Andrew Mcgahan - Last Drinks

PRAISE FOR LAST DRINKS

A complex of deft characterisation, discreet lyricism and masterly plotting. Murray Waldren, The Weekend Australian

One of the most exciting crime stories to come out of Australia in a long time, and a bona fide political novel that deals in complexities rather than caricatures. Michelle Griffin, The Age

I was blown away by Andrew McGahans breakout with Last Drinks... A political-history thriller, it is also a journey into the dark places of the soul and my pick as the best novel published this year.John Birmingham, Sydney Morning Herald

Last Drinks is a thrilling noir-ish cocktail of drama and dark laughter. Michael Shuttleworth, Australian Bookseller and Publisher

This is crime fiction that transcends the genre, becoming an extended meditation on the alcoholics nightmare and a lament for the rotten golden heart of Queensland itself. Its a truly compelling and stylish novel, seamlessly written.Debra Adelaide, Sydney Morning Herald

What impresses me most is McGahans grasp of structure, his fluid, almost rhythmic, storytelling and the ineffable sadness at the core which, he suggests, is the essence of Queensland.Mark Butler, TheAustralian

An assured amalgam of crime thriller, love story and political analysis. Katharine England, The Advertiser

ANDREW MCGAHAN was born in Dalby, Queensland, and was raised on a wheat farm before moving to Brisbane. Since the publication of his first novel, the bestselling Praise in 1992, he has produced three other novels1988 (1995), Last Drinks (2000) and The White Earth (2004)as well as award-winning stage-plays and screenplays. He currently lives in Melbourne with his partner of many years, Liesje.

ANDREW
MCGAHAN

LAST DRINKS

This edition published in 2005
First published in 2000

Copyright Andrew McGahan 2000

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

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National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

McGahan,Andrew.
Last drinks.

ISBN 1 74114 774 3.

1. CorruptionQueenslandFiction. I.Title.

A823.3

Typeset in Bembo by DOCUPRO, Canberra
Printed in Australia by McPhersons Printing Group

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

This is a work of fiction. While obviously inspired to some degree by the Fitzgerald inquiry and its era in Queensland, this is not, even for a moment, an historic or factual version of those times. In particular, no character in this book should be mistaken for any actual person, living or dead.

With special thanks to John Orr, who was more than generous with his time and knowledge. Thanks also to Shaune Gifford, Jo Jarrah and Carl Harrison-Ford for their advice and suggestions.

CONTENTS

It was a cataclysm.

That was the only word for it. Like the fall of Rome, the fallof Troy. Like wed flown too high and challenged the gods. It startedout so small, just a whisper, but someone lost their nerve, someonelet it slip, and suddenly it was the end.

People were scattering to the winds. Old friends wouldnt returnmy calls. And you know what I did on my last night as a governmentminister? I gathered up my papers and set them alight, right therein my office, let the fire blaze until the sprinklers came on and dousedthe whole mess. Later, the police arrived, warrants in hand, and foundme there amongst the ashes.

Take me in, boys, I said.

And just watch while this whole fucking town goes up.

Extract from untitled manuscript by Marvin McNulty

(unpublished)

Unpublished?

Unfinished as well. And self-serving, but that was Marvin.

And what he called a cataclysm was more commonly known as the Inquiry, an investigation into official corruption in the state of Queensland, which ran from 1987 until the collapse of the government in 1989. All long ago. And in truth, no great cataclysm. To those outside of Queensland it was never much more than a diversion, another oddity from a place already long known to have gone mad. Outside of Australia, barely anyone heard of it at all. A government fell, yes, but it was a minor government, overseeing a bare three million souls. What was that in America, Asia, Africa? Governments fell all the time, much bigger ones. Great bodies of people were oppressed and displaced and suffered and died. What matter, then, the fate of a few dozen people like Marvin and his friends, or of a backwater state like sleepy, sunny Queensland?

No matter at all. Turns out Marvin was no friend of mine anyway.

And he wont ever finish his book now.

The phone then. Ringing and ringing.

I was asleep and it was cutting through warmth and dreams and tugging me awake. I raised my head, not knowing where I was, or whenback, just for a moment, to all the hungover mornings of times past. Then I shook my head and reached for the receiver. It was cold and black in my bedroom, and I was stone sober, not having taken a drink in years.

What? I said into the phone.

George? Its Graham here. Sorry about the hour.

I peered at the bedside table, looking for the time. The digital clock should have glowed there in the night, but there was nothing. I reached for the lamp.

Why? What time is it?

Just going on five. Listen, youd better get down here.

I clicked the lamp switch, got nothing there either.

Hey, Graham, you got lights?

No ones got lights. Thats part of the problem.

What problem?

Um... look, we just need you here, quick, okay? At the station.

Graham was the senior police sergeant of Highwood, and Highwood was a small mountain town on the border between Queensland and New South Wales. My refuge for the last ten years.

I sat up.

You mean you need me professionally?

No... Id say it was more of a personal matter.

Professionally I was still working as a journalist. After a fashion, at least, for while I had never reached any true heights in the field, there in Highwood I barely practised it at all. The Highwood Herald had a circulation of less than 3000, and apart from the semi-retired proprietor and editor, I was the only reporter on staff. It was a profound decline from the half million readers I had commanded in my day, but my day was gone, had ended in disgrace, and I was lucky anyone would employ me at all. I was more than lucky. Most of the others were in prison, or roaming the world in hiding. MeI hadnt even been driven from the state.

Personally though...

What dyou mean, personally? I said.

Just get over here, George. We need you to identify somebody.

And he was clicking the phone down.

I sat in the dark for a moment, blinking myself awake. Identify somebody? Did he mean identify some actual