Free Dark Country by Bronwyn Parry Page A

play games.
    He didn’t have to wait long before Kent Marshall returned, with Petric not far behind him. The Birraga detective, Fraser,
     came in too, but it was clearly Petric running the show, and Gil figured Fraser was only there as a concession to the locals.
    He swallowed another mouthful of coffee as they sat, and Petric turned the recorder on and completed the formalities.
    Petric leaned back in his chair, pretending casualness. ‘Where were you the night before last, between seven pm and midnight?’
    Immediately wary of the change of tack in both manner and questions, Gil answered briefly, ‘Behind the bar at the pub, working.’
    ‘You have witnesses to confirm that?’
    ‘Yes. It was a busy night. The new owner and a couple of his staff were there, learning the ropes. There was also a fair few
     regulars and two-hundred-plus other customers, in the bar and the brasserie.’
    Petric nodded, appeared satisfied, and in that same easy manner, asked, ‘When was the last time you saw Vince Russo?’
    Shit, were they going to try to pin Vince’s shooting on him, too? Gil kept his face neutral, his gaze steady on Petric. ‘I’ve
     seen Vince Russo only twice in the past five years or so. The last time was on Wednesday morning.’
    ‘Why? What was your business with him?’
    He’d give them the truth, or at least the important parts of it. If Petric was one of the cops Vince had in his pocket, chances
     were he knew the answer to the question, anyway. And if hewasn’t … well, he’d been investigating organised crime for a while, probably knew more than he was letting on.
    ‘Marci was in debt to one of his son’s associates. I gave Vince the money to clear the debt.’
    ‘Why give it to him?’ Petric asked. ‘Why not to whoever she owed it to?’
    ‘If Marci learned that I’d paid her debts, she’d have just racked up more.’
    ‘How much did she owe?’
    ‘Twenty thousand dollars.’
    Fraser whistled low under his breath.
    Petric didn’t seem surprised. ‘So, you give Vince twenty grand, that night somebody shoots him, and then Marci turns up dead.’
    Wondering where the insinuation might be going, Gil replied coolly, ‘We both know that twenty grand is small change for Vince.’
    ‘And small change for you, too, these days.’
    Gil deflected the veiled question with a shrug. ‘I won’t starve without it.’
    ‘I heard you got over fifteen million for the pub. That would be more than enough to pay for a few … “favours”.’
    Kent Marshall paused in his detailed note-taking and raised his pen in protest. ‘If you wish to examine my client’s financial
     records, you will need to obtain a warrant, Detective. And may I remind you that you have only ten minutes remaining before
     your time is up.’
    Petric tapped his fingers a couple of times on the table before he pushed back his chair and rose with a cordial smile.‘Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Gillespie. You’re free to go. Sergeant Matthews will sign you out and return your belongings.’
    As suddenly as that, it was over. This round, at least.
    Gil exhaled a long breath. Petric mustn’t have enough to charge him, but Gil doubted the man would drop him from his investigation.
     And whoever had tried to set him up wouldn’t give up easily. But for now, walking out the door of that interview room as a
     free man felt like a victory.
    Marshall gave him a few more words of general advice, shook his hand, and hurried away to another appoinment.
    In the custody office, the sergeant passed the plastic bag containing Gil’s personal effects across the counter to him, with
     a faint smile that might have had a tinge of relief.
    ‘Check that everything is there, and then sign here that you’ve received them.’
    A cursory flick through the contents of his wallet was all he gave before he scanned the document and signed his name. He
     slid his wallet into his jeans, picked up his phone and switched it on.
    ‘What will you do