yes. In an ideal world we wait for forensics. Point taken. But the living are worth protecting, too, Cardilini.’ Robinson adjusted a pen on his desk before asking, ‘How’s your boy doing?’

‘What? Oh. Pain in the arse,’ Cardilini replied.

‘Working?’

‘No.’

‘Would he still be keen on going to the academy?’

‘He would, why?’

‘Just interest,’ Robinson replied.

‘I didn’t think they would consider him now,’ Cardilini said, puzzled.

‘Of course . . . the right word . . .’ Robinson nodded his head slightly to indicate it could happen.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. He would be starting next year.’

‘Are you bloody kidding me?’ Cardilini sat forward eagerly.

‘No. It was always on the cards.’

‘But he stuffed up?’

‘The right word, Cardilini, can change a lot of things. You know that.’

‘Yeah, but I just thought . . .’

‘Anyway. I’ll leave that to you and Paul to discuss. It’s a great chance. Try not to blow it, Cardilini.’

‘So, what does that mean?’

‘Nothing. You’ve got a job to do. Get on with it.’ Robinson pulled a file towards him, ‘And don’t forget Salt, we want him to get a real sense of how things work. Mentor him.’

‘I’m the last person to mentor anyone.’

Robinson replied dismissively, ‘Do your job, Cardilini. I want a report, Thursday. Forty-eight hours. Now, I’ll catch you later. And take Salt’s notes.’

Cardilini left the super’s office confused.

‘Did he chew your balls, Cardilini?’ Bishop yelled as Cardilini walked past.

‘Paul could get into the academy,’ a troubled Cardilini replied.

‘I’ll be buggered,’ Bishop declared.

At his desk Cardilini drew a diagram of his own from Salt’s notes and stuffed it into his pocket.

ELEVEN

Day 2

Kilkenny Road

9.15 p.m. Monday, 26th October 1965

When Cardilini arrived home from the pub his sister, Roslyn, and Paul were sitting in the lounge watching television.

‘Robert.’ Roslyn stood, smoothing her apron. ‘We’ve already eaten. We rang the office but they didn’t know where you were.’

Paul stood to face his father, ‘Yes, they did. But they didn’t say. You bloody know Aunty Roslyn cooks tonight.’

‘Hey. Paul. Hey, mate.’

‘You’ve been to the pub,’ Paul said bitterly, ‘You’re a bloody drunk.’

‘Paul,’ Roslyn chastised.

‘What, Aunty? He’s not a drunk?’

Cardilini put his hand up as though to ward off an attack, ‘I did. I had a drink. I need to sit down and think.’

‘You . . .’ Paul clamped his mouth shut and left the room.

‘Paul, please. Please come back.’ Roslyn called.

‘Forget him. Ungrateful little . . .’ Cardilini stopped, disappointed with himself, and called, ‘Hey, Paul, I got something to tell you.’ A door slammed. Cardilini stood awkwardly.

Roslyn observed him for a moment before turning to the kitchen, ‘I’ll heat your dinner.’

‘Will you stay for a bit? It’s much better between Paul and me if you’re here.’

‘No. I can’t stay. It’s late,’ she said disappearing into the kitchen.

‘You going out?’ Cardilini called after a pause.