by Noel Beddoe
He’s dropped down to the Port Kembla station. Although he’s off duty he wants to get ahead of events before he comes back officially, to read his mail, see if there’s gossip. On walking in he notices that some officers drop their gaze when they encounter him. One policeman narrows one eye, gives a little smile, nods in approval, but he doesn’t respond. He’s been in the business for a long time now and knows how to play the game.
When he’s done at work he drives to Wentworth Street to collect some pastries to enjoy with his wife. Peter Grace believes that the best cakes and pastries to be had in the Illawarra can be found in the cake shops in Wentworth Street, Port Kembla. He makes his purchase and buys a sausage roll for good measure. Once on the footpath he starts munching on his first mouthful.
Back outside the cake shop he sees an old Volvo come to the corner of an alleyway. Through the windscreen he can see a local identity whom he knows only as ‘Feizel’. The Volvo stays put. Feizel stares across at Detective Grace. And this is the thought that comes into Grace’s mind – Feizel is deciding whether he wants a conversation. Grace stuffs the end of the sausage roll into his mouth, with his free hand gestures to Feizel to park the car. He crosses the street. Feizel leans to open a door for him.
‘How are you, Feizel? I got the feeling maybe you had something to say to me.’
At once Feizel does an illegal U-turn, goes back into the alleyway. They wend their way through some turns into places that the detective had not known existed. Feizel stops with the nose of his car towards a roller door. He unlocks the door, lifts it. An electric light goes on, the door is raised to its full height. Feizel drives into the garage, gets out, lowers the door again, sits next to the policeman once again.
Grace licks flakes of pastry from his fingers, rubs his hand over his jumper. He says, ‘Now, I can tell you a few things, Feizel. See, I learned a few things already. Firstly, you’re leaving town. This is how I know: you’ve brought me to this place you’ve got. The fact you’ve let me see it says to me you rent it out, because now I know where it is you’re never coming back. So it can’t be something you yourself own. You’re ditching it. And I think before you go you have some little present you’re thinking of leaving for someone. Through me.’
He resettles the greasy paper bag across his thighs. ‘Pretty good,’ Feizel says. ‘Yeah, I’m gonna spend some time in a country town. Place where no one much knows I got family.’
‘And why would you be doing that, I wonder.’
‘I guess a whole lotta shit’s gonna go down. I wanna be where no one can find me, wait it out.’
Grace looks at the interior of the garage, stained walls, refuse on the cement floor. He smiles happily at Feizel. ‘I’ve never been in here before. Looks like a good place to bring someone if you want to cut him up with a chainsaw.’
‘Never done nothin’ like that.’
‘I’m sure. Just making a joke. And now here you go, off into the countryside, and there’s no one left to mentor the little group of people who offer you professional support.’
‘Not too much left of them. Group’s broke up.’
‘Ah. Now let me give you more of my thoughts. You haven’t brought me here because you want to tell me something about people who sell giggle weed. You know that I can’t be seen to be too concerned about chickenshit street operations. I start bringing those in, there’ll be those who think, “Old Peter Grace is slipping.” No, I imagine that you have something about a thing that’s important.’
Feizel watches his companion, without responding.
Grace is smiling now. He’s in a situation he knows well. He’s good at it. He enjoys it. ‘Now, this I can tell you: give me this information, and, if there’s something in it, I’m going to give you a card. This card has on it my personal contact details. Ah, Feizel: talk to me and I’ll give you the card anyway, content of information untested. See, I’m an old softie. But probably you’ve heard that already, you’ll know that about me. And I’ll tell you what this card will guarantee you – my sympathy. Which is not to say you can dismember someone with an axe and there will be no reprisal. But it can be useful to have the sympathy of a policeman, you must know that. A matter comes up, is it this, is it that, is it worth pursuing? There can be the world of difference between a sympathetic and an unsympathetic response. Have you understood all that?’
‘I think so.’
‘Now, what particular matter are we discussing?’
‘Abdul Hijazi.’
Grace smiles again. ‘You know,’ he says, ‘what I thought to myself coming out of that shop with my éclairs and my sausage roll when I saw you across the street wondering if you wanted to talk to me? Feizel knows something about Abdul Hijazi.’
‘That right?’
‘Seemed likely. Why don’t you start into your story?’
‘The people whacked him, they wasn’ from down here.’
‘So far you have given me knowledge that about a quarter of a million people know.’
‘People got it done. Didn’ do it ’emselves. There was kids wit’ Abdul when that thing got done to the Solomona girl. They had uncles was worried Abdul would name ’em, to stay out of going back to jail. Uncles was worried those kids might talk about differen’ operations, cut a deal to stay out.’
Grace is watching Feizel with interest.
‘Brought in someone from Lebanon. Used go-betweens. They don’ know who he is, he don’ know them. You can trus’ this.’
‘Sure. Now, tell me, who are the uncles?’
‘Heavy men, live inna sout’ wes’ of Sydney. Move coke, move hammer, inna rebirthin’ cars, protection of big pubs.’
‘Names?’
‘Don’ got no names. Got this. One of the nephews is inta gettin’ pissed in nightclubs up the Cross, talkin’ ’bout what went down.’
‘Yeah? Well, not the silliest thing I’ve heard of happening. I mean, very silly, but not the silliest.’
‘This kid lives in Telopea, drives a big, yellow Ford.’
Peter Grace sits for a while, watching Feizel.
‘My boy,’ he says. ‘This is worth following up. See, you’ve ruined my Sunday. I’ll need speak to my good lady wife on the telephone, then get back to work. Big yellow Ford? Telopea? Heavy connections, uncles? If this kid exists I reckon we’ll have a name by about two o’clock this afternoon. Couple of warrants, tap on his telephones, get listening surveillance around where he lives. Put some very pretty undercover policewoman where this kid drinks, and I can tell you this, Feizel, she’s going to find him fascinating! Oh, he’s going to really fancy his chances. Do you know what, Feizel? If there’s something in what you’ve heard, we’re possibly cooking in a big way. Which leaves me to wonder – why tell me this?’
‘There’s more.’
‘I’m fascinated.’
‘These guys get hit, someone’s gonna move on some of their stuff.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yeah. He’ll move quick. Maybe the coke, maybe the hammer. Not jus’ up there, neither – he wants to get his foot in down here, take things up to where there’s more money. Not the car stuff, prob’ly, not the protection, not his style, not organised for that, maybe leave that to the bikies.’
‘Do you have a name for this individual?’
‘First name’s Vincenzo. Drives a big four-wheel drive, been bringin’ Mary Jane up from the Riverina through the markets, now he’s inna the dance pills. Got a flat in Potts Point with a balcony looks down into the harbour up there. When he makes his move you’ll need be ready, get him quick. He’ll soon enough get himself where you carn reach him, if ya give him any time.’
Grace smiles happily. ‘And you will be taking a sabbatical in a pleasant country town waiting for this all to be sorted out.’
‘S’battical?’
‘Sort of like a long holiday. Then back you�
�ll come, what, to move on up yourself?’
‘Nah. What I got’ll do.’
‘But perhaps you’ll have lost a source of supply.’
Feizel watches Peter Grace, who smiles happily at him.
‘Workin’ on that. Can maybe get a good one in another place, where I can trus’ people.’
‘Yes. Well. I don’t suppose I’m actually allowed to wish you luck with all that. But I’ll tell you this, Feizel – these thoughts of yours are going to get a quick testing.’
‘Yeah? Tha’s good.’
‘Now, would you take me back to where you found me? I’m a bit old, and, to be truthful, a bit too plump to manage those hills.’
Chapter Thirty
‘The procedure has been brought forward,’ Gordon says. ‘It will be next Friday. I’ll go in on Thursday night.’
‘Today’s Tuesday.’
‘There’s another thing.’
‘Another thing.’ May has turned away. She stops, then, and in a while turns and frowns at Gordon.
‘Yes. I have to see Michael Laecey. I’ll ring him now and tell him I’m coming. There’s something I have to do and I find that I can’t do it without having told him. If I don’t move on this now I don’t know when it will happen. I have to write a thing for Edna, while I have her. I can be sure she’ll read it. Someone else might not. I’m running out of time.’
‘So, what, you’ll ring Michael?’
‘Yes.’
‘And then will David take you?’
‘I can’t do that, May. What I’m going to do is most irregular. In fact it might be illegal.’
‘You. Illegal.’
‘There’s never ever just one motive, May.’
‘Oh, well,’ she sighs. ‘I’ll have to take you. What’s the alternative? A taxi fare?’
Gordon shaves with care, puts on a suit and a tie. His preparations take a long time. They drive all the way to the Jamberoo Mountain Pass in silence.
Michael Laecey comes out to greet them, notes Gordon’s slow, painful shuffle, exchanges cheek kisses with May. Neither he nor Gordon extend a hand for shaking.
‘It seems that your husband and I are to discuss a matter of great weight,’ Michael says to May. ‘I assume he’ll want privacy. We’ll sit over there. Your place is in the sunroom where it’s deliciously warm. The tea things are set on the table. I have only to reboil water and pour it over the leaves in the pot and your morning tea is available for you. There are some rather lovely little biscuits on a stand, they have little raisins in them and a coffee-flavoured icing. Delicious!’ He smiles his usual, confident smile. ‘Be sure of this, I’d rather be in there with you, munching biscuits and gossiping, than be over there with your rather grim-looking husband.’
‘Thank you, Michael. I’m sure it will all be lovely.’
The two go into the house, chatting happily. The Terrier approaches Gordon, sniffs a leg of his trousers, snuffles and sits, watching the detective. Gordon makes his way across the spongy lawn, seats himself, props his cane under the palms of both of his hands. The dog trots after him, settles itself next to the chair that Michael will occupy. Cold from the earth chills Gordon’s feet. Through a window, he can see May settle at a small table. He sees how relaxed she looks, how happy. Gordon looks at the neat manicuring of the lawn and garden beds, the crush of the nearby forest, relishes this moment knowing he’ll never be back.
Michael Laecey crosses the dewy lawns. He rubs his hands together in the brisk morning air, settles himself in the chair.
‘Detective Sergeant O’Shea was on the telephone,’ Michael says and smiles, ‘immediately after your call. He was wanting to chat. Well, wanting to boast, actually, I’d say. Have you noticed that, where you’ve worked with people, perhaps been a little jealous of them, you retain a need to tell them of your success? It seems that O’Shea sees himself at the brink of a major success.’
‘Does he?’
‘It’s the Abdul Hijazi matter. This will interest you. O’Shea’s been given information of a boy of interest. After twenty-four hours of surveillance they have already had a breakthrough as to the names of the men who may have organised the kill.’
‘Where did they get the tip?’
‘It came from down here, apparently. There’s a hero of the hour. Peter Grace sent information up.’
‘Peter Grace?’
‘Yes. He’s been wonderfully modest, I’m told, about all of this out-of-hours sleuthing he’s done, but he’s given them enough to identify a young man who’s then, inadvertently, given them lots more. Matters going beyond the original crime, drug matters, possible next moves of a criminal. There’s to be a task force. O’Shea predicts there’ll be major kudos all around, including Peter. Which is fascinating because he himself was in touch with me recently, dejected and all cast down. He was under pressure to avoid charges. Now he’s the hero of the hour. Seems young Abdul’s death was quite a boon to Peter Grace.’
‘Anything on the man who pulled the trigger?’
‘They don’t have that and they are not very confident about getting much. The theory is that this was a fly-in fly-out from somewhere in Europe or Asia, organised through intermediaries. They suspect he would have no idea who Abdul was, why he was killed, who employed him. He was at two or three removes from the planning.’
‘O’Shea know anything about Edna?’
‘He has an opinion. Those who claim to know about these things say that there’ll be no charges, but her image is sufficiently damaged that she’ll be moved up to head office in Sydney. And, do you know, it may well suit her. In years to come she may look back and think, “Well, that’s where my big breakthrough started.” Sometimes a lot of time has to pass before you can tell whether something was the worst thing that could have happened, or the best thing.’
‘If you’re right about Edna, perhaps we’re going to be able to mark another major success resulting from the death of poor old Abdul.’
‘Well.’ Michael smiles. ‘Perhaps.’
Gordon draws a deep breath. ‘Michael,’ he says, ‘I’m going to do something.’
‘I see.’
‘And I should just do it without telling you, but I find that I can’t.’
‘Ah.’
‘I’m going to write a report and give it to Edna before she leaves. I’m going to make some recommendations that she put some resources together to investigate a death, one from quite a while ago.’
Michael now has a small smile. He watches Gordon carefully. ‘And I take it that this has something to do with me?’
‘It has to do with a death that you investigated. Were supposed to investigate. I read a file last Saturday.’
‘A file.’
‘A missing persons file. The man involved was a Tonio Rodriguez.’
Michael’s eyebrows rise. ‘That file is still alive! I’d have thought it would have been closed down years ago.’
‘The person who had the task to re-read it, twice, was Peter Grace. He’s twice initiated a new investigation but he’s refused to close it down.’
‘And why has that been his position?’
‘I’d be guessing.’
‘And what do you guess?’
‘He’s thought the matter stinks. And he hasn’t been prepared to call the whole thing into question, but he also wouldn’t condone the conclusion reached.’
‘And what conclusion have you reached?’
‘That Tonio Rodriguez was murdered.’
‘We have a body? A confession? Witnesses?’
‘No. Local gossip, now very, very old. The attitude of the son of Rodriguez. And this – the version accepted made no sense. A man has gone to Queensland. No drunken telephone calls home when he’s lonely. No birthday letters to his son. No income tax returns, arrests, social security registrations. The obvious thing to do
was to investigate – where did he drink? When was he last seen there? Who else was in the bar at that time? What were the circumstances of his leaving? Who went with him? You were the investigating officer. None of those things, those basic things, was done. And I can only think of one reason for that.’
Michael smiles at Gordon, but the smile is just around the mouth, not around the eyes. ‘You give me a motive. Why did I not perform those basic tasks? Why was I so inefficient?’
‘Because you believed what I believe – that Lupce Valeski killed his son-in-law. And knowing the nature of life on Cringila Hill, you thought that, in Lupce’s circumstance, you probably would have done the same thing. So you decided enough harm had been done, and the best way forward was to shut the whole matter down, and let the people involved sort it out.’
‘You think I was a poor policeman?’
‘No. You were always a very superior policeman, that’s never been an issue for me. But I believe you were an accessory after the fact of murder.’
Gordon looks towards the house through the sunroom window, to May, who is watching them. She is holding a saucer in one hand. Gordon watches her as she lifts a cup to her lips.
‘Gordon, you do understand that there comes a time when people cross a bridge, stand on the other side of a torrent, and look back and see that the bridge has collapsed and there’s no going back to how things were before.’
‘Yes, I do understand that.’
With a stab of emotion Gordon remembers how fond he has been of his friend. Michael is smiling and frowning at the same time, an expression Gordon has seen before.
‘Of course, I won’t attempt to influence you out of self-interest.’
‘I know that. You’re too proud to do such a thing.’
‘Thank you – well, I think that was a compliment. In any case … let me play Devil’s advocate for a minute. You have confronted me with this accusation knowing of where it leaves a friendship that I, for one, have valued. Do I take it that you’re here to arrest me?’