by Peter Ralph
“As you wish,” Craig said. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“You’ve had bad feelings before and been wrong.” Fiona laughed. “Face it, you’re just a worry wart. I love you for looking after my back, but my gut instinct’s never let me down, and it’s not about to now.”
Chapter 27
DOUGLAS ASPINE HAD PLENTY of time on his hands and was working out regularly in the gym. With the exercise and improved diet he was slowly gaining weight and could now look at himself in the mirror without feeling ill. Sonchai had done a superb job removing the excess stomach skin and the scar was barely noticeable. Mick McHugh was particularly adept at implementing his plans and Aspine knew that two of his enemies were suffering badly. Sir Edwin Philby was a figure of ridicule and disgust, and would most likely lose his knighthood.
Better still, he knew the self-righteous Harry Denton would be going through his own private hell. The Herald Sun had published a page three story with a picture of Mary Denton highlighting the lenient treatment she’d received from the court. The reporter was appalled and suggested the Director of Public Prosecutions appeal the leniency of the sentence. Aspine knew Harry Denton valued honesty above all other qualities, and it was something he preached to others, but he now had a wife who was a known thief.
What is old Harry thinking? Is he thinking of having his wife committed? Is he watching her like a hawk? Does he humour her and does she respond in anger? How is their relationship holding up? Do they still talk to each other?
Bill Muller read the same article and wondered what was going on. He had gotten to know Harry and Mary Denton very well as a result of his Mercury Properties related investigations and knew them to be an honest, loving and caring couple.
“Does old age make you a thief?” he pondered aloud. If it happened to Mary could it also happen to me when I reach her age?
No, it was too ridiculous to even contemplate. Harry might be careful with his pennies, but he’d had an extremely successful business career and invested wisely. Mary had the means buy anything she wanted, so where was the logic in her stealing clothes with a measly value of eight hundred dollars? It just didn’t ring true.
Muller went out to the kitchen and made himself a strong black coffee before sitting down in what he called his thinking chair and pondering the recent strange events. It was a large, old fabric lounge chair and while it had seen better days, Muller found it very comfortable. Other than Fiona Jeczik, who was a national television star, he had not seen or heard of any of the players in the Mercury Properties debacle for nearly ten years. Now, in the space of just a few months, Douglas Aspine had staged a daring escape from Changi, Sir Edwin Philby had been charged with trafficking kiddie porn and Mary Denton had been found guilty of shop lifting. Was it just coincidence or was Douglas Aspine pulling strings from an overseas hideaway? Bill Muller had often been perplexed when he was a detective and it was usually when he was close to a solution but didn’t know it. The same feeling was nagging away at him now but there was no solution in sight.
The instructions to Craig Chisholm were explicit. He was to go to the Flagstaff Gardens on Tuesday at midnight and was to enter from the Latrobe Street entrance. He was to come alone with no cameras or recording devices, but he could bring a flashlight and would be allowed ten minutes to peruse the documents and determine their authenticity. Craig had objected saying he wasn’t going to carry fifty thousand in cash around the streets of Melbourne at that time of night without security. After a short exchange the raspy voiced man had agreed to let Craig bring one of his assistants and a security guard. Late night clandestine meetings with informants were nothing new for Craig, but they were usually held in seedy ill-lit bars or restaurants.
Jack could hardly eat and picked nervously at his steak, but Anneka didn’t seem to be having any problems with her crispy flathead fillets. “These are to die for,” she said. “This is a very nice restaurant, Jack.”
“It...it’s a special night.”
“You’re so romantic.” Anneka smiled, placing her hand over his. “Is there something wrong with your steak?”
“No, I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was.”
“There’s no pressure, my darling, if it happens, it happens, please don’t stress.”
Jack had never organized a tryst before and the butterflies in his stomach were creating their own mayhem. No pressure? I nearly died of embarrassment buying condoms at the supermarket while that pimply faced, checkout girl smirked at me. And I felt so uncomfortable booking the room in the names of Mr & Mrs Bartlett. I’m dreading having to show my licence when checking into the motel knowing the receptionist will look at my address and know I’m not a traveller.
“I’m fine. I just don’t have much of an appetite.”
Jack hardly spoke on the short drive to the motel in the upmarket beachside suburb of Brighton, but Anneka babbled away seemingly oblivious to his discomfit. It was a four star motel and two hundred dollars was a large part of Jack’s weekly budget. The receptionist swiped his credit card and took a photocopy of his licence while explaining that there was milk in the fridge for tea and coffee, and a fully stocked mini bar. Fortunately, she paid them scant attention only adding that checkout was 10 A.M.
As Jack pushed the motel room door open he let out an almighty sigh of relief.
“Are you all right, darling?”
“I’m fine.” He lied, reaching out and drawing her to him. He kissed her hard but she gently pushed him away.
“We have all night.” she smiled. “Why don’t you jump into bed while I go to the bathroom and get changed into something a little more comfortable?”
Jack threw off his clothes except for his jocks and put the packet of condoms on the table next to the bed. Five minutes later Anneka came out of the bathroom. She was wearing a black negligee, a G-string and a pair of stilettoes and nothing else. “My god,” he gasped. “You’re so beautiful.”
“You like?” She demurely asked, as if it was possible to be demure in the way she was dressed.
“Come here,” he pleaded, his throat parched.
Jack rolled on top of her thrusting wildly while roughly fondling her breasts and kissing her passionately. “Slow down, big boy, we have all night.”
She rolled him over on his side and ran her hands teasingly over his body. “You’ve still got your jocks on,” she said, holding her hands up. “Take my negligee off. Be gentle and don’t rip it.”
It’s all right for her to say slow down. If I don’t do it in the next five minutes, I’m going to do it anyway – without her.
Jack reached over and grabbed a condom fumbling with the foil wrapping before finally tearing it open. He tried to put it on but it wouldn’t unroll and the harder he tried the less progress he made. He was fighting with his brain, sending it instructions to stop him ejaculating, but knew he was fighting a losing fight.
“Here let me help,” Anneka said. Taking the condom from him, she deftly rolled it down his shaft.
She didn’t move as he pumped away like a wild horse and fifteen seconds later let out an almighty scream and rolled off her. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t last very long. It mustn’t have been much fun for you.”
“It was fine, big boy, and we have all night for me,” Anneka said, curling up under his arm. By the time they checked out in the morning Jack had lost count of the number of times they’d made love.
Chapter 28
MARY DENTON REFUSED TO leave the house and she and Harry hardly spoke. She felt violated and far too ashamed to attend the many regular community groups she’d been helping over the years. Harry had been dying to ask her about the cash in the freezer, and regularly checked that it was still there, but couldn’t find the right time to pop the question. The harmony and trust they’d enjoyed was lost and Mary resented Harry’s close overseeing of her every movement. She was angry at Harry and his condescending comments, and unable to leave th
e house for fear of bumping into someone she might know. There was nothing Harry wouldn’t do for Mary. He still loved her deeply, but she wanted only two things from him – his trust and his belief in what she had told him. Instead, he treated her like she was a senile idiot, not fit to cross the street without his help. She silently seethed, knowing that someone had organized the disdainful acts she had been falsely accused of, unable to convince Harry of the authenticity of her claims or sanity.
It was a bleak night. Craig Chisholm and his two offsiders felt the full force of the wind in their faces as they toiled up Latrobe Street. The streets were deserted other than a few raucous drunks and a beggar rattling a tin signed ex Vietnam veteran in their faces. The noise coming from the Flagstaff Gardens was a crescendo of howling wind and rustling trees. Huge hundred year old Moreton Bay Figs, elms, eucalypts, palms, cypresses and a variety of other species joined to form a dark moving canopy that enveloped the normally well-lit gardens. Perhaps the fierce winds had caused a blackout, but for some nagging reason Craig thought the person they were meeting had had something to do with it. They trudged along one of the paths without seeing or hearing anyone in the gardens before noticing a light flicker off and on in the distance. Craig checked the layout of the gardens at the weekend and knew the light was coming from near the obelisk known as the Pioneers’ Memorial and he led the way in a quick jog toward it.
“You’re late,” the raspy and instantly recognisable voice yelled.
Craig jumped and took an instant to work out where the voice had come from. He was tall, about 190 centimetres, and dressed in a black tracksuit, black sneakers and eerily, a black ski mask.
“Jesus,” Craig said. “You look like a fucking Jihadist. You frightened the shit out of me.”
“You’ll live, Mr Chisholm. Now you know why I couldn’t meet you in a bar or restaurant. If certain people knew what I was doing, I’d be dead. Here. Here’s the envelope. You can get some protection behind that statue but make sure the wind doesn’t scatter any of the papers. If it does, the fifty’s still mine.”
“Obelisk, not statue.”
“What, what are you talking about?”
“Forget it,” Craig hollered. “Are you alone?”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” the man replied, flicking his torch on and in a few seconds two other lights flicked off and on. “And, by the way, they’re packing real heat, magnums, not like that fucking toy on your security guard’s hip. You’ve got ten minutes to check the documents. Don’t waste it.”
The security guard did his best to hold the documents still behind the obelisk while Craig and Donny attempted to skim read them under the flashlight. There were copies of bank statements, trust deeds, company constitutions, dividend statements and tax returns. “What do you think, Donny?”
“They look authentic.”
“And damning for the member. My worry is that they’re just too perfect. Don’t you feel that?”
“Sorry, boss. No I don’t. I think this is huge.”
“You’ve had ten minutes,” raspy voice shouted. “Are you buying or do I meet with one of your competitors’ tomorrow night?”
Craig knew that the package had been hawked to Channel 11 and they were interested. He also knew Fiona would kill him if they scooped her. He looked over at the security guard. “Give him the satchel. It’s all there, but you can count it if you want.”
The man opened the satchel, counted how many hundred dollar notes there were in one bundle and then the number of bundles. “I didn’t think you’d cheat me,” but it always pays to check,” he said, flicking his torch off and on twice. “I’ll be off now. Don’t worry. My men will be joining me. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Chisholm. Goodbye.”
“Yeah,” Craig muttered, as the man disappeared into the darkness and screaming winds.
“Funny, that he didn’t pat us down for wires,” Donny yelled.
“Not really,” Craig replied. “He hardly said anything, and most of what he did say would’ve been drowned out by the noise. Let’s get out of here. It’s bloody spooky.”
Jack Bartlett was completely besotted by Anneka and spent his days wandering around in a love and lust induced daze. He found it nigh on impossible to concentrate on his studies, knowing that at the end of the day he would see her and they would make love. They did it in the back seat of his car. They did it in secluded parklands. They did it in cheap hotels and motels – they did it everywhere. Anneka was adventurous and bought a modern day Kama Sutra determined that they would try every position. She had barely moved the first time they had made love, but in the short time since, she had morphed into a cross between a contortionist and a dominatrix. Any inhibitions that had held her back on that first night disappeared in her desire to sexually experiment. She did things with her fingertips and mouth that drove Jack crazy, and then told him explicitly what she wanted him to do to her. He’d been surprised at first but then recalled reading something about the Swedes being totally uninhibited, and silently blessed the flat tyre that had led to this state of perpetual bliss.
The St Kilda motel was cheap and seedy but the sheets were clean, and Jack and Anneka didn’t worry about the décor. “I have a surprise for you.” She smiled.
“Not another hundred positions book.” Jack laughed.
“Better,” she said, holding up two little pills. “Ecstasy.”
“I don’t do drugs.” Jack frowned. “Where’d you get them?”
“On campus, from a girlfriend. She said that she and her boyfriend use them when they’re making out and it intensifies the pleasure. They’re not addictive and according to her, there are no nasty after effects. What do you think?”
“I dunno. Just don’t like the idea of doing drugs. Besides I think what we have is fantastic and can’t see how it could get any better.”
“Oh, that’s so nice,” Anneka said, looking disappointed. “You know me, I just like to experiment, but if you don’t want to I’ll just flush these down the sink.”
“No, no, let’s do it, but just this once. I don’t want us to end up a couple of desperate druggies,” Jack said, half filling two glasses with water.
Anneka passed Jack a pill, clinked glasses, put her hand to her mouth and said, “I hope they’re all what they’re cracked up to be,” but she didn’t swallow anything other than the water.
Forty-five minutes later after they’d made love Anneka said, “Do you feel any different?”
“Nope. What about you?”
“Nothing.”
“I think your girlfriend must have given you sugar coated pills or something. I’m not fussed; I didn’t really want to do drugs. I’m going to have a quick nap,” Jack said, as Anneka nestled into his chest and ran her fingers across his torso.
Jack didn’t know how long he had dozed but when he woke up he felt fantastic, euphoric and was rock hard. “God, I feel great. I’ve never felt this good. Get a feel of this,” he gasped, grabbing Anneka’s hand and wrapping it around his erection, something he hadn’t been forward enough to do before. “What about you?”
“I’m on cloud nine.” Anneka lied. “I’m so wet. Do me, do me hard, baby.”
When Jack woke up the following morning everything, even the grotty motel room looked good and he still felt on top of the world. He nudged Anneka, “Good morning, sleepy head,” he said, cupping a breast in his hand.
She was relieved. She knew that sometimes Ecstasy users could suffer huge letdowns, but one look at Jack’s face told her he was still on a high. “You were very amorous last night,” she said, stretching her lithe body.
“Wasn’t it fun? Can you get any more of those little pills?”
Chapter 29
BILL MULLER WAS SURPRISED when he answered the phone to find it was his contact in the force. “Bill, I thought you’d like to know that Sir Edwin Philby’s lawyers got an order from the court and one of their forensic computer experts has been looking at his computers.”
&nb
sp; “So?”
“He found that the Gmail address that Sir Edwin denied creating was setup at a computer café.”
“So anyone could’ve have done it and then used the address to traffic kiddie porn pics.”
“Yep, and all the pics on Sir Edwin’s computers appear to have been downloaded on one day.”
“It’s a frame-up?”
“Could be. We’ve traced the calls that Sir Edwin claimed came from Vanessa Edgerton to a prepaid mobile.”
“Far out. Are you dropping the charges?”
“The Director of Public Prosecutions is looking at the evidence but the damage has already been done and shit always sticks. No matter what happens, there’ll always be whispers about him being a sleazebag and paedophile. If it’s a setup I’d hate to be on the wrong side of the vicious bastard who orchestrated it.”
“Thanks,” Muller said, knowing there was only one person he’d ever met who was smart enough and vicious enough to have set it up.
Craig Chisholm called in forensic accounting and legal experts to inspect the copies of the documents that he’d bought off raspy voice. Before Fiona interviewed William Elmhurst, Craig wanted a hundred percent guarantee that the documents were authentic. The documents confirmed that the lawyers and accountants nominee companies held the shares in Benefish Proprietary Limited on behalf of a company controlled by William Elmhurst’s eldest son, Devlin, which acted as trustee of the Elmhurst Charitable Trust Fund. A copy of the trust deed showed that there were charitable beneficiaries but the primary beneficiaries were William Elmhurst’s children and their issue, and that distributions were solely at the discretion of the trustee. Bank statements in the name of the Elmhurst Charitable Trust Fund showed deposits corresponding precisely with the amounts that Clean Coal Limited had paid to Benefish Proprietary Limited as dividends. Payments out of the fund corresponded with the Clean Coal dividend deposits. Copies of Devlin Elmhurst’s bank statements showed that the same amounts appeared as deposits in his account.