Rex chuckled, wiped a big finger across his top lip. He explained there was a small laundry room not far from the office, then showed Manolis the way. The room was locked overnight but would be open at first light. Clotheslines were out the back, pegs provided. Manolis thanked him. He said he had a week’s worth of sweaty shirts and was down to his last pair of clean jocks.

‘In this bloody heat, the first shirt you hang on the line will be dry by the time you hang the last,’ Rex said.

The brushtail possum was waiting for Manolis on his verandah, practically tapping its paw with impatience and hunger. Pleased to see his companion, he prepared another delicacy of stale crackers with peanut butter. Now familiar with the sweet and salty taste, the possum ate them heartily, even the tiny crumbs that fell around its paws. Manolis rolled his evening cigarette, smoked it as he watched. Above, the country sky at night began appearing, the stars and planets and moons.

‘You know, mate,’ Manolis said, ‘it’s actually not so bad out here, is it?’

The possum kept chewing.

Manolis looked again at the photo. How young his dad appeared, his brown face, bronzed torso, his whole body full of life and hope and vigour. How it would all fade to nothing.

Flicking his butt into the charred remains of his former car, Manolis sighed and went inside. He stripped, showered, and was in bed before he heard the first explosions announce the nightly narcotic shipment.

Closing his eyes, he let his mind wander, replaying the day’s events, the evidence, the conversations, things said, things left unsaid. He felt awful – a man he believed was innocent was being locked up and tortured by uniformed thugs, while the guilty party was free. Could it be Cook? A guard? Onions himself…? Manolis swore he was missing something, something significant; something didn’t fit. In the brief moments before he lost consciousness, as the darkness and silence closed in, he imagined his small sheriff’s office was the inside of a shipping container, and that his head was wrapped in a tight, suffocating hood.

Chapter 34

Chapter 34

SATURDAY MORNING CAME too soon. Manolis slept as if clobbered over the head. He heard the kookaburras first, laughing like madmen. He opened his eyes slowly, reluctantly, eyelids sticky with sleep, the morning heat suffocating. It was enough to sap his energy before he was even vertical.

Every morning since returning to Cobb, for a brief moment, Manolis could not help but be reminded of Greece. With each sunrise, more boatloads of refugees arrived on its shores. The Greeks welcomed them, gave them shelter in disused hotels, fed them nourishing soups and stews, provided clothing and blankets, all without any government support. But how was this possible? As a country, Greece was bankrupt. The thought invigorated Manolis, gave him strength.