The Tower by Michael Duffy

your options.’
    He nodded, dimly aware of what she was getting at, and said, ‘So what happens now?’
    â€˜It goes to the commissioner. Once upon a time that wouldn’t have happened, but these days . . .’
    Troy knew what this was about, at least. Frank Rogers had been running the New South Wales police force for six months, and everyone knew how concerned he was about the media. Some said he didn’t have much time for anything else.
    â€˜Siegert and I each try to be first to talk to Rogers in the morning,’ said Kelly. ‘He’ll decide if you’re to become a hero or a disgrace to the force.’ He started to smile but realised she wasn’t joking. She went on quickly, glancing behind her, ‘Your statement will be the vital document.’ She took his arm and started to guide him back to the two IA officers. Before they reached them she said in a low voice, ‘Everyone knows Rogers is a genius at manipulating the media. But it’s a two-way thing. They influence him too. What they print in the morning will be crucial.’
    â€˜Crucial?’
    She nodded and turned away. He wanted to ask what she meant by that, but she was already shaking Ferris’s hand, heading for the lifts.
    The detectives took him over the scene, and he told his story again. He was thinking of it as a story now, a version of events that would strike different people in different ways. After he’d been swabbed for gunshot residue they took the lift down to ground level. They went in the officers’ car down to City Central, not far away. The other two were silent during the drive through the dark and empty streets. They hadn’t been exactly unfriendly, but it was clear they wanted to keep their distance. This disconcerted Troy, even though he knew it was how it had to be. He felt isolated. He had to make sure he was thinking for himself.
    â€˜Bloody City Central,’ Ferris murmured as they circled the streets. Even at this time of night there were police cars everywhere. ‘You ever worked here?’
    â€˜No,’ said Troy.
    â€˜Don’t. There’s parking inside for six cars, and then you’re on your own.’
    Eventually they parked down on the side of the road that ran between the station and the Darling Harbour precinct opposite.
    Inside the station a tall man in a suit was waiting for them. He was in his early fifties, like Kelly, and had silver hair and piercing, pale blue eyes.
    Ferris looked from him to Troy and said, ‘Superintendent Ron Siegert.’
    The superintendent stared at Troy, making no effort to shake hands. ‘We haven’t met earlier because I’ve been here trying to clean up the mess Jon McIver and you created for us.’ Troy had never seen anyone speak through clenched teeth before, but Siegert was coming close. When he said nothing, the superintendent went on, ‘That man should not have died. I intend to see the right thing done here. There’ll be no cover-up.’
    His face was red with anger.
    â€˜We don’t do cover-ups,’ Ferris said tersely. ‘Come on, we need to get Detective Troy’s statement.’
    Troy took a step forward and Siegert moved to block his way. He was close to Troy’s face, trying to make a deal of staring down at him, although there was only four or five centimetres difference in their heights.
    â€˜I knew your father,’ Siegert said.
    Troy froze. His father had been dead for eighteen years. He’d been a cop too, although he’d left the force two years before he died. Troy didn’t often come across anyone who’d met him.
    Siegert said, ‘We were detectives together. He was a good man. Jon McIver’s not worth his bootlace.’ The super turned on his heel and stormed off.
    The IA detectives led him through corridors and up some stairs, and Troy thought about what Kelly had said to him about the media, trying to work out what she