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The policeman seemed sceptical. ‘Nothing was taken?'

‘I don't know. Computers ... information. You know, who can tell.'

An even younger policewoman came back from the Hoseys next door. ‘They didn't see anything. Heard the bang.' The Hoseys were a retired couple. They stood in their driveway, looking concerned. When Helen had waved they'd looked embarrassed. Everyone was in shorts and nighties. Everyone in the street had been in bed when the bang had brought them all.

Daniel said, ‘I'm not making it up.'

The policeman nodded to the policewoman. They must be barely twenty years old. She went back to the paddy-wagon.

Daniel said, ‘Why would I give you the licence number?'

Sam and Frances hugged into Helen's legs.

A group of neighbours stood in a group out in the street but short of Daniel and Helen's property line, like their boundary was forbidden.

The policewoman brought back a breathalyser bag and held it for Daniel. She'd put on a white rubber glove.

‘I haven't been drinking.'

‘You breathe long and steady into this until I tell you to stop, Mr Longo.'

‘I don't drink. Never.'

He glanced at Helen and she nodded back to him. She willed him not to fight them. Blow and get it over with. He looked from her to the clumps of neighbours.

‘We can do this here or at the station, sir.'

Daniel took the end of the thing and blew into it with his eyes closed.

Frances said, ‘Are they giving him a drink, mummy?'

The policeman looked over and smiled.

The policewoman took the device and looked at the reading.

The neighbours craned.

‘Thank you, sir. That does clear up that aspect.'

‘You want to tell them I gave a clear reading?' Daniel pointed at the neighbours.

The young policeman seemed to consider it, but instead said, ‘You might want to consider not driving while your arm is like that, sir.'

Daniel had explained to the police how his hurt arm was unrelated to the accident. Daniel had talked about a burglary at the factory. About a blue Land Cruiser stalking him.

‘Good night, sir.' They were leaving.

Daniel stood panting and glaring out at the Christmassy houses but before he could embarrass himself anymore, he turned on his heel and stormed across the lawn towards Helen and the kids. But he wasn't coming to them. He went past as though they were shrubs and headed for the door.

‘Daniel!'

Frances said, ‘Daddy squashed the fence.'

‘Daniel.'

He finally stopped.

She pointed at the ute, parked rather neatly, if sideways, on their front lawn. The police sat in their police car at the end of the drive
talking into their radio, filing their report. She said, ‘You going to get it towed home?'

Amis pours Glenfiddich. Gulps. Feels it warm him. He breathes deeply, calm. He turns on his computer. Looks at the empty glass in his hand. He hurls it against the far empty wall. It bounces and slides along the carpet and clatters into a chair.

Amis pokes the keyboard.
Longo.
He pulls up the details he already has. The easy ones and the business files he copied. A useful list, but not complete.

Amis looks to the glass, unbroken near the table. He goes to the glass. He looks down at it. He smiles at the metaphor. He sees himself, as though from above, looking down at the glass appreciating the irony.

Daniel said, ‘If you'd accept a cheque, I could make it more.'

Riley looked again at the scrap of paper Daniel had given him. It had the Land Cruiser's licence number on it. He looked across at his computer screen. Riley was a fat private investigator. D-fence Investigations was on the end upstairs in an anonymous, partly vacated suburban complex. He wore jeans, an untucked checked shirt and a mocking smile. ‘I think, in the light of everything you've told me, that would be most unwise, Mr Longo.'

‘No, my credit is good. Very good.'

Riley grunted.

‘What?' asked Daniel.

‘You
ring them. I rang them. That's what they're there for.'

‘It was good. How...'

‘You don't pay your bills. Traders, banks, governments report you.'

‘I pay my bills. It's a mistake.'

‘More than one it seems.'

‘On the phone?'

‘Yes.'

‘You can wreck someone's life on the phone.'

‘You have to know who to phone. You have to know what you're talking about.'

‘Could
you
do it? Could
you
make this happen out of nothing?'

Riley grunted again. Yes, he could do it. Daniel knew he was a cop once. It was on the D-fence's website.

Daniel looked at the back of Riley's computer screen.

Riley said, ‘It's skittish times, Mr Longo. Everyone is afraid. Afraid they'll go down too. Debt is the new bubonic plague.'

‘I need the name,' pleaded Daniel.
‘I'll
track them down.
I'll
find out who's targeting us. What stupid industrial espionage thing is going on. I just need the name.'

‘And I have it. Just pay me in cash.'

Daniel stood to go, but didn't. The man wasn't his friend. It was business. He had no secretary. Bits of electronics lay heaped on the filing cabinet. A registration of business certificate was on the wall. Another frame held a press clipping of a case that Riley must have solved. He was no more and no less than Daniel had been ten years ago, scratching along working for himself. Daniel said, ‘Look, all you've done is make a couple of phone calls. A mate in the cops or something.'

‘But you have to have the mate in the right place. You have to know who to call and what to ask for. And they have to be looked after.'

‘I'll give you three hundred. For the name and address. Any other stuff I need after that, we'll negotiate.'

‘I'm not a greengrocer.' He pointed to his computer screen. ‘This isn't spoiling fruit.'

‘But hold on a minute. That's exactly what it is. You've already made your phone calls. It's a worthless name and address, unless I pay for it.'

Riley looked hurt but Daniel could see him thinking over the point.

Daniel took out his wallet and opened it towards him. ‘All I could scrape together is three hundred.'

Homely Chase seems deserted apart from the postman on his scooter. Homely Chase. There were no Roads in the whole suburb. Nothing so dreary as a Street. One Avenue and two Drives but the rest was an intricate swirl of dead ends called Court, Grove, Rise, Vista, Place and Chase.

Daniel hasn't fixed his fence. Not very Italian of him. A pleasing gap in the dinky picket fence adjoining the next front yard. Missed the birdbath. That looks Italian. Couple of lions and he'd be sure.

The postman comes back. Only a few letters and Christmas cards. Vans did the heavy lifting of online Christmas shopping. Amis lifts his clipboard. Raises a pen for show. All lowly official and belonging and forgotten. Amis waits until the postman leaves the street before he gets out of the car. Stretches his back. Long year making thankless house calls. He wanders to the nearest house, four up from Daniel's. Makes a show of looking at his clipboard. Mimes seeing the broken fence. Ah ha. I see. He wanders along the curb. No paths. No paths in these dead ends. If you're going to chase in Homely Chase you better have your own wheels. And an escape plan.

No tradies. No minions cleaning their pools, edging their lawns, improving their plumbing. No one watering. No curtains ruffling. No cars in drives. The residents are all out for the day, Christmas shopping or working to pay for their third toilet.

Amis pushes a blank envelope into Daniel's letterbox, feigns forgetting something, goes around and gets the letters out of the letterbox, searches for his envelope so he can correct it. Helen. Wife of? Christmas cards. Danilo. From Melbourne. Power bill.

A dog barks. An odd grinding noise. Amis turns to see a street sweeper enter the cul-de-sac. A clean Homely Chase is a happy chase. It grinds slowly towards then around Amis's hire car. Missed a spot.

The dog is barking too much. Amis looks at the house. Wonders if Helen and the kids are home. Decides he'll knock. He pockets the power bill and the letter to Danilo and heads for the front door.

Daniel pulled into a bus stop to check his phone. He'd turned it off before meeting Riley. He'd missed a lot of calls, mostly from Brian. He hit Brian's number.

‘Daniel. Where are you?'

‘On a lead, mate. The security system guys there?'

‘Well, about that ... Yes. And gone. Can we afford that?'

‘Have to.'

‘Have I authorised it?'

‘Brian, no time. Has Chantel given you the new computer passwords?'

‘Eventually. What's going on?'

‘Maybe don't share them with the guys downstairs for now. I don't know yet who or how big this is.'

There was silence on the other end. Daniel thought he might have lost the signal. ‘Brian?'

‘Daniel?' He sounded pissed.

‘As I say, I think the next step is who. So we go on the offensive. Take it up to them. I've made a list. Could be competitors, disgruntled debtors, even Sheridan. Maybe they want to get out of the contract or collect the insurance. Maybe Osaka is really after my hotel.'

‘So many enemies.'

‘Yeah. Who knows. Anyway, I think the cops'll be useless.'

‘About that. Chantel said they've called a couple of times.'

‘I reported the burglary. And my car bingle.'

‘Uhuh?'

‘Anyway, the cops will plod along filling out paperwork. We need answers fast.'

‘I wouldn't mind a few myself.'

‘I'm telling you.'

‘Dan, when we formed this partnership, remember our agreement? Rule one – you aren't to keep everything to yourself.'

‘I'm telling you.'

Silence.

Daniel said, ‘Anyway, I'm onto something I think. I'll get back to you, as soon as I know. Like I'm doing.'

Silence.

Daniel buttoned off. That's all he needed, having to stroke Brian as well.

His phone started chiming again. He clicked it off and headed out into traffic to the address Riley had given him.

Amis stood at the medium height fence that ran from the house to the garage. The dog wagged its tail. ‘How you doing pooch? Good dog.'

Washing on the line. Mum, Dad and two kids all right. Here is the underwear. A cricket bat next to the totem tennis. Practising alone. One of those ridiculous round trampolines with a big net around it. No falling now. Good insurance prospects. A child's pushbike leans against the garage wall, its chain dangling. No helmet. Tsk tsk.

The dog drops a chewed ball by the gate. ‘They lock you in, did they?' A latch over that side of the gate. Not locked. Amis watches the dog. Ears up, tail wagging. ‘Good dog.' Amis opens the gate. He kicks the tennis ball and the dog runs after it into the wide garden bed. Thick belt of shrubs along the fence. No security lighting. A security door at the back. Another to the laundry.

The dog drops the ball at Amis's feet. He picks it up and feigns a throw. The dog races off in the direction of the throw but stops in the middle of the yard, confused. Amis smiles. The dull grind of the street sweeper is the only sound in the suburb.

Amis goes back to the driveway and looks at the garage doors. Remote control. Easy. The dog has followed him out. Amis still has the ball in his hand. He throws it down the drive, high so it bounces. The dog chases and times a jump, catching it three-quarters down. Amis can see the street sweeper past the front edge of the house. It's coming back down the cul-de-sac. It is three houses away and coming towards Daniel's house. The dog drops the ball at Amis's feet. Amis lifts it for a throw. The dog runs halfway down the drive. Amis mocks a throw but only half. The dog edges further back, winding up for a spring, getting excited, ready for the throw. Amis edges forward. The dog edges back. It's coiling, hardly containing its joy. The street sweeper is at the front of Daniel's house now. Amis gets ready to throw high. He thinks of Teddy and realises why. The anticipation is always spoiled by the fulfilment because that's the end.

Helen sat with her sister Leonie on the grass near the small pool so they could watch Frances doing her swimming lessons. Leonie's kids were in the main pool. So was Samuel, doing level 6.

The planning of Christmas lunch which was at Leonie's this year had filled most of their time. Helen had steered her end to mentioning
the pressures of the wedding and the shower. She'd tried to deflect her sister from ‘the fence incident' even though it was the first thing Frances yelled to her cousins. ‘Daddy crashed his car.' Helen had joked, ‘When they do it, it's not called a crash.' She didn't say she had waited in bed with her own questions. But he hadn't come up. His home computer was still warm in the morning, but when she tried to see what he'd been doing, she couldn't get in. He'd changed the password.

‘So, Daniel's okay?' Leonie was looking at her intently.

‘I think so.' Helen looked away to Frances, off a little from her group.

‘It's a shame Daniel can't come to see them swim,' said Leonie.

Leonie had her radar up, Helen thought. She nodded but kept watching the pool.

‘It's
great
Daniel can't come?' asked Leonie.

Helen would like to tell, to explain or ask, but it seemed disloyal.

Leonie said, ‘It's a shame you ever met the no-good son of a bitch. Let's beat him to death with champagne bottles.'

Helen laughed. ‘Why champagne bottles?'

‘They've got really heavy bases. Haven't you noticed? I've always thought they'd be good for bashing someone.'