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The Broken Shore: A Novel


The Broken Shore: A Novel Cover




CASHIN WALKED around the hill, into the wind from the sea. It was cold, late autumn, last glowing leaves clinging to the liquidambars and maples his great-grandfathers brother had planted, their surrender close. He loved this time, the morning stillness, loved it more than spring.

The dogs were tiring now but still hunting the ground, noses down, taking more time to sniff, less hopeful. Then one picked up a scent and, new life in their legs, they loped in file for the trees, vanished.

When he was near the house, the dogs, black as liquorice, came out of the trees, stopped, heads up, looked around as if seeing the land for the first time. Explorers. They turned their gaze on him for a while, started down the slope.

He walked the last stretch as briskly as he could and, as he put his hand out to the gate, they reached him. Their curly black heads tried to nudge him aside, insisting on entering first, strong back legs pushing. He unlatched the gate, they pushed it open enough to slip in, nose to tail, trotted down the path to the shed door. Both wanted to be first again, stood with tails up, furry scimitars, noses touching at the door jamb.

Inside, the big poodles led him to the kitchen. They had water bowls there and they stuck their noses into them and drank in a noisy way. Cashin prepared their meal: two slices each from the cannon-barrel dog sausage made by the butcher in Kenmare, three handfuls each of dry dog food. He got the dogs attention, took the bowls outside, placed them a metre apart.

The dogs came out. He told them to sit. Stomachs full of water, they did so slowly and with disdain, appeared to be arthritic. Given permission to eat, they looked at the food without interest, looked at each other, at him. Why have we been brought here to see this inedible stuff?

Cashin went inside. In his hip pocket, the mobile rang.



Kendall Rogers, from the station.

‘Had a call from a lady, she said. ‘Near Beckett. A Mrs Haig. She reckons theres someone in her shed.

‘Doing what?

‘Well, nothing. Her dogs barking. Ill sort it out.

Cashin felt his stubble. ‘Whats the address?

‘Im going.

‘No point. Not far out of my way. Address?

He went to the kitchen table and wrote on the pad: date, time, incident, address. ‘Tell her fifteen-twenty. Give her my number if anything happens before I get there.

The dogs liked his urgency, rushed around, made for the vehicle when he left the building. On the way, they stood on station, noses out the back windows. Cashin parked a hundred metres down the lane from the farmhouse gate. A head came around the hedge as he approached.

‘Cop? she said. She had dirty grey hair around a face cut from a hard wood with a blunt tool.

Cashin nodded.

‘The uniform and that?

‘Plainclothes, he said. He produced the Victoria Police badge with the emblem that looked like a fox. She took off her smudged glasses to study it.

‘Them police dogs? she said.

He looked back. Two woolly black heads in the same window.

‘They work with the police, he said. ‘Wheres this person?

‘Come, she said. ‘Dogs inside, mad as a pork chop, the little bugger.

‘Jack Russell, said Cashin.

‘Howd ya know that?

‘Just a guess.

They went around the house. He felt the fear rising in him like nausea.

‘In there, she said.

The shed was a long way from the house, you had to cross an expanse of overgrown garden, go through an opening in a fence lost beneath rampant potato-creeper. They walked to the gate. Beyond was knee-high grass, pieces of rusted metal sticking out.

‘Whats inside? Cashin said, looking at a rusted shed of corrugated iron a few metres from the road, a door half open. He felt sweat around his collarbones. He wished hed let Kendall do this.

Mrs Haig touched her chin, black spikes like a worn-down hair brush. ‘Stuff, she said. ‘Junk. The old truck. Havent bin in there for years. Dont go in there.

‘Let the dog out, he said.

Her head jerked, alarmed. ‘Bastard might hurt im, she said.

‘No, he said. ‘Whats the dogs name?

‘Monty, call them all Monty, after Lord Monty of Alamein. Too young, you wouldnt know.

‘Thats right, he said. ‘Let Monty out.

‘And them police dogs? What bloody use are they?

‘Kept for life-and-death matters, Cashin said, controlling his voice. ‘Ill be at the door, then you let Lord Monty out.

His mouth was dry, his scalp itched, these things would not have happened before Rai Sarris. He crossed the grassland, went to the left of the door. You learned early to keep your distance from potentially dangerous people and that included not going into dark sheds to meet them.

Mrs Haig was at the potato-creeper hedge. He gave her the thumbs up, his heart thumping.

The small dog came bounding through the grass, all tight muscles and yap, went for the shed, braked, stuck its head in the door and snarled, small body rigid with excitement.

Cashin thumped on the corrugated iron wall with his left hand. ‘Police, he said loudly, glad to be doing something. ‘Get out of there. Now!

Not a long wait.

The dog backed off, shrieking, hysterical, mostly airborne.

A man appeared in the doorway, hesitated, came out carrying a canvas swag. He ignored the dog.

‘On my way, he said. ‘Just had a sleep. He was in his fifties perhaps, short grey hair, big shoulders, a days beard.

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stephena, January 1, 2010 (view all comments by stephena)
This is a great slice of life in Australia, and a completely engrossing will need the
glossary unless you grew up Down Under.....but it's worth the extra effort!
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Product Details

A Novel
Temple, Peter
Race discrimination
Mystery & Detective - General
Edition Description:
Trade paper
Publication Date:
May 29, 2007
Electronic book text in proprietary or open standard format
8.2 x 5.5 x 1.1 in

Related Subjects

Fiction and Poetry » Mystery » A to Z

The Broken Shore: A Novel
0 stars - 0 reviews
$ In Stock
Product details 368 pages Farrar, Straus and Giroux - English 9780374116934 Reviews:
"Review" by , "Temple's novel racked up the awards in Australia, and it's easy to see why: this deeply intelligent thriller starts slowly, builds inexorably, and ends unforgettably."
"Review" by , "Flinty, funny, subtle, and smart, The Broken Shore sags under the burden of a few too many narrative complications....But this is a hazard of the genre, and Temple ranks among its very best practitioners. (Grade: B+)"
"Review" by , "The Broken Shore offers both poetry and gore, and it's best if you have a taste for both."
"Review" by , "Along with giving us mournful scenes of civilization's slow encroachment on an idyllic countryside, Temple offers some provocative and painful views of Australia's inner landscape."
"Review" by , "Temple's novel racked up the awards in Australia, and it's easy to see why: this deeply intelligent thriller starts slowly, builds inexorably, and ends unforgettably."
"Review" by , "Australia's finest crime writer."
"Synopsis" by , Winner of the Colin Roderick Award as well as Australia's major prize for crime fiction, Peter Temple has written a transfixing and moving novel about a place, a family, politics and power, and the need to live decently in a world where so much is rotten.
"Synopsis" by , Joe Cashin was different once. He moved easily then. He was surer and less thoughtful. But there are consequences when you've come so close to dying. For Cashin, they included a posting away from the world of Homicide to the quiet place on the coast where he grew up. Now all he has to do is play the country cop and walk the dogs. And sometimes think about how he was before.

Then prominent local Charles Bourgoyne is beaten and left for dead. Everything seems to point to three boys from the nearby Aboriginal community; everyone seems to want it to. But Cashin is unconvinced. And as tragedy unfolds relentlessly into tragedy, he finds himself holding onto something that might be better let go.

"Synopsis" by ,

Winner of the CWA Duncan Lawrie Dagger Award


A Booklist Best Crime Novel of the Year


Shaken by a recent scrape with death, big-city detective Joe Cashin is posted to a quiet town in on the Australian coast. But soon the whole community is thrown into unrest by the murder of a local philanthropist, a man with some very disturbing secrets. The Broken Shore is a brilliantly intricate crime procedural, and a moving novel about a place, a family, politics, and power.

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