Free Eyrie by Tim Winton Page A

You’re actually looking over your shoulder.
    Just being sensible.
    You’re running for parliament.
    Don’t be absurd.
    Then what?
    The Crime and Corruption Commission is about to call before it a certain lobbyist.
    Keely rocked back in his seat. Placed his hands gently upon the table.
    Relating to certain matters involving the rezoning of a nature reserve and a subsequent real estate development.
    Old news, he said, feeling the pulse in his throat. Ancient history.
    In the wake of statements by a shire councillor and a town planner, now deceased. Along with the lobbyist, they’re hauling in at least one member of parliament and several senior public servants.
    Why tell me? he said. I don’t even care anymore.
    Some methodical drongo kept files, a diarized record. Documenting at least one payment of seventy thousand dollars to a public officer, an inducement from the developer.
    One bit of evidence. Hardly a case.
    And phone intercepts.
    Shit, he said. They knew all along?
    Or at least had their suspicions.
    Well, whacko, he said bitterly. Put out the flags.
    This is just the beginning, Tom. It’s all going to come out.
    This is Perth, Doris. Nothing ever
comes
out
. People keep their heads down. They’re shit-scared and they have every right to be. These pricks will string it out forever; they’re lawyered up till doomsday, they’ll wear the CCC to a nub and walk away.
    No. Not this time.
    Oh, what does it even matter?
    It matters that you told the truth. You were right all along.
    Of course I was fucking right, he thought, setting his glass down with monumental care. Had she fallen for the smear like everyone else? Was this why she was so excited, because she’d thought he was the embittered nutter they cast him as?
    Tom, are you alright?
    Fine, he said through his teeth.
    You’ll be vindicated.
    Re
deemed
.
    Those words still mean something to me.
    Yes, he conceded.
    I know it’s been hard.
    You’re going to tell me it was worth it?
    I wish you could have confided in someone. We could have tackled it strategically.
    I spent every day for fifteen years doing nothing else, Doris. But we lose. Not because we’re rubbish at it. That’s just how it works. We’re meant to lose. And campaign and calculate all we like, the bulldozers still arrive, the agencies wash their hands, the media get their little flash of colour and it’s back to business as usual. We’re the soft story wedged in before the sports results. Twice a week in a slow week.
    Look, I know it’s hard not to be cynical —
    Remember the old slogan?
EPA: Every Proposal Accepted.
Used to think it was hyperbole, propaganda. But it’s pretty much the truth. Like every other arm of government, it’s a servant of industry, ‘facilitator of ongoing prosperity’. Bribery isn’t even necessary. That’s the real insult. The system works beautifully without it.
    But in this instance we’re talking about a prima facie case of actual corruption. And I think it’ll stick.
    You really have drunk the Kool-Aid.
    Doris blinked. She leant across the table and he knew by the venomous rattle of Third World hardware that he’d crossed a line.
    I’m sorry, he said, but it sounded hollow.
    Who do you think you’re impressing, some doe-eyed intern in a sarong?
    Doris —
    You think you’re the only person who has to live and work in this hothouse? I’ve been dealing with this little club of red-faced chancers since you were a schoolboy. You think I don’t know what it is to be traduced?
    Really, he said. I apologize.
    Anyway, that’s my news. For what it’s worth.
    It’s just that being vindicated —
    We needn’t talk about it.
    There’s no job waiting, no welcome back. You saw how fast we settled. The donors were bolting like rats from a housefire. WildForce couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. And now no one’ll touch me. All for a few trees and fifty birds with faces only a mother could love.
    Mothers are like that.
    It was stupid. I mean, we’ve