The Unbroken Line

by Alex Hammond

  ‘Is everyone done? Anything else?’ Will said to Paraskos.

  ‘You’re hiding something, Will.’

  It was clear to Will that the longer they talked, the more he risked their catching a whiff of the Ivanics. They were already suspicious. He had to end the meeting, now.

  He adjusted his tone and relaxed his body.

  ‘How about we refocus on Aaron? You’ve asked him to hand over his suppliers. Give him some time to think about it. There’s plenty until the committal hearing.’

  Paraskos exhaled and then nodded.

  ‘Of course we’ll keep it on the table a while longer. We’re not arseholes.’

  ‘And, of course, I’m going to advise him on what’s in his best interests. Hell, I can see no reason why we need to take this all the way to the County Court. We could try this summarily before the magistrate. No reason to drag this out.’

  Slippery. Ugly and slippery.

  ‘I’d like to grab a few minutes with him now, to get his gears clicking over,’ Will said.

  Evans swiped a card through the reader next to the heavy steel door. He used both hands to pull it open and Will limped back into the over-lit room. Only once he’d heard the door shut did he speak.

  ‘You can’t take their deal.’

  Aaron hadn’t moved from his seat.

  ‘I got this star when I sold my first bag for them.’ He held out his right hand. Among the tattoos, between his thumb and index finger, was a small, symmetrical star with each point half in red and half in black.

  ‘Each tattoo signifies something?’

  Aaron glowered at him. ‘When haven’t they? This is a map of my history. Reminds me of all the choices I made. Some good. Some bad. You have to own your decisions.’

  Will leant against the edge of the table. He couldn’t bring himself to sit again. He took out his pill bottle and rattled free another tramadol. Will swallowed it dry.

  ‘Tramadol? Never did much for me. How you finding them?’

  Will ignored him.

  ‘Testify against the Ivanics and a bad decision will become your worst.’

  ‘I thought you were meant to help me reduce my sentence?’

  ‘No. I’m meant to advise you on your best course of action. The one that will keep you alive.’

  Strictly speaking, that was true.

  Aaron turned his head to fix his eyes on Will’s. ‘What if I had something else? Something outside of the drugs thing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They’re into more than drug manufacturing. They don’t know it, but I have other information I could trade. Something that they won’t connect to me.’

  ‘Then I’d advise you to think very carefully about it. Even if they don’t have their own people in jail, they will know people who know people in jail. Our prison system is tendered to the lowest bidder. Your safety has a price limit.’

  Aaron squinted, looking off into the future again.

  ‘What are we talking about? Robberies? Guns? Murders?’ Will said.

  ‘Girls, Harris. We’re talking about girls working off their debt to the Ivanics as prostitutes.’

  ‘Sex slavery?’

  ‘If that’s what it’s called, then, yeah.’

  THIRTEEN

  His sleep had been piecemeal, pain rousing him whenever he rolled onto his left side. These moments of violent wakefulness punctuated a dream filled with the sound of wind chimes rattled by an oncoming storm. Eva had sat astride him, the light from a bedside lamp creating crescents in the shadows under her breasts. She’d rocked and tilted, finding a rhythm and looking down at him with a wide smile. Above him a dark spire twisted and swayed in the storm, spilling a slow-falling rain of dust onto everything – the bed sheets, the hairs on the back of his hand, the blood running down Eva’s face. He watched as she turned her head to one side, the cuts growing longer, the blood running more freely.

  Will rubbed his eyes and pulled himself up to sit on the bed. He popped open the plastic bottle on the bedside table. With the help of a glass of water, he swallowed a small white pill and waited for the numbness to arrive. He needed time to gather his thoughts and prepare himself for a Saturday spent in the office prepping on bullying before his meeting with Saxon Walsh tomorrow.

  The faint smell of dust lingered in the room.

  Like the dream.

  His tablet was on the other side of the bed. He’d fallen asleep going over the firm’s accounts. Things weren’t looking great for Miller Harris. They were slipping further into the red. At least the Walsh brief would bring in some money, although it would only slow the flow, not stop it.

  Flicking back the cover he tapped on the tablet’s screen, bringing it to glowing life.

  Still no email from Eva.

  Will opened the app for the day’s paper. Within a few seconds the front page appeared on the screen.

  What drowsiness remained immediately fell away. Will pulled it closer to his face, needing to be certain that he hadn’t misread the headline: Mark Eldon dead.

  Breaking News

  Star footballer dead from drug overdose

  Mark Eldon, winner of last year’s Brownlow Medal, has been found dead early this morning from an apparent drug overdose. Police are currently reviewing security footage from the lobby and foyer of Eldon’s luxury Southbank apartment. Residents are also being interviewed about any visitors the deceased may have had prior to his death. Following repeated complaints from neighbours about loud music coming from Eldon’s apartment, the building manager attempted to contact Eldon via phone and knocking on his door. When Eldon failed to answer, the building manager opened the apartment and discovered his body. Paramedics were immediately called but failed to resuscitate the 26-year-old.

  The police are continuing their investigation. Anybody with information is urged to contact Crime Stoppers.

  Included in the article was a video with a description that read Michael Eldon, Mark’s father and chief operating officer of the AFL, releases a statement on behalf of the family. Will clicked the image for the video and watched as Michael Eldon stood outside the gates of a large mansion. He had the heavy frame of an aging footballer, with red eyes sagging from sleep deprivation. In a trembling voice he read a prepared statement.

  ‘It is with a heavy heart that I advise you of our son’s death,’ Eldon said, squinting as tears filled his eyes. His hands shook holding the paper. He paused to regain himself before speaking again.

  ‘Mark was a courageous young man and although driven to excel he did so while remaining compassionate and generous to all those around him. He will be deeply missed by his family and no doubt the many fans through which his legacy will live on. We ask that in this time of mourning our privacy is respected.’

  As he finished speaking a chorus of camera shutters commenced and filled the silence. The video stopped.

  Will dropped the tablet onto the bed next to him and called Miller. He was immediately put through to voicemail.

  ‘Chris, it’s Will. I need you to call me back immediately. If you haven’t heard already . . . Mark Eldon is dead. I’m sorry, Chris. I know he was a friend —’

  His phone started to beep.

  ‘I think you’re messaging me.’ Will hung up and looked down at the screen. It was an email – from Eva. The subject line read I’ve arrived in NYC.

  He gathered his focus. His mind spun from the shock of Eldon’s death to an urgent need to have Eva at his side.

  Perhaps she’d reconsidered. Perhaps she wanted to come back. Let it be her saying she’ll come back.

  It wasn’t.

  I wanted to let you know that I’m here in New York, getting my shit together. You should do the same. You mustn’t let these vendettas run your life. I can’t be with you, Will. It’s sad and it’s fucked up and it’s because of what happened in that tunnel. That’s it. I hope you find your peace.

  – Eva

  He was numb. He’d wanted to feel something. Guilt. Outrage.
Sadness. But absence? He stared at the pill bottle by the bed. Somewhere there had been a dream of a future where they were perfect together, her lightness balancing his cynicism, her irreverence his seriousness.

  Will rubbed his eyes again and tapped a reply. Whatever you need. I understand.

  Will hit send and then opened up the photo app. Eva’s smiling face was repeated a dozen times in miniature in different places: dinners, daylight, drinks, her apartment. He highlighted them all and held his finger above the delete button. Should he remember, or hasten the speed of his forgetting?

  Better not to linger on it. Better just to be grateful that she was still out there in the world.

  He hit delete.

  FOURTEEN

  The trees on the leafy Toorak streets might as well have been dropping money for all the rampant wealth on display – Rolls Royces in driveways, tennis and basketball courts, period and contemporary mansions, even topiary. Miller hadn’t picked up his Porsche yet, so Will made the most of it. This was one of the few suburbs in Melbourne where it wasn’t ostentatious. A silver Carrera was parked on the street behind him, while a midnight-blue Cayenne sat halfway up the drive of the house where he now pressed the buzzer.

  ‘Hello?’ A woman’s voice answered.

  Will leant closer to the intercom. ‘It’s Will Harris. I’m here to meet with Saxon and Justice Walsh.’

  ‘Of course. Come in.’

  The gate shuddered as it rolled sideways behind the bluestone wall that bordered Walsh’s expansive Yarra-side property. Will sat back into the soft leather seat and drove the car up the driveway.

  The large gardens were classic old-world – fir trees lined the walls, while a rose garden bordered an ornamental fountain made up of four stone carp spraying water from each axis. Even now a team of three gardeners was working on the grounds, which flowed in a restrained cascade of colour to the very edge of the Yarra. Waterfront property – it must have cost a fortune.

  The boathouse was the size of Will’s entire apartment, and this was dwarfed by the neo-gothic mansion looming over it. Standing at the front door was Justice Walsh with his second wife at his side. They both wore polo shirts with cardigans tied over their shoulders – like an advertisement for Ralph Lauren.

  Will hauled himself out of the low seat of the Porsche, tucked his tablet under his arm and walked up to greet them.

  ‘You found us all right?’ Walsh asked.

  ‘You take up a fair wedge on the map. It wasn’t too much trouble.’

  ‘I’m Sandra. Sandi, actually. Thanks for helping us out.’ She was a fading blonde, fit, forty-ish. Will did his best not to make any assumptions about her – day spas, personal trainers, tennis with the girls. He hoped he was doing a better job with her than she was with him – Sandi was staring at the cuts on his face and hands as though they might be contagious.

  ‘They’re from the accident. You might have read about it in the paper,’ Will said.

  ‘Terrible, just terrible. Have they found the men who did it?’ said Walsh, his smile twisting into a wince as he stepped forwards and gripped Will by the shoulder.

  ‘No. I’m afraid not. The police are doing their best but the men were professionals.’

  ‘Hired thugs?’ Walsh asked.

  ‘That’s what it looks like,’ Will replied.

  ‘And they have no clue who sent them?’

  ‘No. But we’re here to talk about Saxon. After you’ve introduced us I’d like some time alone with him.’

  Sandi looked at Walsh, the glinting eyes of a trophy wife now the guarded scowl of a lioness.

  Will held up an open hand – nothing up his sleeve.

  ‘I need to gauge a few things. It may well be my misunderstanding, but parts of this story don’t make sense – a friend claiming bullying before committing suicide. Saxon might be keeping something from both of you. It could be minor, but it might make a difference if you’re not in the room with us.’

  ‘But he needs to have a parent present at all times,’ Sandi said.

  ‘That’s only when being interviewed by police. Not with his lawyer,’ Will said.

  ‘It’s not a lot to ask. Of course you can speak to him alone.’ Walsh turned to face his wife. ‘I trust him. He’s the son of a judge so he understands something of Saxon’s life. It’s why I approached him.’

  ‘Of course.’ The lioness retreated and the champagne smile returned. ‘Please come in.’

  The house was not nearly as severe as he’d expected from its exterior. Light wells from the towers and small oxeye windows warmed the interior, while the walls were peppered with bright cornflower-blue fleurs-de-lis. The carpet had been lifted to reveal the rich ochre of red gum floorboards.

  A pair of Dobermans loped up the hallway to Walsh, who sent them scrambling to the rear of the house after a brief rub of their heads.

  ‘Come through to the back, that’s where Saxon will be.’

  Will followed them to a bright extension that featured large louvre windows. These opened out onto a wide deck with an indoor-outdoor setting, including a fireplace that could be lit inside or out.

  On a large white couch in front of a flat-screen TV sat a young man. He was watching a documentary on tropical reefs, something narrated by David Attenborough.

  ‘Saxon,’ said Sandi.

  Saxon flicked a to 24-hour news channel. A report on Mark Eldon’s death. Footage of paramedics bringing out a covered gurney, then a cut to a pundit decrying drugs in sport.

  Where the hell is Miller?

  Will had heard nothing in over a day. He was starting to wonder if there was any way to cut Miller from the firm and downsize. It was the worst of a great many bad ideas. He needed Miller and the money his clients brought in. Like it or not, he was shackled to the fucker.

  ‘Saxon, could you turn the sound off?’ Sandi asked.

  He hit mute and the fever pitch of the pundit was cut to merciful silence.

  ‘Sax, this is Will Harris,’ Walsh said. ‘He’s a friend of the family but also a very good defence lawyer. I’ve asked him to help us with our situation.’

  Saxon nodded.

  A dark fringe fell across his face. Presumably this colour came from his father. Otherwise the boy could have been the spitting image of his mother: full lips, sharp eyes, high cheekbones. In his rowing jumper and skinny jeans, he was the missing piece of the happy family portrait. Another prince of the city.

  ‘Hi, Saxon. Mind if I sit?’

  ‘No problem.’ He gestured to the swathe of padded real estate around him. Will opted for the more reliable support of a nearby press-back chair.

  ‘Tea, coffee, wine?’ Sandi asked. Will could have sworn she was making the offer to Saxon.

  ‘A water would be great,’ said Will.

  ‘I’m good. Thanks, Mum.’

  I think you’ll find you are ‘well’. That’s what his father would say to him when he was a child.

  Walsh just smiled.

  ‘I’ll leave you two to it, then.’

  Will flipped open the tablet and launched a note-taking app.

  Behind Saxon, who was facing him, the images continued to play. Breaking news: suspect apprehended in connection to the death of Mark Eldon. Helicopter footage showed swaying palms by a pebbled pool. Somewhere in the news ticker was a location – Port Douglas, Queensland. Police walked a figure in handcuffs through a garden of pink and red tropical flowers, which shook in the wind churned up by rotor blades.

  ‘Saxon, before we start . . . Could you turn the sound back on?’

  Saxon flicked the remote as Walsh stopped at the hallway door.

  ‘What is it?’ he said, turning.

  The newsreader narrated the unfolding events. ‘Police have arrested a Melbourne man over the drug-related death of Mark Eldon. It is possible that he may have been hiding out in a luxury resort in Port Douglas since Friday evening.’

  The helicopter manoeuvred to a better position. Two police officers walked on either
side of the figure in a light grey suit. A palm frond obscured his face. Now a camera on the ground jostled forwards to get closer to the action. An entire entourage of law enforcers surrounded someone Will knew all too well.

  It was Chris Miller.

  FIFTEEN

  On the river, a rowing crew sliced through the water, timing their strokes to the shouting of the cox at the stern of the boat. Will watched them from the deck of the Walsh house.

  ‘Mr Harris?’ Brennan chuckled. ‘A Sunday afternoon phone call? Are you looking to scavenge a few billable hours on your day off?’

  He turned back to face the river. The day had become overcast, the dark clouds mirroring the Yarra’s murky water. ‘Teresa, I need your help.’

  The singsong of her voice dropped away immediately when she heard the strain in his. ‘What is it? Is everything all right?’

  ‘Not really. Chris has been arrested up in Port Douglas in connection to Mark Eldon’s death.’

  ‘Jesus. I didn’t even know they knew each other.’

  ‘They do. They’re extraditing him back to Melbourne now. Obviously I can’t get him on his phone so I’d like you to find out when he’s expected to arrive and where the police will take him.’

  ‘As his lawyer?’

  ‘As his lawyer. I want to be there for him as soon as he gets there.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. Jesus. I’m still reeling. That’s some quick police work.’

  Will scowled. ‘Isn’t it? Something about this doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘Will, they must have probable cause. They wouldn’t arrest him without good reason.’

  ‘You’ll get back to me as soon as you know?’

  ‘Of course.’ Brennan sighed. ‘Try not to overthink this until you talk to him. There’s nothing you can do right now. They’re probably on a plane. Hang in there, okay?’