(Bell dings)
How the hell's it going to fit in our apartment, woman?
If you think I'm going to remain
living within the bowels of a Masonic hall forever,
you'll be living a long and lonely life.
For you to sign, please.
How are you, Isabel? Married to a philistine.
Oh, I know.
I need to fiddle with that second para one more time.
It's Tasmanian blackbutt. Do you know how rare that is?
I'm guessing fairly rare.
It's not just a table. It's...
This old bloke is an artisan. It's a work of art.
Well, it is the same price as a Picasso, so I gather it must be.
You have no taste whatsoever, Jack Irish.
Oh, come on. I chose you, didn't I? OK, one good choice.
How good do you look in that suit?
Oh, pretty sharp I reckon.
You do, and who chose that suit? Can't remember. Lost in time.
We're buying the table.
Think of it as a family heirloom we pass on to our unborn children.
I do love you, you know.
MAN: (Yells) Let me speak to Jack fuckin' Irish!
MAN: Hey, hey, wait a minute.
You cannot come in here... There you are, Mr Judas lawyer!
I'm sorry, mate. I tried to stop him.
She left me!
She took me kids from me while I rotted in that that you sent me to!
Go and wait in the car, will you? Give me ten minutes.
Parking fines. You let 'em put me away for bloody parking fines!
113 unpaid parking fines, mate. That was just the entree.
The cop you assaulted ended up in hospital for two months.
What did you expect? I told you I hit him.
But you wouldn't fucking listen, would you you bastard!
Just calm down, OK? Just go and sit in there and wait.
I'll go find your file and we can talk about this sensibly, alright?
OK, sir... Don't touch me!
OK, I won't touch you.
I'm calling the police. No, don't mate, don't.
That's the last thing he needs. I'll deal with him. It's alright.
(Gunshot) What was that?
From outside.
(Alarm blares, dogs bark)
Alright, you win.
We mortgage the flat and we buy a black-bottomed Tasmanian...
See? You wouldn't bloody listen.
You listening now, Jack?
(Gunshot)
# NICK CAVE: Red Right Hand
# Take a little walk to the edge of town
# Go across the tracks
# Where the viaduct looms like a bird of doom
# As it shifts and cracks
# Where secrets lie in the border fires
in the humming wires
# Hey, man, you know you're never coming back
# Past the square, past the bridge, past the mills, past the stacks
# On a gathering storm comes a tall handsome man
# In a dusty black coat with a red right hand. #
MAN, ON RADIO: ..numbers two, six and twelve.
That's two, six and twelve,
The Catharsis, Bridal Sweet
and the New Zealand two-year-old, In Her Name.
On to race number eight, there's only one scratching
and that's the favourite, Corpus Loys, number five.
Beautiful day for racing in Sydney today at Royal Randwick.
The track is still rated as heavy,
but with the great weather we have at the moment,
there's a chance that the track will dry up,
and an upgrade is on the cards later in the...
(Turns off radio)
Ah, Marinara.
You're a hard man to find, Mr Dollery.
Do come in, or I'll shoot your balls off.
Come on.
Turn right.
So, how'd you find me?
Listen, point that somewhere else, will you?
Those... those things have a tendency to go off
for motives of their own.
Arggh!
Arggh! Arggh!
Hey! Hey, let go of me!
Please! Please!
You're not gonna knock me, are ya?
You're being a bit paranoid, mate. Arggh!
Sticking too much marching powder up your nose.
Oh, come on, mate! Shit.
Give me a chance!
(Dials phone)
Yeah, Harry. I found your mate.
Yeah, I wouldn't mind being warned about the armed and desperate.
Well there's going to be an extra five per cent
to cover my shock
at having a World War II pistol pointed at my genitalia.
Yeah, righto.
Listen, dickhead.
You're going to have to be a bit more cooperative
with people whose money you've nicked.
Now I've taken the ten grand out of the dishwasher.
And I reckon there's, what...
..another seventy in the air conditioning vent?
I s'pose.
Right.
Well, sign here for the rest of it.
And the biro.
Pleasure doing business with you. Hey!
You're not going, are ya?
Mate! Here you go.
Just in case you get lonely.
Mate, you can't leave me in here.
Oh, come back, will ya?
I can't get out of here!
(VOICEMAIL) You've called Jack Irish. Leave a message.
Jack. It's Danny. I'm in the car park, mate.
Are you coming?
Christ, help me.
Oh, thank God.
I can see your lights flashing.
# OPERA MUSIC
MACHINE: You have four new messages.
MAN, ON MACHINE: Jack, Harry Strang.
Sorry about your little mix-up with Dollery.
Anyway, no harm done.
Listen, I got something I need you to do.
(Machine beeps)
MAN: Jack Irish, it's Danny McKillop, mate.
You know, the hit-and-run ten years ago?
Look, I'm out now, mate, but I'm in a bit of strife,
so you reckon you might give me a call?
It's 0491570110.
Tonight... as soon as you get this.
(Machine beeps)
Jack, it's Danny again, mate.
You... you didn't call.
Um... listen mate. I'm in deep shit.
I think I'm being followed.
Do you reckon you could come and meet me, 7:00 tonight?
I'm in the car park of The Hero of Trafalgar in Brunswick.
(Machine beeps)
Jack, it's Danny. I'm in the car park, mate.
Are you coming?
Christ, help me.
Oh, thank God.
I can see your lights flashing.
(Machine beeps)
Ah.
Don't tell me you're finally coming back to criminal law.
Hardly.
Bit of conveyancing's about it these days.
No, just looking for an old file. Great. Come in.
It's good to see ya. You too, mate.
His name's Danny McKillop. McKillop? How old?
About as old as your suit. Fuck off! It's brand new.
You know, Helen has shot through.
Head over heels with some painter in Eltham.
What, a house painter? No, artiste painter.
Someone no one's ever heard of.
Bruce Seal. Bruce Seal? Shit.
Drinkie?
So what do you know about Helen's painter bloke?
Oh, he speaks five languages, apparently.
He's won the Archibald three times
and his nickname's the Throbbing Stallion.
Great.
Here we go. Daniel Patrick McKillop.
Convicted of culpable driving, 18th of June, 2001.
Knocked down and killed Anne Elspeth Jeppeson
in Ardenne Street, Richmond.
Ah, the public housing woman. The activist.
Your client was as high as a kite.
Cheers.
How do you remember this? You weren't even on it
It wasn't a good time for you.
I made it to court, though, didn't I?
Oh, photo finish.
You did go off the rails there a bit just before you quit.
Anyway, it was an open-and-shut case.
Your client eventually pleaded guilty, got ten years.
He was a junkie. Had a whole stack of priors.
So why's he calling me from a hotel car park on a Saturday night?
And why is he now not returning any of my calls?
Can I hang onto this? Sure.
This has nothing to do with her.
Helen left for her own reasons. She doesn't even know about Lorna.
Gotta love em when they're around, don't you mate?
Hard after fifteen years. Yeah, I wouldn't know.
Ah-ha. That's how long ago it was.
I mean, who has a VHS anymore? Oh, I know people.
(Football commentary on TV)
Where the hell were you last Saturday when we needed you?
The Saints went down by three goals.
I was in Sydney, on business.
What sort of bloody work takes you to Sydney on a Saturday arvo?
He doesn't work no more. Not real work.
He's a standover boy. A bloody debt collector now!
Didn't miss much. They played like girls.
They don't make 'em like your old man anymore.
Toughest man ever to wear an athletic support.
Listen, I need to stick this on, if I can.
Well, they're watching the game. It's a replay. From 1996.
Hey! It's Fitzroy's last game at the G.
Yeah. We got smashed by 25 goals. It was horrible.
Never about that, Jack, as well you know.
It's three-quarter time. He can put it on now.
But make it quick, will ya?
Reminds me of round fourteen, 1971. Remember that game against the Roos?
NEWSREADER: Danny McKillop's car
was seen swerving out of control in Ardenne Street,
moments before fatally injuring
public housing campaigner, Anne Jeppeson.
I recognise that sheila.
This blue car was just
weaving all over the road,
and suddenly, bang!
Just ploughed straight through her and kept on going.
Poor woman didn't stand a chance.
Daniel McKillop was found asleep in the garage of his home...
Put the game back on. Three-quarter time'd be over by now.
(Sighs)
(Speaks foreign language)
Well, Charlie, maybe if you drew me a plan of the table
instead of just four random measurements
on torn-off bits of the Age, I might know what I'm doing.
What for do I need drawings?
I don't do anything I didn't make before.
But it's all in your head.
And I don't know if what's in your head
is the same as what's in my head.
I don't want anything in your head near my head, thank you.
Jack. Charlie. Hey, Cam.
Harry needs to see you for a couple of hours.
Righto.
Can you spare us your apprentice, please, Charlie?
Should manage.
Fifty years on my own until wonder boy shows up wanting to learn.
How's he doing? Shithouse.
INTERVIEWER, ON RADIO: Mr Pitman, and Opposition is demanding to know
why the Yarra Cove Development
was approved without proper public consultation.
MAN, ON RADIO: No, no, no, listen.
Yarra Cove is an injection of $600 million
straight into this state's coffers...
Put on some Willy Nelson, will you?
Who wants to listen to pollies lie all the way to Ballarat?
They reckon the racing industry's bent.
What the hell's Yarra Cove? Sounds tropical, doesn't it?
Topless chicks swaying about in grass skirts
on the banks of the Yarra.
They'd have icicles on their nipples.
Sorry, Harry. No Willy, just Kenny.
Oh, let's do it in silence.
Who'd live here?
You'd have to be committed by a Magistrate.
# TRUMPET PLAYS
So, all on Topside Winder?
No, you leave that to the others.
You back the favourite to win.
Go early.
I want to see if we can't push Topside's odds out a bit.
(Men shout racing odds)
Charlemagne's Pride. 1,000 to win, thanks.
1,000 pays 6,000, Charlemagne!
Topside Winder, 500 to win.
500 on Topside to win.
Topside Winder, for 500 on the nose.
CALLER: Just about ready for the running
of race number three on the card, the McVane Family Textiles Handicap.
Starter up. Ready to jump now!
(Bottle pops)
HARRY: Thought we should take a little look at the Dom to celebrate.
Jack.
Better finish these before the wife makes an appearance.
We averaged fifteen to one.
Some of these bookies see a go coming if you put down 50 bucks.
Fifteens are fine.
You don't want to nuke the bastards. We want them there next time.
Jack, I want to show you something.
Cheers. Cheers!
Gate five. Dakota Dreaming.
The animal's got a truly horrible record.
Lucky he's not in the pet's mince.
Slow it down.
Give him the history, Cam.
Bred for staying. Top-shelf Kiwi pedigree.
Won his first race by seven lengths, then pulled up lame. Tendon trouble.
Then ran ninth.
With respect, Harry, he doesn't seem like much of an investment to me.
He hasn't run for two years,
but some blokes up Ballarat way reckon he's come good.
Got a couple of big races in him.
Maybe just watering their tonsils, but these blokes know their nags.
There!
Now, did he or didn't he?
Yeah.
Looks like he's holding to me.
It may be worth another pilgrimage in the very near.
Take another squiz at Dakota Dreaming.
Oh, I don't think I really earned this today, Harry.
Probably not. Cam'll give you a lift home.
I hear Vanotti's got a groin.
My opinion, and I get no pleasure saying it,
Vanotti's missing something in his groin.
Hey. You seen the paper?
Danny McKillop shot dead by a cop in the car park of the Trafalgar.
Apparently he pulled a pistol.
So I guess that's that, then.
Oh, shit. Why would he pull a gun on a cop?
Well, it says he was off his face.
Oh, God, so that's twice I've screwed this poor bastard over now.
If that's guilt I'm hearing, forget it.
The worst time of his life he gets a drunk lawyer,
and this time he calls me, I don't even show up.
It's a prosecutor's wet dream.
I mean, he was probably working some drug scam.
Just drop it, mate.
Yeah...
I'm serious. File it under 'best forgotten'.
Why is this only on page nine?
This is this third groin, you know.
PRIEST: For this reason I tell you that his sins,
many as they are, have been forgiven him,
for he has shown great love.
It is someone who forgives little that shows little love.
Then he said unto him, your sins are forgiven.
And now Danny's daughter, Kristy...
..uh, Kirsty,
will place a special letter for her father on the coffin.
Thanks. Sue McKillop?
I'm so sorry to hear about Danny.
I'm Jack Irish.
Kirsty, this is your Dad's lawyer.
The one who wouldn't return his calls.
Well, I was in Sydney.
I didn't get the messages till it was too late.
Listen, when things settle down,
I was just wondering if you could give me a call.
Things aren't going to settle.
Yeah.
Join us at the wake if you like.
Come on.
You don't know why Danny wanted me to meet him, do you?
Two blokes were waiting outside the house on Thursday night.
Danny saw them and bolted.
Beer.
Jack, Vin. Danny's cousin. Hi.
Jack was the one that... The top lawyer.
Papers said he had a gun.
He didn't own one.
The Danny I knew was no crim.
He finished school in jail, he got a job, got off the drugs.
We were living a good life, you know?
He was a good Dad.
Do you know what these two blokes wanted?
No.
About a month ago this woman called out of the blue
and she told Danny her husband had just died.
Left actual proof he was fitted up for the hit-and-run.
What... what kind of proof? I don't know.
I don't know who she was, what she was talking about.
Danny just wanted to put it behind him.
But it kept gnawing away at him.
So he arranged to meet her and...
And he didn't meet her?
Well, we're here.
MAN: I could have been running
a nice little earning motel in Lismore now.
Turned it down, didn't I?
All so I could stay number eight
on the Commissioner's top-ten shit list.
Too many known associates, they reckon.
I mean, fuck that.
Used to be called part of the job.
The new Police Minister's an ex-cop, isn't he?
He'll take care of you.
Mate, Garth Bruce is a turd with selective amnesia.
He gets voted in
and then immediately wants to get rid of the old culture.
Mate... I'm very proud of the old culture.
Wouldn't have a Quick-Eze on you, would ya?
Not on me, no.
Remind me again of the old culture.
The old culture.
You know, dinosaurs like me.
A time when it didn't count
if you took an extra ten bucks for the drinks,
or, you know, you loaded up some cockroach
just to keep em off the streets.
Wonderful days.
Nowadays, it's just all these fuckin' mad dogs out there
with chemical warfare going off in their heads,
stuff up their noses fighting against the stuff in their arms.
(Belches) Ooh, shit.
And we can't do a bloody thing.
Have you read much about the Pritikin diet?
Hmm?
Go fuck yourself.
This mate of yours that got himself dead in the Trafalgar car park.
He was a client. Hope you got paid in advance.
Baker, the cop who put four in him,
reckons your bloke just appears from behind a car,
high as a kite,
points a.38 at him and his partner.
McKillop's wife reckons he's been clean for years.
Mrs Goebbels reckons her husband was in advertising.
Shit's shit, mate.
He left me a message the night he got shot.
He said someone was flashing their lights at him.
He thought it was probably me.
There's no chance
that this Baker planted that gun and the smack on him, is there?
Baker's an officer of 26 years' service.
If he was going to knock your boy,
he would have done it somewhere
just a little less public, now, wouldn't he?
Don't mess with it, mate.
It's done.
Alright?
He was scum.
Righto, well, I'll be in touch. I'll buy you a drink.
Drink?
You mean drinks, don't you, Jack?
You're still dealing with the old culture here, mate.
You can have that.
Did it surprise you
when Danny ran over that Jeppeson woman ten years ago?
Yeah, it surprised me.
Danny hadn't driven for about six months.
He was on a suspended sentence for drink driving.
He was shit scared of going to prison.
And you reckon there's a chance he'd had a few and forgotten all of that?
Oh, yeah, could be right.
If you can work out how a bloke
can go from being passed out in Fed Square,
go home, grabbed his car
then run over the Jeppeson tart five minutes later.
How do you know he was in Fed Square?
Mate saw him. Legless.
Drinking a vat of bourbon.
Talking to that arsehole, Scullin.
Did he tell the police?
Scullin is the police.
Danny was a dog.
For the Drug Squad.
There's plenty of people
who'd want to see him get put away for fifty years.
You didn't get that from me, right? Right.
Hey listen, the witness in the case, um... Ronald Bishop.
Do you know anything about him? Never met him.
I know he's a bloody liar.
Jack?
Prepared to divulge your thoughts on the gallops at Geelong?
People in the know, Norm, usually treat my tips as scratchings.
If that's you, Gavin, I have a lifetime case of herpes. Go away.
Linda Hillier? Jack Irish. I...
Oh, yeah, right.
You rang about the Anne Jeppeson hit-and-run.
Yeah. God, that was a lifetime ago.
Yeah, I appeared for the accused.
But I don't practise law much anymore.
What do you do?
Oh, I live off my wits.
Gamble. Drink.
Then you'll be keeping pretty much the same company.
Oh, no, it's definitely a notch up since then.
I see that you interviewed Anne Jeppeson a number of times
about the sale of the Hoagland Commission flats.
Yes, even spoke to her the morning she was killed.
Our Joan of Arc in tight jeans and boots.
So you weren't one of her admirers?
Oh, there were things about her I admired, but, no.
I wasn't one of her admirers.
I wasn't even sure of her motives.
Yarra Cove back then,
it was just a bunch of crappy warehouses
and filthy docklands, wasn't it?
Yeah. The cops used to call it the Leper Colony.
Right.
They wanted to develop the whole site,
and suddenly Jeppeson comes on the scene like Batwoman
with 'Save our Hoagland'.
And what happened with the protest?
Not much after your client ran over her.
Do you think anyone considered at the time that maybe she was murdered?
What, you're suggesting he did it deliberately?
Or someone else.
It's a bit of an extreme step
for the Housing Commission to take, don't you think?
Danny got out of jail a few years ago a new man, apparently.
Good job and a wife and a kid.
And then a cop shot him and killed him
in the Brunswick Hotel car park last Saturday night.
Oh, God, that was him? I hadn't made the connection.
Listen, I've got a file a story for Hong Kong in eight minutes.
I'll do some digging and get back to you.
Yeah, righto. Thanks.
I don't, by the way.
Don't what? Have herpes.
I'm looking for a Ronald Bishop.
Ahh.
Well, I don't think he's home, mate.
That arsehole pissed off to Perth years ago.
Just a shifty little poof.
The Sandgropers are bloody welcome to him.
I take it you weren't close, then.
(Chuckles) Shit.
Yeah, g'day. This is Jack Irish.
I'm looking for a Ronald Bishop who lives in Perth, or Fremantle.
I've got a feeling
that we're looking at a rerun of the Kyneton Cup
from 21 months back.
OK. Alright, no worries.
Know it in me bones.
Relied on your bones, we'd be round the Salvos eating rabbit stew.
Not such a bad idea.
MAN, ON PHONE: Hi, you've called Ronnie,
and if you're handsome, leave a message.
(Machine beeps) Yeah, g'day. This is Jack Irish.
I'm a lawyer. I'm looking for a Ronald Bishop.
I was involved in the Anne Jeppeson case some years ago,
and if you are the Ronald Bishop who was a witness in that case,
I'm just wondering if you could give me a call on 041809018.
Thanks very much.
What do you mean, it's commercial in confidence?
Hoagland was public land.
Yeah, well we...
Yeah, when does it become public?
Great, well I'll get my grandchildren to follow it up.
Check the share registry.
Anything we've got on Hoagland, Yarra Cove.
And maybe anything we have on a Jack Irish.
Barry.
(Sniffs)
Sweet and sour prawns? Go fuck yourself.
You gettin' in?
I've only got a couple of minutes so I'll make this quick.
Leave this McKillop business alone.
Sensitive issue these days, cops killing people.
Did you find the cop Scullin?
In a manner of speaking.
He runs a big security company now.
Heard of AdvanceGuard?
They make big bucks.
(Dog barks)
What'd he say about McKillop?
Said he doesn't talk police business.
Is that it? That's it.
You drove around here to tell me that?
No. I drove around here to tell you something else.
Don't ask me any more questions about McKillop, OK?
That's what I came around to tell ya.
You can get out now.
(Starts engine)
SFK...
'Son of the fucking king'.
Excuse me, are you Martin Scullin?
Who wants to know?
Oh, Jack Irish.
I was Danny McKillop's lawyer back in...
What, or who the hell, is Danny McKillop?
Well, in 2001 you were his arresting officer in the Anne Jeppeson case.
I arrested thousands of citizens.
Well he was gunned down recently.
Really?
I should send some flowers.
You know, these days I make 25 grand a week,
so unless you want me to start the meter,
this little friendly is over.
Mrs Bishop. Jack Irish. I rang before, about your son, Ronnie.
Have you found him?
No. I thought you said he was here.
No.
No, I said he WAS here.
Three weeks ago.
Arrived in a terrible state, all the way from Perth.
Spent one night.
I made his favourite breakfast, scrambled eggs and toast soldiers.
Look, I told the police all this.
Come in. Come in. I'll put the kettle on.
Did you call the police? No.
No, they just came,
to tell him that his place in Fremantle had been broken into.
Did he leave anything behind? Yes, a case.
But the police took that.
Looking for clues.
Nice place you've got here. It's all Ronnie.
Packed me off to Noosa one day. Came back to this.
(Laughs)
What, he came into some money, did he?
He won the lottery! (Laughs) Shit.
Ten years ago.
Before then he'd just been living hand to mouth
working as a social worker for the Good Hands Foundation,
making his little documentary films on street kids.
He loved working with kids.
You know, he always wanted to be a filmmaker.
He's in big trouble, isn't he Mr Ireland?
Oh, let's not worry yet, Mrs Bishop.
Listen...
Did he call anyone when he was here?
He used his cordless phone a couple of times, I think.
Have you got the number for that phone?
It won't do you any good.
He's not answering.
Oh, the police didn't get this.
It's the last thing he gave me.
Nat King Cole.
Don't know why. I don't really like him.
Have you played this? Yes.
And?
I still don't like him. No, I mean, it's just music, is it?
No. He sings.
You can borrow it if you like.
But you promise to bring it back.
Mrs Bishop, do you have any idea why anyone might want to hurt Ronnie?
Before he left he said something that just made my blood run cold.
He said, 'If I turn up dead somewhere,
don't ever believe it was my own fault.'
PEOPLE: Hip, hooray! Hip, hooray!
(Cheering, clapping)
Hey.
Hold these. Just take my jacket off, thank you.
(Sighs) Thanks.
Hi. Hi.
Oh, how old world of you.
(Sighs)
This is a nice way to end a real pain-in-the-butt day.
Signorina. Parmesso?
Parents would approve of this place.
I took the liberty of ordering some starters.
People have been known to eat their shoe leather here at Donelli's,
waiting for their first course, so I hope you don't mind.
You're out of practice at this, aren't you?
Am I?
So, tell me, why are you digging up all these ancient stuff?
It's a bit late to help anyone, isn't it?
Oh, well, Danny McKillop's left a daughter behind,
and she's gonna grow up thinking her old man's a scumbag.
And if he wasn't, she's got the right to know.
Compliments of the house, for the signorina.
So beautiful.
Belladonna.
I'll be back to take your orders.
Wow. You've certainly got clout.
He's just being a suck.
He uh... It's a case of outstanding legal fees.
Well, a bad debt that he can't pay, so he...
and just ignore the accent.
He was born about half a K up the road.
His parents are from Galway.
Cheers. Cheers.
So, is that the only reason?
Oh, no.
I didn't really ask enough questions at the time.
I wasn't really on top of my game.
And now there's just a whole lot of stuff that doesn't add up.
You know, like Ronald Bishop telling his mother that he won the lottery.
I checked. He's never won a bloody thing in his life.
Some mystery woman calling up Danny McKillop
to say that she's got evidence proving he's innocent.
Then she disappears, he dies,
and now the lottery winner's disappeared as well, so...
Well, I'll tell you what I found, which isn't going to clear up much.
The whole Hoagland tender process
was initially handled by the Minister for Planning at the time.
A guy called Pixley.
Kevin Pixley. Yeah.
I mean, he's a dipso, but he's straight enough.
And then there's a cabinet reshuffle
and Lance Pitman becomes the Minister for Planning,
and his first order of business is to flog off Hoagland.
So, imagine... that...
..here is Yarra Cove.
'Launch your new life with Yarra Cove'.
And this...
..this was the Hoagland Commission flats.
There were dozens of different companies
that had been buying up disused land...
Thanks.
..and busted warehouses along the river front in the preceding years.
What kind of companies?
Oh, well, offshore, just names. Still checking.
What's interesting is that when Hoagland was sold...
..to this...
Sorry. Thanks.
..the olive oil... Extra virgin.
..all these other condiments - the salt and pepper, sugar,
three-day-old bread and the parmesan cheese...
Let's not forget the toothpicks.
No, the toothpicks were not actually involved.
Oh.
..all sold their holdings to this entity within a month.
Ah.
To the virgo intacto olive oil. Yep.
A Company called Hexiod bought up everything.
And was there collusion amongst these condiments?
Well, that's about impossible to tell,
because Hexiod was deregistered eight years ago
when it was bought by this new player...
If I could just swap... Thanks.
The oak-aged balsamic vinegar.
Also known as the Charis Corporation.
Right.
So Charis are the ones making the real money out of Yarra Cove?
Squillions.
We have Joseph Kwitny CEO and Chairman of the Charis board.
I mean, there's no crime making money, so they say.
Well, no, not unless you know in advance
that the Planning Minister's going to award you the tender, I guess.
Yeah, well, that would start to smell like a crime.
But the details of that tender
are locked in the same vault as the Petrov Affair
and the Communist shark that ate Harold Holt.
So, if Anne Jeppeson did stop the development,
Charis would have ended up with
a whole lot of shitty old warehouses and factories.
$600 million worth of them.
600 million reasons to knock her on the head.
I do have one other question.
About Charis?
Yeah, sort of.
I was just wondering, um...
if you're seeing anyone at the moment.
Do you think if there was anyone important in my life
I'd be sitting here moving condiments about a table?
Signorina. Thank you.
Signor.
I'd quite like to do this again one day.
Eat and drink?
Yes...
And... whatever else.
I'm not going to sleep with you.
Tonight. If that's...
Is that what you're asking?
'Cause talking about Jeppeson and Yarra Cove,
it hasn't quite got me there.
Well, I am... I am rusty.
I'm happy, though.
Happy?
That you were even... considering it.
(Dog growls)
(Phone rings)
Hey, Jack!
(Growling, grunting)
Are you right?
(Dogs bark)
Yeah.
Yeah, just a been working the dogs for Harry.
He's been worried they're going a bit soft.
What can I do you for?
Just wondering if you've still got that mate at the Telco.
I need to trace a couple of calls
from a phone owned by a bloke called Ronald Bishop.
Ohh, Harry doesn't like me using his contacts for outside work.
Cam, Harry owes me, OK?
The last bloke he sent me to pointed a dodgy old gun at my balls.
Text me the number.
If Harry's OK with it, I'll see what I can do.
Who's the best dog in the world then, eh?
Who's the best dog in the world? (Dogs bark)
So, Mr Big Business Man.
Mr Executive.
Has no time to go to the telephone anymore.
Has to carry it all the time with him.
It's just work, Charlie.
Next, no time for the toilet.
Take a mobile scheishaus, a little shithouse,
you can carry away all the time, so you can do it in car.
How did you know I lived here?
Do you own a suit?
Why? Are you inviting me out?
Don't get too excited.
I got myself invited to a charity event
hosted by the Charis Corporation.
Make yourself at home.
I'll just go and get dressed.
Yeah, well, make sure it's elegant. This is high-end charity.
Righto.
'Father Alex Gorman and Joseph Kwitny,'
Order of Australia, no less,
'cordially invites you and rent-a-date' - that's you -
'to their launching of the new offices
for the Charis Good Hands Foundation.'
Oh, shit.
That's um... where Ronald Bishop used to work.
I love what you've done with the place.
Designer chic meets lone wolf.
And who's Father Gorman?
Oh, he's a handbag for high-society women
when their husbands are out screwing the secretary.
Right.
Uh... been a while since I've worn this.
She's beautiful.
Yeah.
I read what happened. I can't think of anything worse.
The Jeppeson case was around that time, wasn't it?
Yeah.
This crusade you're on -
is it connected, as some sort of guilt thing?
Oh, I don't think so.
I was in too much of a state of incoherent rage to think about guilt.
Out of date but gorgeous.
Do you mind if I drive?
We can listen to Nat King Cole.
FATHER GORMAN: Look around you. Take it in.
Beautiful, isn't it?
Our new home, here at Yarra Cove,
overlooking the world's most liveable city.
I thank the Lord for it every day.
Champagne's French. Oh, shit.
Is that a problem?
Means they know how to treat the media.
Cheers.
..whose generosity allows this instrument of the Lord's will
to work in such splendour.
Without Joe Kwitny, Good Hands' Outreach Program for kids,
both here and in Asia, would simply not exist.
Over many years they've supported us,
not just with the development of our sanctuary here...
Lance Pitman.
The Honourable Minister for Planning. He's on the board.
Do you think he's ever met a homeless kid?
Probably rooted a few.
We pray for the Charis Corporation
and we thank them for their generosity.
Now please, a big welcome... (Applause)
What do we know about him? He lives abroad.
He's a poor boy made good, then a lot more gooder.
Now, if you look out over the Yarra,
over the railway lines and the shunting yards,
and past the docks,
you may see the street where I grew up.
It's not pretty, even now.
When I lived there we had no sewerage,
and power if we could afford it.
But we had one thing.
We had a dream, us Kwitnys.
Father Gorman?
Jack Irish.
I wonder if I could bother you for a moment. Mr Irish!
Now, there's a good Catholic name. Yeah, my old man thought so.
Listen, I understand that a Ronald Bishop used to work for Good Hands.
Bishop?
Um...
You'd think I'd remember a name like that, wouldn't you?
Um...
Oh, yeah. That was a... that was a very long time ago.
Rodney wasn't really cut out for the work, I'm afraid.
He was, uh...
It's not a criticism, but not everyone
has the gifts needed to work with our problem youths.
But he's been in contact with you recently, hasn't he?
Uh... yes. He, uh... he rang me. In fact, he dropped in here.
He, um... seemed a little agitated,
but I was rushing off to a meeting, so we barely chatted.
Francis. Hey, still no sugar.
I might have to send you back to waiter school.
I'm sorry, Father. I will get some.
Ronnie was working for you
when he testified against a hit-and-run driver.
The Jeppeson woman. Yeah, that was a terrible tragedy.
I knew her mother. She was a delightful person.
Did he ever talk about that night?
Is there, uh... some reason I should recall such a conversation?
No. Not if you don't.
A very sad business.
Would you excuse me?
Sure.
They had a huge argument.
What about?
Father Gorman accused Ronnie of stealing something,
and Ronnie was yelling back at him,
'No way you're hanging me out to dry'.
Are you sure this was Ronnie?
Oh yeah, we know Ronnie.
What'd he pinch?
You're not really Irish, are you Jack?
What was your grandfather's name?
Issy Reich?
I-reich. I-rish.
You're just a Jewboy, aren't you?
LINDA: I take you to a function serving French champagne
and you bring me here,
to a warp in the time continuum?
Well, at least when they piss on your shoes here,
it is prostate related.
Hey.
Ho-ohh.
What a voice, eh?
Velvet.
Wilbur. Hi, Wilbur. Linda.
Ah.
Yeah, I remember when he started out.
Charlie Harris on bass.
Of course, afterwards, it was the legendary Johnny Miller.
I could put this on now... if you two wouldn't mind.
Run amok.
I was sure it was that CD they would have been after
when they tore Ronnie's place apart.
Was there anything on it?
No, and I had the encryption people check it.
# NAT KING COLE: The very thought of you... #
You don't think this is for our benefit, do you?
Not even Sinatra could make this place romantic.
You're going to have to work a lot harder than this.
(Both moan)
(Sighs) Ohh!
(Sighs) I knew this would happen,
the moment I saw you in the news room.
Yeah, I... I bet you thought,
'Here comes six-foot-six of solid, erotic pleasure.'
No, actually I was thinking,
this is exactly the kind of
rumpled, burnt-out sleazebag I always end up with.
(Laughs)
So...
Did you live here with your wife?
Yeah.
Do all the girls ask that?
Yeah, every single one of them.
No, you're the first.
Well, you're the only, actually.
So you were a faithful husband?
I had you picked as a wild boy.
Domesticated as a neutered cat, I'm afraid.
I always thought Isabel was kind of out of my league.
You know, like she was a mirage or something.
Yeah, mine was more coma than mirage.
I married a gastroenterologist.
And our hobbies included waking to alarms and supermarket shopping
and Sunday lunches with the in-laws.
And how did that finish up?
In the arms of a rock singer.
Disgracefully. (Both laugh)
(Phone rings)
I suppose you're too burnt out to go again?
Hey, listen, I'm the son of a famous Fitzroy hard man.
You knock me down, I'll just get straight back up again.
Ooh.
(Phone rings)
JACK, ON MACHINE: You've called Jack Irish. Leave a message.
Got that number for you.
Ronald Bishop's last phone call
was made to a Doctor Paul Gilbert at some health spa in Daylesford.
Oh, yeah, and Harry said not to wear out this service.
G'day. I'm looking for Long Gully Road.
The Koolanja Healing Centre?
You've come the long way, mate.
Long Gully's down there at the T-junction.
Turn left, go down about a kilometre or so,
second on the right, first after that, yeah?
But the place is closed, I think.
I'll give it a try. Thanks. Hooroo.
(Classical piano plays)
Hello?
Hello!
(Fly buzzes)
(Music stops)
(Flies buzz)
Hello?
Ohhh!
Ah!
NEWSREADER: Police released the names of the murdered men.
Doctor Paul Gilbert, a deregistered general practitioner,
and Ronald James Bishop, a former social worker.
An anonymous call to the RSPCA
led police to the grisly discovery of the bodies
that may have been there for over two weeks.
As yet, the motive for the murders is unclear.
Oh, good, you're alive.
I was worried sick.
I'm fine.
So, I'm thinking we can pretty much discount coincidence.
You've got Jeppeson, McKillop and now Bishop.
And according to the news,
Ronald Bishop was killed before Danny McKillop.
Feels like there's a bit of spring cleaning going on.
Thanks.
My editor, he's an old drinking buddy
of the former Planning Minister, Kevin Pixley.
He hates journos. He reckons we ruined his career.
But he's a Fitzroy tragic. He might just talk to you.
Yeah, I should talk talk to him.
I reckon a journo will send everyone to ground.
OK, but don't think you can cut me out, Jack.
I feel a Walkley Award coming on.
Really?
So you were worried sick, were you?
No, I think I had an off oyster at lunch.
He's in the kitchen.
MAN: Spit of your old man.
You know, he was one of the hardest bastards
ever to pull on a Fitzroy guernsey.
We'll be lunching soon, Kevin.
Goodbye, Mr Irish.
Very economically done.
I got my instructions, you got your marching orders,
so we'd better be quick.
There's a beer.
They tell me I shouldn't drink, but stuff 'em. What do they know?
This is about Yarra Cove, eh? Yeah.
Who was that society bird, Jeppes... Ann.
Jeppeson. Ann. Yeah, saucy little girl, right?
She nearly put a stop to the whole thing.
Now, this is off the record, is it, Jack?
I'd be more inclined to shaft the shaftworthy if it was.
Be like me doing a public service. Totally off the record.
It was your idea to sell the Hoagland Commission flats, wasn't it?
Well, you know, the place was a cesspit.
It was Pittman's lead at the start,
But the Premier and I were happy to be involved.
Just export all the rapes and bashings to Melton.
There was plenty of opposition, wasn't there, at the time?
There wasn't a whisper till that woman got involved.
Suddenly, you had rent-a-leftie protesters
popping up like pricks at a pyjama party.
I had Premier Weak-as-Piss ready to drop the whole development.
Thought it was going to cost him the election.
Well, why was Pitman involved?
I thought he was the Police Minister at the time.
Where've you been, Jack?
Planning's where the big graft is.
That's where the big boys play.
Pitman would have put on lipstick and a party frock
and sucked off the entire caucus to get his hands on Planning.
Can you tell me about the tender process?
I'll tell you anything. There wasn't any.
As Planning Minister, I called for one.
Correct procedure.
So...?
There was a palace coup.
I was made Minister of the Arts,
Geriatrics and other National Disasters,
and Lance Pitman, Mr Lucky, got my job.
Now, you can say whatever you like about me, Jack.
And when I was Planning Minister
I was responsible for some fuckin' horrible cock-ups.
I mean, there's some I still can't bear to drive by today.
But I did get into parliament to help people.
So Pitman sold it straight to Charis?
For about half of what it was worth.
Lunch now, Kevin.
(Grunts)
And the death of Anne Jeppeson?
Oh, well, buggered if I know.
I mean, she was being tailed 24-7.
Listen, you got a light? No.
Shit, I could have stayed indoors.
What was she being tailed for?
Oh, she had some activist boyfriend the government didn't like.
Was it ASIO? No, not ASIO, local boys.
Special Branch.
See, they were monitoring her every bowel movement.
I don't know how she could have got herself knocked off
without anybody noticing.
You haven't got any names, have you? Oh, yeah, Special Branch.
They love giving out that sort of info.
But I had this all out
with the new Police Minister, Garth Bruce, yonks ago.
And? And...
..next time bring a match.
It's time for my lettuce and a nap.
Yep. Leaving now.
DREW: Mate, you've got to watch out for these people.
Kwitny doesn't come from the Melbourne Club.
This mob thinks bribery's a legitimate tax deduction.
Hey, did I tell you,
I tipped eight out of eight three weeks in a row,
in me granddaughter's tipping pool.
You did, Wilbur, but I'm happy to hear it over and over again.
Why are they wearing the colours
of a team that was extinct over a decade ago?
They do know it's a Saints-Hawks game we're going to?
Look around you.
They may now barrack for the Saints, but all they see is Fitzroy.
Jack.
Detective Tony Baker.
Nice to see people still do work among the elderly.
Yeah, it's the Fitzroy Youth Club.
No risk of anyone wanting to join?
Like you to come for a little drive, Jack.
Have you got some identification? Oodles.
But if it's not convenient for you right at the moment,
I do have instructions to arrest you.
Really? Yeah.
On what charges? Many options available to us.
Conspiring to pervert the course of justice,
conspiracy to conceal the odd murder or two.
Yeah, well, it does appear
that a gap's just opened up in my social calendar.
Then, I'll come with you. No, it's OK, mate.
I'll see you there.
See you at half-time, fellas. Yeah, righto.
I didn't know Jack had a mate from the Gold Coast.
So, cop shops have gone up a notch or two.
Police Minister's expecting you.
The Minister? I'm meeting Garth Bruce?
You've managed to piss off people in very high places, Jack.
After you.
Come in, Jack.
Thought it was about time we had a quiet drink together.
Take a seat.
Hey, what'll you have?
Uh... whisky and water, thanks.
Jesus, what a day.
Politics, eh?
Win one, lose ten.
(Sighs)
I'm told you've been sniffing around,
asking a lot of questions about old business.
Really?
I was a cop for nearly twenty years.
I know the story, and I know the system.
I know what goes on.
That's why the Premier gave me the job.
Yeah.
What's your particular interest, mate?
Well, I got a phone call from an ex-client, Danny McKillop,
the night he was killed.
When your bloke was shot behind the Trafalgar, I called in the file.
I've had it with this Dirty Harry shit.
Twenty years on the beat, I fired all of three shots,
and all in response to pricks firing at me.
Now, your name is all over this, Jack.
What's worrying is that you were seen in the bush, in Daylesford,
and it looks like you wiped clean
a whole lot of Danny's prints from the scene.
You know how serious this is?
Danny's prints?
Who the hell do you think killed them?
Wake up.
Here's the ballistics.
The gun Danny had on him the night of the Trafalgar
was the same as the one that knocked Ronnie Bishop and his doctor mate.
No question. You were next.
Revenge.
McKillop reckoned you fitted him up. You, Scullin and Ronnie bishop.
If you had managed to meet up with him that night,
you'd be looking at the lid now.
I spoke to Kevin Pixley. Oh, yeah?
What number gin and tonic was he on?
He pretty much shafted Pitman.
You know who the biggest crook
ever to hold ministerial office in this State is?
Oh, it'd be a pretty open field, wouldn't it?
One clear winner, the Honourable K Pixley.
You like his little lean-to in Brighton?
Think that came from family money?
I need a favour from ya.
An election coming up.
Premier doesn't want a media circus over Yarra Cove.
It's pre-history.
Now, you've made a right tool of yourself so far,
and it's only thanks to me you're not sitting in remand.
But keep your nose out of it,
no articles on the subject in the dailies from your girlfriend,
and in return, maybe I'll get the files cleaned up.
No charges. No trace of you.
Come on, eh?
My private line, if you need me.
Tony'll drive you back.
You're right to walk from here, Jack?
You're joking, aren't ya?
Outski.
You've got a bad history of losing your women, don't ya?
Be a shame to repeat it.
(Gunshot echoed)
# OMINOUS MUSIC
(Echoed, muffled) Isabel!
Isabel!
Just give me ten minutes. Meet you in the car park.
Isabel!
(Gunshot echoes)
I thought you could use some MSG and trans fats.
Great.
Remember all those companies that sold their land to Charis?
Um, the supremely virginal oil, the pepper grinder,
but not the toothpicks?
Yeah, not the toothpicks.
Names like Edelweiss Nominees Number 12,
and Collarstud Holdings and Rabbitrun...
You can put your hands around me if you like.
..all registered in the Caymans and Vanuatu.
So, for your average reporter, a dead end.
I'll get some plates, eh? No, no. I want you to listen.
This food'll kill you anyway.
It's only a dead end
if the companies don't own real estate here,
and, you see, all these companies did.
They bought existing buildings,
so they had to pay water rates, electricity bills,
like real people do.
So, a brilliant journalist traced them.
And guess where all the bills got sent?
Well, to a management company.
And guess who the signatory was for that management company?
Um...
Joseph Kwitny, I hear you suggest?
No, that'd be completely improper.
His wife.
Give the man a fish ball.
Charis was there from the start.
They knew bloody well the development was going to proceed.
Pitman was their inside man.
I am going to print with this.
Hey, listen, um... I met with Garth Bruce today.
He, uh...
he has ballistic evidence
proving that Danny McKillop killed all three,
and I, apparently, was next on the list.
Hang on.
I haven't got over the 'I met with Garth Bruce' bit yet.
Why? I know, I know.
He basically made it clear to me that it's a conspiracy theory.
I mean, he's right.
You can't connect Pitman and Kwitny to the murders
without a tangible, beneficial link, and we don't have one.
Normally, lawyer talk turns me on, yet I'm not so sure this time.
I told him we'd drop it. Why the hell would you do that?
They know I was in Daylesford. They've got my fingerprints.
Then you ask yourself why they didn't charge you?
Five minutes with the Police Minister,
you come out in reverse?
This is a huge story. I'm running with it.
I told them you wouldn't.
Yeah, well, I'm not yours to shut up,
and I don't know what made you think I was.
Oh, come on. Screw you, Jack.
Actually, no, that's the last thing that'll ever happen.
Oh, Linda... Linda!
God, Linda, just once fall for a proper bloke, eh?
(Laughs) Fucking hell.
I didn't wake you, did I?
No.
Some idiot turned the saw on
at at five o'clock in the morning!
He woke me.
Oh, well, I'm glad it wasn't me, then.
This table needs something special,
to hide the disaster you make of joins.
Come here.
Cuban mahogany.
One hundred years old.
So beautiful...
..maybe they won't notice the mess you've made.
Yeah, I don't know that I'm ready for this, Charlie.
Till you make something nice out of it,
it's only a piece of wood.
Mr Pitman, Linda Hillier.
I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions.
Love, I'm only here for a wretched breakfast meeting
with a bunch of religious nutters.
I'm running a story on the Yarra Cove development
and specifically your links to the Charis Corporation.
Would you care to comment?
I'll happily answer all your questions, love.
Best make an appointment with my secretary.
Hillier, was it? I'll tell her you'll call.
Yeah, the problem seems to be ongoing.
There he is, lads.
Dakota Dreaming.
Part of the superannuation plan.
Walks like a stayer.
You can tell.
Next Saturday, Caulfield, race four.
What's her experience?
Well, rounding up cattle in the country, mainly.
Couple of city wins.
Cam's happy.
He wanted a girl from the start.
Women keep their mouth shut.
Well, they don't get on the phone,
go to the pub and do all their mates favours.
She loves this horse.
Don't want some cocky bastard on him,
hard hands, know it all, thinks he can thrash him home.
You'll understand if I say you're not to make any outside calls
until after Saturday's race, love.
Is this big? Well, big enough.
This horse is going to win because it's the best horse in the race.
There's nothing else going on here.
Microfiche.
How old is this?
Yep, just keep going. Faster.
What's that? OK, can...
Wait, go back a bit.
No! No!
No!
Stop.
No, back.
There. That.
Got him.
Well, that was nice.
Girl can ride.
230 on this sheep paddock?
For a stayer, she's smoking.
So you in? It's 25 big ones.
Jesus! By next Saturday?
Well, can you do it?
Well, I might have to sell a kidney.
You having fun there, Schumacher?
Two pricks on a bike have been with us since we left the track.
I just wanted to see what they'd do.
Uh... what's going on? I don't know.
Could be just two guys out for a joyride.
Could be someone who thinks we've got cash on board.
(Knocks)
(Car engine starts)
Harry, you want to reach under the seat for me, please?
There's a little case there.
Want to open it for me please, Jack?
686 Smith & Wesson.
When was the last time you shot anything, Jack?
Oh... some rabbits about 20 years ago in the Mallee.
I missed most of them, though.
(Tyres screech)
The bloke in the back's got a little bag or something.
Well, that'll be his play lunch.
Hold on. I'm going to take the scenic route.
Can't outrun 'em.
I think we'll have to show the boys the iron.
Out we go!
I'll stay where I am, Cam!
Stay down!
Give me the gun!
Get down!
(Rapid gunfire)
You bastards!
Party over?
Yeah, looks that way, boss.
That ain't the way you go about taking money off people.
Uh...
I don't think this is about the horses, fellas.
Might have something to do with a little job I've taken on.
Well, don't take on any big jobs.
Yeah.
Want me to wait? No, it's OK. Cheers.
You alright?
Have you seen anyone go in or out? No.
Alright, come on. I'm gonna grab some stuff then we'll go.
Look out!
No, no, Jack, you can't.
Jack, leave it!
Come on, please!
Leave it! It's gone!
Hop in the car, Jack! Get in the car!
No! Come on, Jack!
Hop in!
Should be comfortable here. It belongs to my current.
She's in Italy somewhere, swanning with her mother.
Wish I was in Italy with her Mum.
I need to swap the Jag over for the ute.
You need me, I'm on my phone.
But don't use your mobile.
Help yourself to the fridge.
I'm in the apartment opposite.
I can see everything from there.
That's how I met my girlfriend.
(Laughs)
I'm indebted, Cam.
Next Saturday, at Caulfield, we pay off our debts.
See ya, Jack. Cheers, mate.
See ya, Linda. Thanks, Cam.
Found something of historical interest.
Well, Bishop's mum did say he was into filmmaking.
Down the bottom,
name of the cop who said it was all a case of mistaken identity.
Ah... (Mutters)
..Detective Sergeant Scullin.
One paragraph on, the other arresting officer.
Senior Sergeant Garth Bruce.
Ronald Bishop had to be blackmailing them, didn't he?
So, we need to find whatever it was he had over them before they do.
Which will probably keep us alive for another week.
You realise we are going to end up in a caravan park in Deniliquin
on witness protection, don't ya?
What is it about the imminent death that makes you horny?
I'm just turned on by the thought of Deniliquin.
Ahh!
Oh, God.
(Breathes heavily)
Ah, McKillop's wife.
What?
Well, you told me that she said
that this all started when McKillop
received a call from a mystery woman, right?
Is this your idea of pillow talk?
A call from a recently widowed woman.
She rang and said that
she had something that proved Danny's innocence.
It has to be the wife of someone on the inside.
Well, who knows?
It could be someone from Charis, or Good Hands, or a cop.
Death notices. The obituaries from that time.
Somewhere there has to be a name that jumps out.
Right. Yeah.
Hang on a sec.
Didn't your mother tell you it's rude not to finish what you start?
Can you not mention my mother?
Uh, this is Doctor Charles Taub here,
from Monash University Medical School.
Um... Denise, we're doing a study on police mortality.
Hopefully, our research will mean
higher stress loadings on police salaries.
Yeah, I'm just wanting to double-check our data
on any police deaths in the last three months.
Sure.
I find appealing to their pockets usually gets more answers.
Two in January?
Motor transport. Yeah, yeah, I've got those.
None in Feb.
Yes, thank God.
PK Vane?
Yeah, I did hear about that.
Uh... no, thanks, Denise. That's all we need.
Thank you. Bye.
PK Vane, shot dead in the driveway of his Seaford home.
What department?
Special Branch.
Well, that's gotta be him, doesn't it?
I mean, that's got to be his wife who called Danny.
Can you get an address? Sure.
Cam.
(On phone, quiet) Hey, listen brother. It's time to go.
There's some blokes coming up your way.
Don't use the back. Use the roof.
We've gotta get out of here.
(Banging at door) Oh, shit!
(Banging) Jack Irish? Police!
We know you're home.
(Bangs on door)
Open the door, Jack!
Roof!
Come, come, come!
Find another way out!
(Glass smashes)
Give me that fucking chair! Alright!
God.
Mrs Vane?
You sure this is the right house?
WOMAN: Excuse me!
Oh, Mrs Vane, I'm sorry.
We're just wondering if you can help us.
I take it you're not Jehovah's Witness.
Didn't I see you at Danny McKillop's funeral?
Paul had the Jeppeson girl under surveillance
the day she was run over.
He said he'd seen her... get murdered.
That they'd framed someone
and that he had something that would prove it.
Did he say what?
No.
He didn't want me to know.
Well, why didn't he come forward himself?
He was too scared.
He started hiding guns all around the place.
Started checking for phone taps.
He took an early retirement
and sat on the couch for years just watching nature docos.
I mean, it wasn't exactly the kind of retirement that I had planned.
And then one day, he just...
..he just snapped.
He got up, he rang Dan McKillop
and he told him, 'We can make these bastards pay.'
Pay?
I think the word is blackmail.
Oh, and they paid him out.
They shot him in the driveway in front of his dog.
Jesus.
All the cops pulled the place apart trying to find whatever it was.
Pretended they were looking for clues.
I told them I didn't know.
If you didn't know what he had over them,
then why did you call Danny McKillop?
I may not know what it is, but I have a fair idea where it is.
You've got a long drive ahead of you.
Here it is.
I bet it's in there.
How do you know?
Oh, debt collector's instinct.
There's a crowbar in the ute. Yeah, I know. I was lying on it.
Move along, Kamahl.
Jack Irish.
You know, you really are one giant pain in the arse.
Oh, well, I'm sorry to be such an inconvenience.
Where is it?
I don't know. We're just here on holidays.
You know, maybe if you tell us what it is you're looking for.
Who do you think I am, Miss Marple?
(Thud!)
Let's be clear at the outset.
What's gonna happen is I'm gonna kill the blackfella.
Oh, like the good old days.
Then I'll move onto the woman. They're not involved, OK?
Well, they are now.
You see, you're all going to die here, Jack.
It's really just a question of speed.
Get us what we're looking for and it can be over in a heartbeat.
Painless, like putting down a dog.
Dick us around, I mean, there's no-one for miles.
Death could come very slowly.
They know the story I'm working on. They know your names.
Tell me, do people still read newspapers?
It's in the fireplace.
Show us.
Yeah, OK.
(Cam grunts)
OK, now get up there.
This coat cost me four grand.
Yeah, right.
Don't get stuck up there, Jack. You'll make an easy target for Tony.
Ow.
Come on, get a move on!
(Linda screams) Taking too long!
No! It's here. LINDA: Bastard! (Grunts)
She's a real fighter, Jack.
Arggh!
Get on with it!
Thank you very much. I will take that.
(Screams)
You can stop now. I think they understand.
Yeah.
CAM: Ow.
I've taken worse beatings.
(Laughs)
Ohh.
I'm thinking maybe I should just return to conveyancing.
Oh, that's Anne Jeppeson.
Officers Garth Bruce and Martin Scullin.
I need you to be with me tonight.
Well that's a relief, 'cause I haven't got anywhere to live.
(Chatter on TV)
LINDA: I need a car sent to the Prince of Prussia Hotel.
I need to come in the back of the building.
Make sure there's plenty of security staff.
Yes, Gavin, it is life and death.
I'm not drinking till I file this.
Oh, well I'll have yours, then.
You realise this doesn't really link Kwitny.
He could still bullshit his way out of it.
Yeah, we'll get him eventually.
Great win last Saturday, Jack.
Yes, a truly, truly great win.
Ball out of defence still a weakness.
Shame about your place. Yes, isn't it just.
Don't they want you now for murder or something?
It's a misunderstanding.
Some great songs.
But I could have bet the whole bar here
that Nelson Riddle done the arrangements on this record.
Well, that's lovely for Riddle.
Look, Wilbur, it's been a long couple of days.
Oh, it was Riddle. Money on the table.
I've never heard of the bloody Kwitny Orchestra.
Pitman on counter sax.
Shit, how did I miss this? There.
The Post Office Box is the recording studio.
Abbotsford.
Well, that's plain wrong. Nat recorded that in Chicago.
My guess is he never came anywhere near Abbotsford.
We would have heard about it.
No, he was never there, to my knowledge.
How does it feel to bring down an entire government, Wilbur,
without getting off your bar stool?
NEWSREADER: With this extraordinary story still unfolding,
we can confirm that both the Minister for Police, Garth Bruce,
and the Minister for Planning, Lance Pitman, are now in custody.
And following the revelation
of secret documents from an inside source,
Special Branch Detectives
have also raided the offices of Charis Corporation,
making several arrests,
including that of millionaire developer Joseph Kwitny,
and Father Alex Gorman of the Good Hands Foundation,
on multiple charges of graft and corruption.
In what is certainly proving
to be the biggest scandal to hit the city in decades,
we spoke exclusively
to the woman who helped break the story, Linda Hillier.
Dakota Dreaming's at twelve-to-one now.
Reckon we can push it to twenty before they smell a rat.
Oh, Harry, I just came by to tell you that my house blew up,
so I couldn't raise the 25.
Your place was insured, wasn't it?
You'll be good for it.
Cam knows how to find you.
Could really go down big time here, couldn't we?
You know what Oscar Wilde said?
Only one thing makes more of a fool of a man than a woman,
and that's a horse.
And this one's got a woman riding it.
(Laughs)
Pulling off a coup's always a bit of a miracle.
I've had a coup horse run stone motherless last.
Goodbye seventy grand.
And today, there's thirteen other cattle out there trying to sink us.
But some bunny's gotta win, eh?
Why not us, Jack?
RACE CALLER: Just about ready for the running of race number four
on the program at Caulfield.
Group one feature, moving in.
Just about set.
Ready to run.
Dakota Dreaming sprung the gates.
# NAT KING COLE: The mere idea of you... #
VOICEOVER: In a moment, a look at next week's Jack Irish.
Then stay with us
for an encore of the critically acclaimed drama The Slap.
I might have something for you, mate.
MAN: This is an international business run by ex-CIA.
And we were the Australian arm of it.
Drugs, is it?
If these boys want snow in Darwin, Jack, it falls.
(Car approaches)
(Gunfire)
Police! Drop your weapon!
Unless we find Gary, we're dead men.
Guy Pearce stars as Jack Irish.
Next Sunday, 8:30, on ABC1.