CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A week after election day and while Karen was still in the outback investigating the Bernice Drummond murder, Gary decided to find out who was leaving flowers on his father's grave. That would not be easy. The mystery person only seemed to leave them every week or two and Gary didn't want to stake out the cemetery for that long.
Terry Burke had mentioned that his 17-year-old son, Alex, by his second wife, had just finished high school and nothing to do until university started. Gary called up Terry and asked if his son wanted gainful employment.
"I desperately want the lazy little sod to do some work."
"Good, then I might have a job for him."
Terry's tone darkened. "You? I'm not sure I want him working for you."
"Don't worry. This job will be easy. He's just got to sit in a cemetery and wait for someone to put flowers on a grave."
"You're kidding?"
"No."
"Why the hell do you want him to do that?"
Gary explained.
"That's a bit weird. This is a personal thing, huh?"
"Yes."
"No danger?"
"Absolutely none."
"I guess the little sod's capable of sitting on his arse watching a grave, though he'll probably fall asleep."
"That's a risk I'm prepared to take."
"How long would he have to wait?"
"Probably a week or two."
"Wow? How much will you pay him?"
"Oh, a couple of hundred a day."
"Shit, he's not worth that."
"I know. But he'll have to cope with extreme boredom."
"I guess so. I'll give him a call and see if he's interested."
An hour later, Terry called back and said his son would love to sit around in the open all day and wait for someone to lay flowers on a grave.
The next day, Gary met Terry and Alex in Angelo's coffee shop. Gary had met Alex several times before. He was a nice kid with a mop of curly hair and solid build who planned to study Chemical Engineering at university.
Gary explained what he wanted and Alex cut to the chase: "Dad said you'll pay two hundred a day."
"Yes."
"Great. I'll do it."
"It'll get pretty boring."
"I'll cope. I'll listen to music and text my friends."
"OK. And if someone does turn up, contact me immediately and I'll dash over there."
"What if this person starts to leave and you haven't arrived?"
"Identify yourself and say I'm on my way. But, whatever happens, take a photo and get a car licence number."
"Will do. When do you want me to start?"
"As soon as you can."
"OK, I'll start straight away."
"Good."
Gary was fairly busy for the next ten days doing workers' compensation surveillance for an insurance company. Indeed, for long periods, he forgot about Alex sitting alone in the cemetery.
The surveillance target was a bricklayer who claimed he badly injured his back at work. Whenever he went out, Gary followed him around with a concealed camera in a bag, hoping to film an athletic move. Just after 5pm on a Friday, Gary was following the limping bricklayer through the Bondi Junction Shopping Centre - and starting to believe the guy really had a bad back - when he got a call on his mobile phone. With a quickening heart, he saw it was from Alex.
He accepted the call. "Alex, what's happening?"
Alex sounded excited. "He's here."
"Who?"
"The guy with the flowers."
"Great. What's he doing?"
He's sitting next to the grave."
"You've got a photo of him?"
"Yes."
"Good. How did he get there?"
"I think he drove a car."
"What does he look like?"
"An ordinary dude in a good suit."
"OK. If he tries to leave, tell him you're working for George Maddox's son and I want to talk to him. Whatever happens, make sure you get his licence number."
"Will do."
Gary's surveillance van was parked underneath the shopping centre and would take too long to reach. Instead, he dashed outside, jumped into a taxi and told the driver to take him to South Head Cemetery, pronto.
Twenty minutes later, he climbed out of the taxi in the cemetery car park and, after paying the tariff, legged it down the hill. To his great relief, Alex stood beside his father's grave with a tall man, aged about forty, wearing an expensive dark suit and tie. Fresh-looking yellow roses lay on the grave.
Both men watched him approach. He reached them, a little breathless, and looked at Alex. "Thanks, mate."
"No problem, Mr Maddox."
Gary looked at the stranger. "Hello. Thank you for waiting. I'm Gary Maddox. I've been trying to find out who's leaving flowers on my father's grave."
The stranger had handsome features and reeked of self-confidence. He had a pleasant voice. "Yes, Alex here mentioned that. My name's Felix Angerer."
They shook hands.
"Thanks again for waiting."
"No problem. So you want to know why I'm leaving flowers on your father's grave?"
"Yes, I'm curious. It's rather unusual. None of my father's close relatives or friends is still alive, so far as I know, except me."
A smile. "OK. But it'll take me a while to explain."
Gary had feared the leaver of the flowers would not want to reveal his identity or motive. But this guy was very accommodating. "I've got plenty of time."
"Good. My car's up in the car park. Why don't we find a coffee shop and have a chat? Alex said you work in Bondi. Let's go there."
"Fine."
Felix Angerer turned to Alex. "Can I give you a lift somewhere?"
Alex shook his head. "No, thanks, my motorbike is in the car park."
"OK then, let's go."
Alex led them up the hill to the car park where, after Gary had thanked him again, he climbed onto his motorbike and zoomed off.
Felix Angerer looked at Gary. "Nice kid. My car's over there."
Angerer led Gary over to a top-of-the-range BMW which must have cost a fortune. He got behind the wheel and Gary sat beside him.
Angerer drove out of the car park and headed along the coast towards Bondi Beach.
Gary said: "So, Felix, what do you do?"
Angerer popped open the glove box, took out a premium-quality business card and handed it to Gary. "I'm a merchant banker. Here's my business card."
Gary glanced at it.
Felix Angerer
Managing Director
Delroy Finance Corporation
Gary slipped it into his top pocket. "I don't know much about merchant banking. How big's Delroy Finance?"
"It's a boutique firm - only got a couple of billion in assets."
Gary wondered if he misheard the figure. "Couple of million?"
"No, billion."
"Wow. Must be hard to keep track of it all."
A laugh. "It's not easy. I understand from Alex that you're a private investigator."
Gary fished a shabby looking business card out of his wallet. "Yes, here's my card."
Angerer glanced at it. "Bloodhound Investigations."
"Yes. I hate the name, but I'm too cheap to get new cards printed."
A smile. "The name's OK - I wouldn't bother."
"Thanks."
Angerer drove for ten minutes along the top of the sandstone cliffs that lined the Pacific Ocean and down a bending road to the Bondi esplanade. He turned up Curlewis Road and found a vacant spot in front of a coffee shop.
They sat at a table on the pavement. The melting sun painted them with sharp rays of light. A waiter appeared and they both ordered coffee.
Angerer turned towards Gary. "You want to know why I'm putting flowers on your father's grave?"
"Yes."
"If I tell you the full story, you might not like what you hear."
"Don't worry, I'm hard to shock."
A shru
g. "OK. My father, Keith Angerer, and your dad worked together on the Drug Squad about forty years ago. They were great mates. I understand they were also great cops. But they weren't perfect. According to my mother, they often shook down drug dealers for money. Did you know that?"
Gary didn't. But now he understood how his father accumulated the $300,000 buried in his backyard. "No. Did they, umm, sell drugs?"
"Mum said no, they never went that far. They just ripped them off."
"Still, the dealer you rip off is the dealer you don't arrest."
"I guess so. You know about that sort of thing?"
"I was a cop myself. In fact, I worked undercover on the Drug Squad."
"Oh, I didn't know that. Anyway, my father was lousy with money. He took huge risks ripping off dealers and then pissed away the money on booze and gambling. In fact, he fed most of it into pokie machines. Died without a penny to his name."
"When?"
"About thirty years ago. Tried to drive home drunk one night and slammed into a telegraph pole. I was ten at the time. Anyway, because he died off-duty, Mum only got a small pension from the police force. So, there she was, a destitute widow with a young son. Then your father stepped in and started helping her out. Every couple of months, he gave her a big wad of cash. He also paid for me to go to Cranbrook. That must have cost him a fortune."
"Did you meet my father?"
"Yes, sometimes, when he dropped over to the house. But I didn't know he was giving Mum money or paying my school fees, until much later when she told me. I thanked your father, of course, but he shrugged and said it was no big deal."
Gary felt his chest tighten. "I didn't know any of this."
"I don't think your father wanted to make a big fuss. He wanted to help the wife and son of his best mate, and that's what he did. Anyway, he made a huge difference to my life. Because he paid for my schooling, I'm now a successful businessman. I owe him a lot."
"That's why you leave the flowers on his grave?"
"Yes. My parents' graves are further down the hill. So I often visit your father's on the way back up."
"When did your mum die?"
"About ten years ago - cancer."
"Sorry to hear that. I didn't see you at my father's funeral."
A shrug. "I was never really part of his life and wasn't sure I should tell you this stuff. I mean, if your father didn't tell you, why should I? But, now you've asked, I'm glad I have. I guess this is all a big shock?"
"It is and it isn't. Just before he died, my father told me he had $300,000 buried in his backyard. He didn't say where it came from, but I assumed he did something dodgy to get it. I guess you've confirmed my suspicion."
The waiter put their coffees on the table and Angerer took a sip. "Our dads obviously did bad things. But, the older I get, the more I realise we're all just a patchwork of good and bad. Depends on which part you're looking at. All I can say is that I'm profoundly grateful to your dad. He was a great mate to my father and a wonderful help to Mum and me. Quite frankly, I don't care what he did in other parts of his life."
Gary sipped his coffee and felt a wave of calm. "You know, I used to be angry about the money buried in the backyard. But I'm relaxed about that now. I mean, I'm not thrilled to hear that he ripped off dealers. But he was a good father. I can live with the rest."
A smile. "What choice have you got?"
"None, I guess: they don't pump new fathers off a production line."
"True." Angerer drained his cup. "Anyway, I'd better go home. Are you married?"
"No, but I've got a girlfriend."
"Well, if you want, you should both come over to my place at Watsons Bay for lunch one weekend. I'll introduce you to my wife and two kids."
"Thanks. I'd like that."
Angerer rose to his feet and shook Gary's hand. "Very nice to meet you. You've got my card. Give me a call when you want to come over."
"I will. Thank you for telling me all of this."
A big smile. "A joy, believe me."
That night, in bed, Gary stared at the dark ceiling and remembered how, when he was about eight-years-old, he stood with his father in surf. They ducked and weaved as big waves broke around them. Sometimes, his father lifted him out of danger. Then a big wave knocked him over. His face slammed into the sand; his gullet filled with briny water.
A big hand grabbed his arm and dragged him to the surface. He gagged hard and sucked in painful breaths.
His father's nose was coated with zinc. "You OK, son? You alright? Got to stay alert."
Gary nodded. "I'm OK."
"Good. Want to go back to the beach?"
Gary finally cleared his lungs. "No, I'll be fine."
His father smiled. "Good, good."
They dove together into a big dark wave.
Hard Landing Page 28