Eden Read Free

stopped at the shallow end to rest my forearms on the burning concrete, and felt pleased at the prospect of a long, uninterrupted evening.
    Dollimore’s phone call had been strange, no doubt about it, too intense for an expression of general curiosity. Canberra was on holiday, absent from itself, but something was beginning. I could feel it. I realised that the mischievous part of me, which came to the surface when I was less than fully occupied, like now, would love the chance to slide a splinter under Ken Dollimore’s skin.
    I’d been waiting until the sun was almost gone behind O’Connor Ridge before taking Fred for a walk. I liked the moment when the lights came on along the bike path, then in the houses that straggled up the hill. Half an hour or so in the warm dusk seemed enough for him. He didn’t stray far from me, and his interest in the high school rubbish bins was in abeyance until the kids went back in February.
    I made myself a light meal, then jotted down what I knew about Carmichael. The coroner was expected to find that his death had been caused by heart failure. He’d been well known for his progressive views on prostitution and pornography, and had played, if not the key role then a significant one, in changing the laws in 1992, several years after the ACT gained self-government. It was due largely to his efforts that brothels were legal in Canberra’s light industrial zones of Fyshwick, Hume and Mitchell, escort work was city wide, and X-rated videos and magazines could be sold openly to anybody over eighteen. Our small national capital had become a centre for mail-order distribution of pornography to states with stricter laws.

Two
    Ivan’s reply to my email arrived sooner than I’d hoped. He might have turned up more on CleanNet if he’d had the time, but nothing had looked dodgy as far as he could tell. Only someone reading his notes would have seen the mention of Carmichael’s name. He hadn’t talked to anyone about it, apart from Chris Laskaris at the Internet Industry Group. It had been Laskaris who’d confirmed that Carmichael seemed in favour of the filter package.
    When I finally got onto Lucy at Electronic Freedom, she said Ken Dollimore had rung her to ask about Ivan’s report. Before that, she’d never heard of him.
    â€˜What did you tell him?’ I asked.
    â€˜Where to find the published stuff.’
    â€˜And the notes Ivan sent before he left?’
    â€˜Notes are a euphemism right? I didn’t pass them on.’
    The anti-censorship group was funded by membership levies. Lucy did a part-time shift in the office, answering phones and correspondence, on top of a better-paying job. When she picked up the phone, she always sounded as though she was in the middle of a crisis, and talking to me was a favour that, any second now, she’d be forced to withdraw. I’d never met her, but I imagined her having a face and body that went with the voice—short hair, loose-fitting shirts and trousers made from materials that never needed ironing. I could identify with that.
    â€˜Dollimore got up your nose?’ I said. ‘He got up mine as well.’
    â€˜I asked him what he wanted, but he wouldn’t say.’
    I told Lucy I’d been surprised to find that Eden Carmichael had been at CleanNet ’s presentation. ‘I wonder if Dollimore persuaded him to go.’
    â€˜He’s on the religious right, isn’t he? That’s what frustrates me about these evangelicals. They don’t understand the technology, what it can and can’t do, but they’re out there making promises to people.’
    â€˜Who saw Ivan’s notes?’ I asked.
    â€˜No one outside this office.’
    â€˜Someone must have told Dollimore about them.’
    â€˜All CleanNet cares about is making money,’ Lucy said impatiently. ‘They couldn’t give a shit about what the legislation might do to the