Ralph Murphy greeted us as we came in. Ralph had been the proprietor of the Royal since I was a child. His wife was a good friend of my nan. There were at least seven Murphy kids I could remember. ‘What can I get you?’ he said with a jovial bartender’s hospitality.

‘Unfortunately, nothing,’ said Wozza, glancing at the beer taps, dotted with inviting condensation. ‘We’re working, Ralphie. Got a couple of questions.’

‘Shoot,’ said Ralph amiably, then laughed and raised his hands in submission. ‘Don’t mean that literally, Woz.’

Gun jokes were an occupational hazard.

‘I’m Antigone Pollard.’ I reached over the bar and shook Ralph’s hand. ‘I’m fairly certain I went to school with one of your kids. Ned?’

‘That’d be right,’ said Ralph with a twinkle in his eye. ‘He’s my black sheep. Divorced already. Can’t hold down a job. Are you single? Maybe I could fix you up.’

‘Tempting, but no,’ I said dryly, moving quickly to questions. ‘Were you working the bar last night?’

Ralph’s forehead creased and he scratched his head. ‘Yep. I was on. Bit of a crowd here.’

‘Got names?’ asked Wozza.

‘Oh, you know, the usual corner of old-timers. Couple of young ’uns. Regulars: Greg, Jimbo, One Eye, Lachie, Billy-o, Shags, Chuckles, Timmy Boy.’

Wozza nodded as if these crazy-arse names meant something to him. I watched Ralph for signs of discomfort or wariness. Saw none. Then I realised. ‘Lachie? Would that be Lachie Murtog?’

‘One and the same,’ said Ralph.

‘What about Meg Mulligan?’ said Wozza. ‘She was here last night.’

‘Yep,’ Ralph said. ‘Known Meg since she was knee-high to a grasshopper. She was here with a couple of her mates. It was her birthday. Her first legal drink.’

‘Did you see her leave?’ I asked.

‘Jeez, it was a busy night,’ said Ralph, rubbing his forehead. ‘I thought she left with the Forester kid. He was here moping around on his own, sitting on one beer. Then they both went out the back door. Last I saw of them.’

Wozza checked the ceiling. ‘Does the Royal have CCTV?’

Ralph laughed. ‘Nah, mate.’

When we broke the news to Ralph that Meg had met with foul play last night, he was shocked.

‘Nathan?’

‘Not looking that way,’ said Wozza. ‘It appears Nathan walked out with her but left her there. You sure you didn’t see her again?’

Ralph didn’t think he had. He looked devastated.

‘What about Jack Barratt?’ asked Wozza. ‘Did he come in?’

Ralph poured himself a lemonade from the tap. Took a swallow. Glanced at me. ‘Look, I heard what he did to you. He’s always seemed like a good bloke. S’pose you never can tell.’

‘Did you see him last night?’ I said, wanting to avoid any kind of discussion about what a ‘good bloke’ Jack Barratt was.