by Peter Ralph
“You’re right, I probably could.” Jack grinned, exuding confidence he’d never felt before.
Anneka said she had to look after her grandmother that night, so Jack arrived home early on Sunday evening determined to get a few hours study out of the way. Before starting he Googled crystal meth and was shocked when most of the sites included ice in their name or content. He hadn’t known what ice was, but he knew its effects from the many newspaper articles, usually about young men in fatal car accidents or committing murders in insane rages. There was a big difference between him and them though – they were addicts whereas he would only use it occasionally when he was tired and flat.
Besides, Anneka had told him that he’d be able to control his usage and she wouldn’t lie. He felt great. Twelve hours later he was still in front of his computer having managed to put a huge dent in the backlog of work that he’d let pile up. Staggeringly, he still wasn’t tired despite not having slept for forty-eight hours and nor was he hungry. He grabbed a glass of milk, jumped in his car and headed off to lectures. The finely ground white powder had given him the extra hours he was looking for.
By the end of the day, the euphoria finally wore off and while Jack still wasn’t tired, he was grumpy and irritable. He snapped at his younger brother, Sam, and when Jasmine told him to apologise, he stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him.
“Maybe he had a fight with his girlfriend, Sam.”
“He’s strange, Mum. He’s changed so much since he met Anneka and why doesn’t he bring her home? Is he ashamed of us or something?”
“Don’t be too hard on him. He’s finding his way in the world. You might be the same when you find yourself a girlfriend.” Jasmine laughed.
Chapter 32
SYDNEY TOWN HALL WAS packed with two thousand conservatives who’d come to pay homage to the Right Honourable William Elmhurst and celebrate his thirty years in parliament. The stage curtain was drawn and there was a buzz of anticipation emanating from the audience. Two beakers of water and half a dozen glasses sat on a small coffee table in the centre of the stage with a leather recliner on either side of it. A large drape immediately behind the table was emblazoned with the Channel 16 logo. Strategically placed cameras took in every angle of the small area while others panned the audience. Gigantic overhead screens positioned on either side of the stage ensured that those sitting at the rear of the hall would not miss seeing and hearing the interview. Craig Chisholm was at the back of the stage chewing nervously on a piece of a gum. Fiona’s interview had been billed An Evening with William Elmhurst and would be beamed into the homes of a national audience. Fiona had ambushed many crooked politicians and businessmen over the years, but never quite like this. Lifelong friends of Elmhurst had been invited as had many members of his family.
Craig had been unable to prove that the documents were one hundred percent authentic and had asked Fiona to tread very carefully. “Don’t be aggressive until you’re certain he’s being evasive or lying. You’ll be able to read his face and his emotions.” She had promised she would be careful, but the patronizing tone of her voice suggested otherwise.
The curtains opened to loud applause to reveal Fiona dressed in a smart beige pants suit sitting opposite William Elmhurst who looked distinguished in a tailored three piece charcoal grey suit. “William Elmhurst. Firstly let me congratulate you for surviving and might I say thriving for thirty years in the bear pit that is the New South Wales lower house. What motivated you to go into politics as a young man?”
“Thank you, Fiona. There is no greater calling in life than serving the public. I felt that when I was a wet behind the ears backbencher, and I still feel it as a minister and elder statesman of the party.”
“You’ve always been passionate about educating the young and you’re often described as the father of education. That must be gratifying.”
“You’re very kind but I don’t know that that’s true. There have been many fine politicians from both sides of politics in our great state who have made meaningful contributions to education.”
“Yes, but under your stewardship funding for education has increased by fifty percent and the average class size is only twenty-two. There are those who say that it was grateful parents that won the Liberal party the last election. That must make you very proud. Have you ever thought of running for premier?”
“We already have a fine premier and the education portfolio is very fulfilling,” Elmhurst responded, taking a long sip of water. The questions and comments were identical to those that had been provided to his office.
“You have an impeccable record. You’ve never been investigated or been involved in any personal or political scandals. This would be remarkable in any jurisdiction, but more so in New South Wales which has a history of corruption stretching back over two hundred years to the first fleet. What made you so different from many of your peers? Was it because you came from a wealthy and privileged background and never wanted for anything?”
“You make me sound like a spoiled brat.” Elmhurst laughed. “I came from a family of eight and we were all taught the work ethic from a very early age. I sold newspapers and worked in a milk bar to put myself through university. Yes, my parents were wealthy but I never saw them pull a fast deal or take advantage of anyone who’d fallen on hard times. I think honesty is learned by example and I had two of the finest examples that our good Lord has ever created. Bless their souls.”
“Amen,” Fiona said. “I’m sorry, but we have to take a short ad break. We could not air programs like this without our advertisers.”
As Fiona stood up to stretch her legs, Craig took her by the arm. “I need to see you.”
“Not now, we’re back on in less than three minutes.”
“Yes, now,” Craig said, leading her to the back of the stage. “I’ve been watching Elmhurst. He’s too calm. He knows your reputation and he would’ve seen you tear other guests to pieces, and yet he’s not worried. I have a terrible feeling about this, Fiona. Please drop it. You can fill in for another forty minutes and make it the feel good interview his supporters are expecting.”
“You’ve totally misread him, Craig. I’ve lulled him into a false sense of security because he thinks he’s going to get the questions we forwarded to his office. Well he’s about to get a rude awakening, and I’m going to serve him up to those born to rule sycophants who are here to cheer him on.” Fiona snapped. “Don’t interrupt me again.”
“For God’s sake, be careful. He’s not like the others. He’s survived three decades in the toughest and dirtiest political forum there is, and he’s come out unscathed.”
Fiona strode back to her chair listening to one of the production crew going through the timing cues.
“Ten seconds, five seconds, one second and we’re on.”
Douglas Aspine sat in the back row of the hall gloating. The bitch had set him up before, and he’d watched her do the same to countless others. Now she was about to lower the boom on one of the most highly respected, almost revered, politicians in the land.
“Your family has vast pastoral and cattle interests in New South Wales. Tell me about the acreage you have in Gunnedah.”
“Unfortunately we never owned any land in Gunnedah. What we did own was further west and the ground was like concrete. It wasn’t fit for dingoes.” Elmhurst laughed.
“So you sold it?”
“Yes, we disposed of it.”
“I’m sorry.” Fiona smiled. “Is there a difference between selling and disposing?”
“In terms of ownership and the title, no,” Elmhurst responded, crossing his ankles and leaning back into his recliner.
“I’ll make it simple for you. Did you or your family receive monies or any other consideration on disposal?”
“It’s a long time ago. I really can’t remember the details.”
“Would it surprise you to know that when you disposed of that barren land it was incredibly valuable, and sitting atop milli
ons of tonnes of thermal coal?”
“No, that’s not true. The land wasn’t valuable. It only became valuable when an exploration licence and development permit were issued a few years later.”
Fiona could hardly believe her luck. Elmhurst was admitting the actions he took in the New South Wales parliament had led to a vast increase in the value of the land. “So you didn’t know about the coal when you disposed of the land?”
“Of course we did. Half of the land in New South Wales has coal below the surface, but if it can’t be mined it has no value. Our family are farmers, not miners. With respect, what does this have to with my political career or portfolio?”
“Just a few more questions,” Fiona responded. “Does the name Benefish Proprietary Limited mean anything to you?”
“Vaguely. Should it?”
“It’s the company that you disposed of the land to. Do you, your family or any entity associated with you have an interest in this company or any trust related to it?”
Finally the penny dropped and Elmhurst’s lips closed to form a single thin line. “I’d be very careful if I were you, Ms Jeczik.”
“Would you be surprised if I told you that one of your accountant’s nominee companies owns half the shares in Benefish Proprietary Limited and a nominee company of your lawyers owns the other half? In effect you disposed of the land to yourself, and some four years later used your position in the New South Wales parliament to ensure licences and permits were issued that would add greatly to its value,” Fiona said, her bottom lip curled up in disgust.
A shocked murmur went through the hall and Elmhurst sat forward, red faced and clutching his hands together. “That is a blatant lie and totally defamatory.”
“Didn’t Benefish Proprietary Limited then sell the land to Clean Coal Limited for shares in that company? Shares that are now worth two hundred million dollars and on which your son has derived millions in dividends.”
Elmhurst’s glasses had slipped down his nose, and his eyes were red and angry as he stared at Fiona over the top of the frame. “My family and I have had no interest in the land since it was disposed of. I don’t know where you got your information from, but it’s wrong.”
“That’s what you’d like us to th…”
“Enough,” Elmhurst said, jumping up from his recliner. “I’ll not listen to any more of this. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers in the morning.”
The audience was shocked and some started booing and catcalling Fiona. Others filed out of the hall looking at their feet. Some were glued to their chairs, totally stunned. Douglas Aspine bounced out of the door with a spring in his step.
The first person who Fiona caught sight of was Craig. “I told you he was a crooked bastard,” she said. “Did you see him squirming?”
“No, but I heard him instructing his lawyers. He was furious and there wouldn’t have been anyone backstage who didn’t hear him.”
“Craig, how many legal threats have been made against me that have ever amounted to anything? None, zippo, zilch.” Fiona laughed. “He’s just like the rest of those crooks, all hot air. Did you see the stunned faces of his disciples?”
Craig knew it was no good arguing. Fiona would be on a high for hours – she always was when she brought some big-shot down and the more powerful they were, the bigger the buzz. The Right Honourable William Elmhurst was about as big as they came.
Chapter 33
DOUGAS ASPINE WAS WORRIED. He’d been out of prison for over six months and still hadn’t had sex. Nor had he had any strong desire. Perhaps prison and a diet of bromide did that. Or could it be that age had sexually caught up with him? He’d put on ten kilograms, was toned from working out in the gym, and actually liked what he saw in the mirror other than for two massive love handles. Why Sonchai hadn’t got rid of them when he removed the superfluous stomach skin was beyond Aspine – on reflection it really wasn’t, and one thing Sonchai never did was freebies.
When I leave Australia for one of those South American republics I’ll have to take a circuitous route via Bangkok, and make one last visit to Sonchai.
Many times he’d thought about asking Mick McHugh to organize a girl from one of his escort agencies, but then fear had taken over. What if he couldn’t perform and the girl blabbed? He would be a laughing stock, and he’d already seen McHugh’s cruel side.
It had just gone 10 P.M. when he arrived home from the Elmhurst interview on a huge high and needing to celebrate with more than booze. There were plenty of Melbourne escort agencies listed on the net, and Aspine phoned the appropriately named Desperate Desires and told the receptionist specifically what he was looking for. Thirty minutes later he heard his front door buzzer and when he answered a statuesque, olive skinned brunette in her mid-thirties smiled at him. “Hi Mr Adderley, I’m Ramona from the agency.”
Aspine liked what he saw. If I can’t get it up for you, I’ll never get it up. “Come in, it’s Charles,” he said. “Would you like a drink?”
“Let’s get the business out of the way first. It’s a thousand and if you want anything kinky like a golden shower or anal, it’ll be more.”
“I’m not a fucking weirdo.” Aspine growled, handing Ramona a fistful of notes. “It’s all there.”
“I’m sure it is,” she said, carefully counting it. “Why don’t we adjourn to the bedroom, and you can have a little lay-down and watch me?”
A few minutes later she was down to a matching black lace bra, G-string and stilettoes. She slunk over to the bed like a cat and began slowly unbuttoning Aspine’s shirt while running her hands up and down his chest. Nothing was happening, and he wondered whether prison had made him impotent. It certainly wasn’t Ramona because she was stunning, and in one swift movement she unclipped her bra and placed his hands on her full brown breasts. Recoiling, she said, “What’s wrong with your hands?” and pushed him away.
“I had an accident,” he grunted. “They were crushed in a machine.”
“God, they felt like sandpaper on my boobs.” She giggled, examining his hands before placing them back on her breasts. “That was an unexpected shock. Be gentle.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he growled, more concerned that her incredible body and looks were having no effect.
“Relax,” she said, unbuckling his belt and pulling down his fly. “Hmmm, what do we have here? Don’t tell me Roger doesn’t want to come out to play.”
Aspine’s worst fear had been not being able to respond to a beautiful, sexy woman, and Ramona was working overtime with her hands around his penis and nothing was happening. “I can’t give you head without a condom, and I don’t think we could get one on,” she murmured.
Fuck! Why is nothing happening? For no reason his mind wandered to the arrest of Sir Edwin Philby and he felt a stirring.
“Roger’s a big boy.” Ramona laughed, flicking off her G-string. “My touch has never been known to fail.”
“Quick,” said Aspine, fearing his erection wouldn’t last. It had been ten years, and he tried in vain to control the speed of his thrusting before letting out an almighty scream as he orgasmed.
“Jesus, when was the last time you had sex?”
Aspine didn’t answer. “You can leave now.”
“You’ve still got another forty minutes and maybe Roger will rise to the occasion again.”
“Get dressed and get the fuck out of here.”
“All right, all right, I’m going, and you said you weren’t a weirdo. Bullshit.”
“Don’t make me angry.” Aspine threatened.
He was happy. He wasn’t impotent. Stress used to turn him on but now it was the thought of wreaking revenge on his enemies. I suppose I should be thankful that I can still make it stand up.
Every major morning newspaper across the nation headlined the fraud the supposed squeaky clean William Elmhurst had perpetrated. Television breakfast programs replayed excerpts of the interviews ad nauseam, and serious faced political commentators said that it could bring the gover
nment down. Radio talkback hosts were outraged and ferals screamed for Elmhurst to be jailed. Others attacked the Independent Commission against Corruption for going to sleep at the wheel. Vicious as these attacks were, they paled into insignificance with what Elmhurst was called in meeting rooms and blogs on the net. Attempts to contact the member met without success, the only comment from his office being that he had instructed his lawyers to commence action against Channel 16 and Fiona Jeczik, and that he would make a statement to the parliament that evening.
Lawyers at Hedgewick & Carson, the largest of the legal firms that the Elmhurst family used had worked through the night and at precisely 2 P.M. the following day served bulky defamation writs and statements of claim on Channel 16 and Fiona Jeczik. While the speed of the action was unusual, the actual serving of the defamation writs had occurred many times before, and was something that all major media organizations were subject to. Accordingly the writs and supporting documents were couriered to Channel 16’s lawyers, Barbour & Arnold, who before the day was out would most likely tell the learned brethren at Hedgewick & Carson to fuck off, charging eight hundred dollars an hour to do so, and using gentrified legalese as opposed to mere street crudities.
At 5 P.M. the senior partner at Hedgewick & Carson phoned his counterpart at Barbour & Arnold. They had gone through university together, regularly saw each other socially and were members of the Melbourne Club and Royal Melbourne Golf Club. Fifteen minutes later the senior partner of Barbour & Arnold felt ill, knowing that there was no defence against the action, and that his clients had wantonly and viciously defamed the Right Honourable William Elmhurst. Telling aggressive clients that they had been wrong and that their actions were indefensible was never easy.
The New South Wales parliament was hushed, and the press and public galleries were overflowing when William Elmhurst rose to speak. He spoke eloquently and told of his family’s desire for privacy when they made gifts to charitable institutions, and that was why he had used the word disposed in relation to the Gunnedah land. The family had not sold the land but gifted it to Benefish Proprietary Limited as trustee of a trust with ten specific public charitable institutions as beneficiaries including The Anti-Cancer Council, Sydney Children’s Hospital and Seeing Eye Dogs Australia. Other than the tax deduction for the gift, the family had not derived any benefit from its largesse. Accordingly, when Elmhurst had voted on the exploration licence and development permit, neither he nor his family derived any financial benefit, and had had no involvement in the subsequent sale to Clean Coal Limited. Fortunately, Clean Coal Limited had been very successful and the dividends it had paid to Benefish Proprietary Limited had found their way to needy charities. The lawyers and accountants who had advised on the gift and managed the trust provided their services pro bono thus maximising charitable distributions. It should have been a feel good story, but somehow Channel 16 and its star performer had managed to turn it into something sordid and unsavoury.