Free Mad Dog Moxley by Peter Corris Page A

opposite corner. He unfolds the Daily Telegraph . Mrs Fletcher sits across from Moxley, who is staring at the floor. She touches him on the shoulder.
    â€˜Oh, Bill, what have you done?’
    Moxley lifts his head and looks direcdy at her. He is freshly shaven and has cut himself; there is a spot of dried blood on his chin.
    â€˜I don't righdy know, Lin. They reckon I killed them two young people.’
    â€˜Did you, Bill?’
    â€˜I think I must've but I wasn't in my right head if I did. You know about them fits I have.’
    â€˜The dizzy spells, you mean, when you have to sit down?’
    â€˜Fall down, more like. Don't you remember?’
    She doesn't answer. She takes a handkerchief and twists it in her fingers. Moxley bends forward towards her and keeps his voice low.
    â€˜You have to help me, Lin.’
    â€˜How can I help you? I don't know anything about it.’
    â€˜But you know about me , how I am and that.’
    â€˜What d'you mean?’
    Moxley glances at MacKay. Raising his voice a litde, he says, ‘How's Dougie?’
    â€˜He's all right. He's been wondering where you've been.’
    â€˜What did you tell him?’
    â€˜I told him you went bush.’
    â€˜I went bush all right, like you told me to do, but it was too bloody late.’
    â€˜Watch your language, Bill. You don't want these policemen to get a bad impression of you.’
    Moxley stares at her with his bulging eyes. He almost laughs but can't quite manage to. They sit in silence for a short time.
    â€˜What's going to happen now, Bill?’
    â€˜I reckon they'll put me on trial for murder. I've got a bad record.’
    â€˜It wasn't your fault, you told me. You got into bad company. But does that mean you'll go to gaol again?’
    Moxley shakes his head. ‘They'll hang me, Lin.’
    â€˜No, they don't hang people any more, do they?’
    â€˜Nothing to stop ‘em. And there's that young girl.’
    â€˜Did you…?’
    â€˜I don't know. I don't remember.’ Moxley puts his head in his hands and squeezes. She takes his hands away.
    â€˜Don't do that. How is the head?’
    â€˜It bloody hurts.’
    â€˜I brought you some Aspros.’
    Moxley looks across at MacKay, deep in his reading. He raises his voice. ‘Can she give me some Aspros, Mr MacKay? For my head?’
    MacKay nods and Mrs Fletcher hands Moxley a packet.
    â€˜Thanks, Lin. Dunno what I'd do without you.’
    She is alarmed at this and draws back a little. ‘You said I could help you. Do you mean with Douglas? I'm glad to do that. He's a good boy.’
    Moxley shakes his head. He takes four of the tablets from their wrapping and swallows them dry. ‘No, I mean telling the lawyers about me.’
    â€˜Lawyers? I don't want anything to do with lawyers. It's bad enough being called on by the police at this time of night. They searched your room a few days back, too.’
    Moxley nods. ‘I'm sorry, Lin.’
    He looks so dejected she is touched. ‘You've been good to me, Bill. Always paid your rent on time and never charged me for the wood and you paid when we went to the pictures. I've got nothing against you. I've done nothing. I don't suppose lawyers can do me any harm. What do you want me to say to them?’
    The door opens with a loud creak and Inspector Walsh begins to enter but MacKay waves him away. Walsh shoots a baleful glance at Moxley and Linda Fletcher and closes the door more firmly than he needs to. The interruption upsets Moxley, who loses his train of thought. He leans back in the chair. Mrs Fletcher is reluctant to continue the line of conversation.
    â€˜Are they feeding you proper, Bill?’
    â€˜It's all right. I've had sausages and bread and butter and tea. Tea's a bit weak – not like yours.’
    Again, she isn't happy with the domestic detail. She crumples the handkerchief into a ball and squeezes it. She pauses and then draws a breath, as if