‘Yep. Nothing useful.’ Heath eyed me. ‘Did you know he was a Vietnam vet?’
‘No. How did you find out?’
Heath leaned forward in his chair, picking at his thumbnail. ‘He’s got two medals. And we found a photo of half a dozen soldiers in a jungle somewhere.’
‘Shit.’
‘You seem surprised.’
‘Well...’ I zeroed in on the container full of pens and odds and ends on the desk and picked out a white ballpoint. ‘He never mentioned it at all, but this is from an RSL club in Bendigo, so possibly he was a member.’
‘Possibly.’
‘Keith Scott’s a regular here. He was in Vietnam, I think. Surely he’d know if Macca was a vet.’
Heath leaned back. ‘None of that tells us who might’ve killed him, though. Now if it was suicide, the vet thing would be useful.’
Footsteps in the passage and then Connor was sta
