Good Money Read Free Page A

hearings, the trial — handle the media.’
    Often in these situations, Boss would start saying that he couldn’t spare me, how the cuts stymied every program the agency ran, how we all had to do more with less. But this time, he surprised me. ‘Justice has announced some funding. New money. Migrants affected by crime. Put together a submission and I’ll sign it today.’
    I went to my desk and found a yellow envelope with my name on it sitting on the keyboard: the usual guff about the next round of redundancies being unavoidable — the agency was looking for volunteers to take a package. A part of me wanted to go, right then and there, to clear my few possessions and drop my pass card on Boss’s desk. Instead, I wrote the damn submission.
    At lunchtime, I dropped into the police station next door to see Raewyn Ross.
    Some new guy, a baby-face with the measurements of a knitting needle, scoffed at my enquiry. ‘The Khaleesi? Not here. Probably taken a sickie.’
    â€˜Khaleesi, as in —’
    â€˜ Game of Thrones .’ The needle smirked.
    He was in the place five minutes and had already joined in disrespecting Ross. I let it slide. ‘Homicide been to visit Mrs Chol yet? Collected Adut’s stuff?’
    He looked at me like I was speaking Lithuanian. ‘Couldn’t tell you.’ I waited with raised eyebrows. He sighed. ‘Want me to ask?’
    â€˜Not to worry.’ I made it to the door before I turned around. ‘“The Khaleesi”. Is that —?’
    â€˜Yep. Irony.’
    A door opened behind him and a disembodied voice said, ‘Mrs Chol is at the coroner’s. Plain clothes told me, said he was taking her.’
    It was wishful thinking, but maybe, just maybe, the plain clothes detective was so busy helping Mrs Chol through the process, that he hadn’t ordered Adut’s room to be cleared yet. In any case, with Mrs Chol not at home, there was no way to get into her flat. I said my thanks and walked back to work. Tomorrow it would have to be.
    The rest of the day, I rang clients and answered emails. At five o’clock, one of our regulars came into our waiting room and fell asleep. Boss and I tried to rouse him, but he wouldn’t budge. This vexed me as I had plans to get home, drink half a cask of wine, and watch The Walking Dead . Boss called the Salvation Army while I tried to get some sense out of our guest. We tried to get him walking, and had an arm each when he decided to vomit down the front of his shirt. My gag reflex wanted to join in. Then he shat himself. I unrolled a kilometre of paper towel.
    It was past seven when I finally walked into the foyer of my building. Letters jutted from my letterbox. I juggled my bag and sorted through them: bill, bill, catalogue, postcard. Postcard? I checked the address: wrong flat. I read the message — We’re having the best time! Just love Fiji!!! Joyce and Frank —and dropped it in the correct slot, feeling put out. Fix your sloppy handwriting, Joyce. Can’t tell your 5 s from your 9 s.
    I flicked the lights, cranked up the heater, and put two slices of bread in the toaster. I had only just opened the fridge door when I heard the modest tap that Tania used for a knock on the door. I let her in, and she brought her fresh-faced, sweet-smelling joie de vivre with her. She had ten centimetres on me in flats — and she wasn’t wearing flats — so I had to tilt my head back to see her white teeth smiling down at me. She handed me a bottle. ‘How was your day?’
    â€˜Acceptable. You?’
    â€˜Awesome.’
    â€˜Come off it.’
    â€˜Not gonna lie. I like my job.’
    â€˜The paring of human skin? Inhaling carcinogenic chemicals?’ I opened a cupboard, took down two glasses, and started twisting the bottle cap. The cap was stubborn; I couldn’t gain any purchase on it. Since last night, everything sucked — I