Free Dark Country by Bronwyn Parry

might be able to find some answers. But if they charged him with murder, he wouldn’t get bailed, and he’d
     be shipped off tonight or tomorrow to the nearest remand centre. Dubbo, maybe, or Tamworth.
    He knew the ropes now, and was tough enough and bastard enough to hold his own in a remand centre. In maximum security, if
     he couldn’t clear his name, it would be a different story. Violent lifers with vengeance on their minds and no parole to look
     forward to could make a mess of a man, painfully and slowly. He’d just have to damned well make sure he never made it that
     far.
    The door handle that definitely needed oiling squeaked its warning. He leaned back in the chair, readying himself for another
     round with Petric and Macklin.
    Instead, it was the sergeant. Gil credited the small improvement in his mood to the fact that she was carrying a large paper
     cup, and knew he was kidding himself. He’d scarcely seen her since she’d processed him in the morning.
    Expecting the same tasteless gunk that Macklin had brought in for him earlier, the heart-pumping aroma of real coffee that
     wafted under his nose as she passed the cup to him upped his mood a little further.
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘Can’t have an addict getting the jitters,’ she said.
    The light reference to his comment that morning was the closest thing to ‘friendly’ he’d heard since he’d walked out of Jeanie’s.
     He dragged in a deep breath of the coffee, then a taste. The liquid hit the back of his throat, and he looked forward to the
     jolt of caffeine kicking in, re-invigorating his brain.
    ‘Your coffee is better than Macklin’s.’
    ‘My fault.’ She shrugged carelessly. ‘I forgot to tell him where the good stuff is stashed. My apologies. The instant is so
     vile it probably constitutes torture to give it to a detained person.’
    It would be stupid to read anything into the dark humour of her comment, or into the fact that she’d brought him the decent
     stuff.
    She sat on the end of the table. ‘So, how are you doing?’
    She might just be following custody rules in monitoring his wellbeing, but the genuine question invited an honest answer.
     Gil could imagine a distressed or agitated prisoner pouring out their woes, giving her the opportunity to assess their risk
     level. Which was her job, of course.
    He kept his answer brief and to the point. ‘I’m not going to harm myself or anyone else, Sergeant.’
    ‘Good. Still no after-effects from last night? Headache? Dizziness?’
    ‘None to worry about.’
    She nodded, all business. ‘Anything else I should be aware of? Medications due? Other health issues?’
    ‘You asked those questions when I arrived.’
    ‘Yes, I did. But being arrested can be stressful, and sometimes people don’t think of things at the time that can later be
     important.’
    He had to respect her professionalism in ensuring the wellbeing of those she held responsibility for, the way she’d left it
     open, easy for him to raise issues if he’d needed to, without losing face.
    ‘You can rest easy, Sergeant. As I told you, I have no allergies, drug addictions, medications or health problems.’
    Obviously satisfied, she stood and walked towards the door. ‘Detective Petric will be in to talk with you again in a few minutes.
     He’s just taking a phone call. Kent is on his way back over.’
    ‘Any idea whether I’ll be released or charged?’
    Her relative ease with him gave him hope for the first time that day – he couldn’t imagine her being even slightly friendly
     to anyone she believed a murderer – but her questions about medications suggested he might be in for the long haul.
    She paused in the doorway. ‘It’s not my investigation, Gillespie. That’s up to the detectives to decide.’
    He hadn’t really expected anything different. She might take a little pleasure in scoring a minor point against an arseholedetective over coffee, but where police work was concerned, he doubted she’d