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it was stopped by a cardboard box on the floor. Parker was in his shirt sleeves, shovelling papers into another box. There was a bulging green garbage bag on top of the swept-clean desk. Parker lived and worked in a blizzard of paper; it was his habitat. To see him in a bare, stripped room was a shock.
    â€œMoving again, Frank?” I said. “You a Deputy Commissioner or something, now?”
    He grinned at me and dusted his hands. “You’re behind the times, Cliff. You see me at the end of what looks like being my last day in the New South Wales Police Force.”

5
    He filled me in at the pub—not the usual copper’s watering hole, but another a few blocks from the station. He made a point of this as we breasted the bar.
    â€œSee, changing the patterns already.”
    â€œYeah, I’m sorry about the promotion crack, Frank. Didn’t know anything like this was happening.”
    â€œNo reason you should. They kept it all very dark.”
    â€œIt?”
    The beers came and we reached out at the same time. We moved over to a window seat, out of earshot of the other drinkers.
    â€œIt’s simple enough,” Parker said. “I’m guilty of taking bribes. That’s what the internal investigation found, and the tribunal believed. I’m suspended—I’ll appeal, but it’ll be confirmed. I creamed off more than fifty grand over the past few years.”
    â€œBullshit!”
    He raised his glass. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, Cliff Hardy.” He took a long pull on the middy.
    â€œWhat sort of bribes?”
    â€œAll sorts. For impeding the course of justice, for passing information, for intimidating witnesses.”
    I said “Bullshit” again, which wasn’t much help to anyone.
    â€œYou don’t have to tell me, mate. I’ve been lying awake over it for six weeks.”
    â€œWhat’re you supposed to have done with the money?”
    â€œThere was a bookie who I placed a lot of bets with, apparently. Since gone on a long holiday—no one knows where. I bought a car and wrecked it—dealer no longer in business, it seems.”
    I finished my beer and tried for a lighter tone. “It just doesn’t sound like you, Frank. ’Course, you never know.”
    â€œThat’s right, but I’ll tell you this—when all this was supposed to be happening, I was too bloody tired to have a split personality.”
    â€œSet up?”
    â€œRight.” He went over for another round. Frank is a fraction taller than me; he used to be a little heavier but he wasn’t anymore. The waistband of his pants was crinkled where his belt had drawn it in a notch or two. He came back with the drinks and set them down.
    â€œI’d give the world for a smoke.” His face under the blue beard-shadow had a hollow, eaten-out look.
    â€œFight it,” I said. “Build your character. You must have some idea of why you got screwed.”
    â€œYeah, well, to tell the truth, the problem is an oversupply of ideas. In this game what d’you make but enemies? Don’t get hurt, Cliff.”
    â€œI’ll try not to. Treading on toes internally, as it were?”
    He grinned. “Jesus, you butcher the language. Yeah, every day. Impossible not to. Ah, I don’t know. It happens. I’m not the first.”
    â€œWhat’re you going to do? Take up drinking professionally?”
    He looked at the glass in his hand. “No,” he said quietly. “I’ve hardly had a drink since it started. No one to drink with, much. Nola’s gone.”
    He meant his wife of ten years. I’d only met her once—had no clear image. “That’s tough, Frank. I’m sorry. Was that connected with …?”
    â€œThe screwing of Frank Parker? Not really. Shit, I was never there and dead tired when I was. There was no money to speak of, and no fun. She found someone who could give her a bit