ROSS shakes his head.

His young sister was raped by a pack of bikies a few years before. At least that’s what he was told, although personally I think there was something a bit fishy there too; but nevertheless the point is, Ross, that if he’d only confided in me it would never have happened. I would have been on the alert. Do you understand now why I have to know these things about you?

ROSS nods.

What does your father do?

ROSS: [sullen] He works for an undertaker. He makes coffins.

SIMMONDS: [trying to suppress his laughter] Coffin maker, eh? What’s wrong with that? What’s bloody wrong with that? I mean where would we be without coffin makers? Building a box to die in is every bit as important to the community as building a box to live in, in my estimation. Probably a bloody good craftsman to boot. People won’t tolerate a shoddy coffin, I can tell you that. Jerry-built houses—okay; but not a shoddy coffin. Why the hell were you ashamed of telling me that?

ROSS: I wasn’t ashamed. I just didn’t want to tell you.

SIMMONDS: Why? Because he deals with the dead?

ROSS: [indignantly] No.

SIMMONDS: [insistent] Because he deals with the dead?

ROSS: [sharply] No.

SIMMONDS: Everyone doesn’t see the world the same way as you do, Ross. That’s one of the first things you’ve got to learn. Everyone doesn’t think there’s something odd about a man who makes coffins. Hardly anyone thinks that. It’s just a quirk of your mind, boy.

ROSS: [sullen] I just didn’t want to talk about him.

SIMMONDS: You’ve got your problems, haven’t you? Bit touchy about certain things, eh?

SIMMONDS stares thoughtfully at ROSS and doesn’t at first notice that two young women have entered the station. The elder of the two, KATE MASON, is more expensively dressed and more elegant than her younger sister, FIONA CARTER; but FIONA has an easy and innocent sensuality about her that is most attractive and takes the edge from her sister’s more conventional beauty. KATE tends to be tense and affected. FIONA is more relaxed and natural. The two policemen notice them. SIMMONDS scrutinises them. There is a pause.

Well. What can I do for you, ladies?

KATE: [smiling] My sister and I have come to report an offence, Sergeant. SIMMONDS: [pulling a notepad indolently towards himself as he studies her] Names?

KATE: I’m Kate Mason and this is my sister, Fiona Carter.

SIMMONDS: [writing this down] All right, ladies. [Grinning lecherously] Let’s have it.

KATE: We’ve come to report an offence.

SIMMONDS: Against person or property, as they say?

KATE: Against my sister.

SIMMONDS: I see. What was the nature of this offence, Mrs [checking the notepad] Carter?

FIONA: [calmly, matter of fact] I was beaten by my husband.

SIMMONDS: [putting down his pen and looking at ROSS] Ross. This is Mrs Mason and this is Mrs Carter. Ladies, this is Constable Ross. He’s just arrived from training school. I wonder if you’d mind if Constable Ross handled your case? Not because I think it’s trivial, in fact just the reverse. I want Ross to get his teeth stuck into something substantial as early as possible. I tend to think it’s a great mistake to throw a lad onto routine paperwork when he comes to you willing and eager.