‘Right.’ Dad picks grease out of his fingernails. ‘How well does he know Snowie Geraldson, y’reckon?’
‘Dad!’
‘Well, I wonder, don’t I?’ Dad abandons any attempt to look like he’s worried about the grease. ‘Westie said it was Snowie’s mate he got in a stoush with at the pub. And I’ve had Harris down at the station plenty of times in the last few years – drunk and disorderly, driving unregistered, brawling –’
‘Well, he came off second best this time.’ I dump the dish cloth full of the dirty crumbs into the sink.
‘I’m not saying he’s a villain, love.’ Dad straightens. ‘But if he’s hanging around Snowie…’ He rubs through his hair. ‘Maybe I could just ask him. Drop in at the hospital and ask Harris straight out.’
I put my hands on my hips. ‘I know you’re trying to get a line on Snowie, Dad. But do you really think Harris will tell you?’ I’m sure my expression says he should already know the answer. ‘You know how the local kids are. They won’t dob in a mate. They’ll cover for each other. That’s how it works –’
‘Yeah, but this is different. It was probably Snowie supplying Craig Davies, and we know he was dealing ice to Gavin Donovan. If Snowie’s dealing hard stuff, stuff that’s hurting people, local families, then he’s dirtying his own patch. I don’t think anybody’d be sticking up for him then.’
‘Maybe.’ I rub my eyes.
‘Maybe people don’t know,’ he suggests. ‘They think Snowie’s still just dealing pot. Sounds harmless, right? If they knew he was the one who sold ice to Gavin and Craig, he might not find himself with so many friends.’
‘I dunno, Dad. You’d be putting Harris in an impossible situation, asking him to rat out a mate.’
‘It doesn’t have to be complicated. I could just go in and have a chat with Harris, ask him about the fight. He might drop something useful.’
I don’t like the sound of that. ‘Can’t you just pick up Snowie for some small violation and talk to him in person?’
‘If it were that easy…’ Dad turns around to fill the kettle, lodges it back in its cradle and hit the switch. ‘I’m trying to avoid tipping Snowie off. This isn’t just about him, love. Snowie’s only the dealer. He’s small fry. CIU in Mildura, they’re trying to find out how far it all goes.’
‘So it’s all coming out of Mildura?’
‘Largely.’ He leans against the bench. ‘Little towns around here like Walpe and Five Mile and Ouyen, they’re just the feeder towns.’
‘How’s that?’
He sighs, spreads his hands to explain. ‘Okay, think of it like a pyramid. At the top you’ve got bikies and truck drivers bringing in the gear from Melbourne or interstate, or getting it made locally, and then distributing it to a handful of trusted Mildura generals. The generals break it up and pass it down to lieutenants, who break it up further for sale – the lieutenants have got their own little army of dealers and small-time distributors. Snowie falls into the ‘small-time distributor’ basket. Then you’ve got the buyers – the addicts. They’re the large desperate community supporting the whole thing at the bottom of the pyramid, and funding some of their habit through things like B&E and muggings.’
‘And ripping off your parents’ car and laptop.’ I’m thinking of Gavin Donovan, his sad family.
‘And ripping off your parents’ car and laptop, yes.’ Dad looks at me gravely.
‘So you could pull Snowie in for questioning but that’ll just tip off the big fish, and it won’t stop the drugs from coming into the area.’
‘That’s pretty much it.’ He turns as the kettle reaches the height of its bubbling cycle and switches itself off. ‘But if I get enough info I could bust Snowie properly. If Snowie loses his lolly at the thought of doing serious jail time he might tell me the names of more significant parties – find out who’s supplying him from Mildura, and I could pass that onto Mildura CIU. They could put away a few of the people who keep the operation running. If we can take down big names, the whole structure starts to collapse.’
‘And if that happens…’
‘Then Mildura looks like a less interesting place to distribute your drugs. Which means less product coming into Ouyen and Five Mile and other local towns.’ He pours hot water into our mugs. ‘People like Gavin Donovan have a fighting chance to get off the meth for good and recover. There’s no piss-ant dealers like Snowie waving it under Gavin’s nose on a Friday night.’
There’s a lot of information to absorb but I’m thinking about what it means now. ‘You could clean up all over the district. All the petty burglaries and assaults and ODs would stop, hospital admissions would go down…’
Dad nods. I can tell he’s excited by the idea. ‘If I could manage that before I hang up the uniform, I’d be a happy man.’
‘So you’re hoping to catch Snowie somehow. But what could you get out of Harris Derwent?’
Dad shakes his head, passes my mug over. ‘I don’t know, love. Like I said, maybe nothing. But Harris has been on my radar for a while for different reasons. The idea of him and Snowie getting matey…’
‘You’re worried about Harris,’ I say, realising suddenly. ‘You’re worried he’s gonna get mixed up in it.’
‘Harris has been on a knife-edge most of his life,’ Dad admits. ‘He’s coming from a bad place – his upbringing has weighed the scales against him. But he’s not an idiot, even though he sometimes pretends to be. He’s got potential. He had a good job at the quarry and he had Mark West in his corner. It was starting to look like he was digging his way out. Then he traipsed off to Melbourne and this shooting business happened –’
‘And he went back to his dad’s,’ I finish.
