‘I know,’ said Mack. ‘I’m sorry. It won’t be forever.’

‘Can you come with me?’

‘I don’t think they’ll let me,’ said Mackerel.

The ambulance pulled up, and a paramedic climbed out. The detectives walked to meet her.

Forest stood up, letting the blanket drop. ‘I’m not going without Mackerel,’ he called.

‘I’m sorry, but he can’t leave,’ De Corrado called back. ‘He’s got a curfew.’

‘Then I’m not going,’ said Forest, sitting back down.

‘How about if I come, boy?’ said Ahab. He stood under the corner of the roof, smoking a cigarette, the end glowing red in the dark of the night. ‘Would that be okay?’

Forest stayed silent.

‘He’s safe, Forest,’ said Mackerel. ‘You can trust Ahab.’

Forest pulled himself back to his feet. He looked at Mackerel one more time, then stepped into the ambulance. Ahab nodded back to Mack, grateful, and the ambulance took off.

Detective Smith went to his unmarked car and followed after the ambulance, a police light flashing in the windshield. Why was he going? Surely they weren’t going to question Forest tonight?

Everything was making him unreasonably mad, and the alcohol was wearing off, pain returning to his knee.

De Corrado and Linda tried to escort Mackerel back into the lounge room, but his temper was fraying.

‘I’m going to bed,’ he said.

‘I want to know why Forest was here,’ said De Corrado.

‘Because he heard about Davey and wanted to be with family!’ Mackerel’s voice rose.

‘I doubt that,’ said Linda. ‘Why would he come to you?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You need a night in the cells to cool off?’ retorted Linda.

‘You owe us answers,’ said De Corrado.

‘I owe you nothing!’ Mackerel was shouting now. ‘You think you can just walk into my home, piss-test me, humiliate me, ship my nephew off to somewhere he doesn’t want to go, and talk to me like I’m scum beneath your boot? Threaten to lock me up? My brother just died!’ He addressed that last comment to Linda. ‘You boys in blue are the biggest gang on the planet. You think you own the fucking world!’

‘Don’t use that tone with us, Mackerel,’ she warned.

‘I’ll use whatever fucking tone I fucking like!’ shouted Mackerel, feeling his old self creeping back. The one who’d walked the streets of Brisbane in expensive clothes and made a mockery of the police every chance he got. He’d never forget all those off-the-record interviews, in the back of cop cars or the stations, where they turned the cameras off and gave him a good bashing to get their own back. ‘Fuck off, pigs. I’m going to bed.’

He made to slam the front door in their faces, but paused when he caught De Corrado’s eye.

‘Except for you,’ he muttered. ‘Sorry.’

Then he slammed the door.