The Unbroken Line

by Alex Hammond

  Will flicked his eyes open.

  The rider turned his helmeted head towards the voice, swaying back in what seemed like disgust.

  ‘I said drop the weapon!’

  The rider tossed the gun and circled the horse. Within seconds they had bolted out of view.

  Will blinked, for a second, for longer? His head was lolling despite his desire to keep it still.

  A uniformed policeman came around the edge of the car, Teresa Brennan at his side. Her eyes widened when she saw Will.

  ‘Jesus, mate,’ the cop said, ‘you’re bleeding all over your suit.’

  ‘It’s not my blood,’ Will said, as he pulled himself to his feet and staggered over to Walsh.

  Under the rippling light of swaying trees, Will gripped the dying man’s hand. Blood was welling up from his mouth and his face was an unrecognisable mess. Teresa looked away, shaking. She stopped holding herself long enough to wave down the ambulance as Will leant in close.

  ‘Saxon . . .’ Walsh moaned. ‘Tell him I’m sorry.’

  The man’s hands trembled. He sighed once more and was gone.

  FIFTY

  Outside it was getting dark, the twilight fading, the magic hour. The sun from the clear, bright day was slipping below the skyscrapers that huddled around the city’s centre: a garden of towers, lit glass and orange-bathed steel.

  The wind was picking up. Will could see it in the giant Australian flag that fluttered over the large traffic island – a patriotic salve to those lying in the hospital’s beds.

  Inside the room the smell of disinfectant clawed at his nasal passages, the neon lights turning the starched sheets a blinding white while the squeak of nurses’ shoes echoed from the hallway outside. He hadn’t breathed fresh air in over twenty-four hours.

  He had been watching the news. The reader’s voice had jarred so he turned the sound off and read the subtitles. The riot at the Melbourne Cup had made headlines around the world. Even now, a day later, it was the leading item. Over one hundred and fifty arrests, millions of dollars worth of damage and calls for an inquiry into police brutality and mismanagement, and discussions of a one-block cordon around the grounds for next year’s race.

  Alan Walsh’s death had been attributed to a mishap, knocked to the ground by accident and crushed underfoot in the riot. Colin Gregory’s body was found downstream in the Maribyrnong River with a winning stub in his pocket and the suggestion of stolen money.

  The tabloids had labelled it ‘one of the city’s darkest days’.

  Until the next one.

  This misdirection did much to confirm his suspicion that members of the Covenant had ordered the police line to fail with the intention of using the ensuing riot to conceal three murders.

  Will pressed a button on the controller attached to the hospital bed, raising himself so that he was closer to the eye line of the two visitors entering his room.

  Detective Senior Sergeant Gray leant against the wheeled table on which a pallid vegetable curry was slowly cooling. His tweed jacket was slung over his arm, his off-white shirt betraying the decade of its manufacture by its wide, flat collar.

  Beside him stood Legal Commissioner Anne Feinson. Her face was ruddy from the wind outside, her functional blue suit and utilitarian bob shifting as she stood at the bottom of Will’s bed.

  ‘How are you healing?’ Feinson asked.

  ‘Slowly.’

  ‘Three broken ribs, a concussion, two broken fingers,’ Gray said. ‘You do have a habit of putting yourself in hospital, Harris.’

  ‘You’re starting to sound like my mother.’

  ‘Well then, I consider myself in good company.’

  ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but the painkillers I’m on, they have a habit of fogging my mind. I’ve been holding off on taking them, waiting for this meeting.’

  ‘Of course,’ Feinson said, nodding.

  Gray stood up straight and folded his arms. ‘I looked into the report on the cause of Mark Eldon’s death. Checked the one on our database against the forensic pathologist’s original notes. You were right – there was a discrepancy between the times of death. Eldon died at around eight p.m., while your partner was on a plane to Queensland.’

  ‘How do you intend to explain that?’

  ‘As a grave error,’ Feinson said. ‘One that the police will rectify in a formal statement to the press.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t be here if you actually thought that had happened.’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I wouldn’t.’

  Gray continued. ‘I also followed up with the witness who claimed to have seen Miller selling drugs to Eldon. He’s revised his statement. Said he confused Miller with another man on a different night.’

  ‘So Miller’s in the clear, then.’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Have you told him?’

  ‘We’re holding off,’ said Feinson. ‘There’s more to talk about before we do that. But we will be asking you to encourage him to accept this without too much attention.’

  ‘Me? Why?’

  ‘Because the sooner we get this settled, the sooner we can move on. That’s the deal. As long as Miller stays quiet, the police will apologise and drop the charges.’

  ‘Sounds fair. So what else do you need to talk about?’

  ‘The question of your professional practice hearing.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought those matters were related.’

  ‘They weren’t. Until now.’ Feinson shifted the weight under her feet. ‘You alluded to Senior Sergeant Gray that you knew of a high-level conspiracy to pervert the course of justice and wrongfully charge and convict Chris Miller. He seems to believe that there might be some merit in that.’

  Will remained silent and watched. Feinson continued.

  ‘When I was appointed to my position, I received an open file concerning a similar matter. Except that this file is at best vague, and at worst a list of unsubstantiated rumours. It holds a note that some lawyers may be colluding with senior police and bureaucrats for the illegal and improper exchange of favours. No names, just similar examples of mistakes and dead ends like the ones Detective Gray found. We’ve literally had nothing to go on.’

  ‘Until now,’ Gray said.

  Feinson started to pace in a small circle at the foot of Will’s bed. ‘What you’ve uncovered is our first tangible evidence that such a group exists. I’ve just come from a meeting with the anti-corruption commissioner. He’s agreed to work with us on this. We’re forming a joint consultative task force to look into the matter.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied.

  ‘But it’s under the radar,’ Gray said.

  ‘That’s correct. It will be made up of police we trust and select staff from my office, and will investigate the activities of this organisation known as the Covenant.’

  Gray leant forwards, placing both hands on the wheeled table beside the bed. ‘We need your information, Will. Everything you have. We’ll also want to interview you at length.’

  ‘This would be in exchange for dropping the hearing,’ Feinson said.

  Will looked at her sideways. ‘I don’t need you to drop the hearing, because it wouldn’t be successful.’

  Feinson stopped pacing. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘There’s no perhaps about it. You alleged that I made illegal misrepresentations to Nicholas Aaron, a man who until recently was my client. Due to the shortcomings of Corrections Victoria, Aaron is now dead. Tragic and unnecessary, but an end to your line of investigation.’

  ‘We’re getting off the point here,’ said Gray.

  Feinson nodded. ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Look,’ said Will. ‘You don’t have to coerce me. I’ll give you the information. It will mean placating a journalist who is currently investigating the same thing.’

  ‘We can do that. Who is it?’

  ‘Petra de Marco.’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re working with the woman who wanted to see y
our practising certificate revoked?’

  ‘In return for the information, I want something in exchange.’

  Feinson narrowed her eyes. ‘And that is?’

  ‘I want to come onboard as a consultant to your task force.’

  ‘A consultant?’

  ‘I want to be with you as you bring these guys down. I know more about the Covenant than anyone. I’ve seen their faces. I could name three members for you right now, and could probably identify a half-dozen more if you provided me with head shots.’

  ‘You were their target. Your position is biased,’ she said.

  ‘You’re absolutely right. But that’s exactly why you want me involved. No one is going to fight harder than me to expose them.’

  ‘That would mean he couldn’t act as a witness,’ said Gray.

  ‘To what?’ asked Will. ‘I saw a group of men at the races. It’s hardly admissible. I could give you something solid, a starting point, but only if you agree to my participation. The DPP often hires lawyers to assist them with prosecuting. It’s under your remit to do the same with me.

  ‘Commissioner,’ Will said, fixing her with his eyes, letting the pain harden his resolve. ‘You told me that you accepted your job to put a stop to the grey trade in information that goes on within the justice system. That you wanted to stop the pervasive culture of privilege.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Let me be involved and I’ll give you the first piece of evidence towards tracking these guys down.’

  ‘What are you offering?’

  ‘The man who was hired by the Covenant to attack Eva Mercuri and me.’

  Gray bowed his head in the direction of the legal commissioner. ‘That’s Haigh’s case,’ Gray said.

  ‘It is. But I know where he is,’ Will said.

  ‘And how could you possibly know that?’ asked Gray.

  ‘All right.’ Feinson held up her hand. ‘It’s agreed. We’ll send through the paperwork tomorrow. Now where is this man?’

  ‘That part is a bit harder to explain. He’s tied up in a house in Tullamarine.’

  ‘Tied up?’ Feinson’s eyes widened and Gray shot him a look.

  ‘Citizen’s arrest,’ Will said.

  Gray choked. ‘Fucking hell, Harris. It sounds like kidnapping.’

  ‘Don’t worry. You’ll get an anonymous tip in the next half an hour about a firearm on a windowsill, incorrectly stored. This will give you reasonable grounds to investigate. But make sure Haigh is with you. The evidence of the attack is all there in plain sight. She knows what she’s looking for.’

  Gray shook his head at Feinson. ‘What have we done?’

  FIFTY-ONE

  Spring rains fell hard across the runway, slicking the concrete and washing over planes and ground crew alike. The water sluiced into stormwater drains. From the window of the members’ lounge, Will watched an airbus slice through the squall as it sped towards take-off.

  Eva sat across from him, stirring the ice in her drink. She was dressed in leggings and an oversized T-shirt, much like when he’d first met her. Except for the scars on her face. They would take a long time to fade. Eva lifted her hand from the glass and looked at him – her large brown eyes awakening in him equal measures of desire and guilt.

  ‘I’m glad you got him,’ she said.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to catch the next flight and stay to see him front up at the bail hearing?’

  ‘No. Knowing that he’s been arrested is enough. They definitely have enough to convict this guy?’

  ‘They’ve matched his footprints to the crime scene. The knife that he, ah . . . it had your DNA on it. Trace amounts, even though he’d wiped it. He’s going to jail. Definitely. Whether he talks about who hired him, that’s another question.’

  ‘But you know.’

  ‘I do. I’ve agreed not to disclose . . .’

  ‘I understand —’

  ‘But it was a judge. Alan Walsh. He believed, incorrectly, that I was investigating him, his organisation. That I was working with Miller. He wanted to scare us off.’

  ‘Working with Miller on what?’

  ‘Walsh’s son was a student at the school where Miller’s father was headmaster. Walsh pressured the school board into firing Miller’s father. Miller was threatening to expose him. It would have ruined him. But more importantly, it would have given his son a juvenile record, putting his future at risk.’ Will took a sip from his glass of water. ‘We would have worked it out sooner had we realised that the boy was enrolled at the school under his mother’s maiden name.’

  ‘Maiden name?’

  ‘We suspect that Walsh didn’t want him getting any undue attention as the son of a powerful judge.’

  Will found he was hunched forwards now, stiff across his bandaged ribs. He stared at the table, to give his eyes something to look at that wasn’t her. The weight hadn’t lifted from him. Old regrets now had new concerns added to them.

  ‘Those things I said about you,’ Eva said.

  ‘It’s okay. I understand that you were upset.’

  ‘No, Will, it’s not that,’ she said softly. ‘I stand by them, but I could have expressed them more kindly. I do care about you. I do worry about what you’re doing to yourself. How many more times can you keep putting yourself in harm’s way, risking your life?’

  ‘It’s not intentional.’

  ‘Isn’t it?

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m not saying that I’m not thankful for what you did. Fuck knows I shouldn’t encourage you. But it means a lot to me, that would fight as hard as you did to bring me justice, to find Emmet.’

  And yet you didn’t. You were willing to let them go for the sake of discovering the Covenant.

  She uncrossed her legs and leant forwards, the narrow fingers of her hand reaching out to his. It was warm, soft, so much smaller than his scarred, flat shovels.

  ‘Could it have worked between us? If none of this had happened?’ he asked.

  ‘Will . . . Yes . . . No . . . That emotional part of me, the romantic, wants to believe it could have – a heroic relationship overcoming adversity, you and me against all others. But intellectually, rationally, it was only a matter of time before I came to the realisation.’

  He looked up at her.

  ‘That, ultimately, it’s you alone against all others,’ she said. ‘That’s what I meant by it being intentional. It manifests as a self-destructive streak. It’s ingrained so deep within you. I didn’t want to be the one to help leach it out. I’m not sure anyone can.’

  Will sat back in the chair and looked out towards the storm. A man in a yellow slicker was hunched over the wheel of a baggage cart, the wind tugging at the tarpaulin spread across the luggage in the back.

  ‘Emmet’s trial won’t be for months,’ he said.

  ‘The police prosecutor said they haven’t decided if I’ll need to give a witness statement.’

  ‘They’ll want to talk to him, a lot, first.’

  They might even make a deal if he can give up the Covenant.

  ‘I think I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want you to update me about how his prosecution is going.’

  ‘Are you sure? Victims are often left out of the loop.’

  ‘That’s the problem, you see. I don’t want to be a victim.’ She got up from the curved leather chair. ‘So I’m going to say goodbye to you now. Here. Not at the gates.’

  Will braced himself as he got to his feet.

  ‘Goodbye, Will,’ she said and stood on her toes. On one cheek she placed her hand, on the other she kissed him. She lingered there on her toes, touching her forehead to his chin before lowering herself back to the ground.

  ‘I hope you find your peace,’ she said.

  He nodded and hugged her.

  ‘Look after yourself.’

  She winked. ‘Always.’

  He left her there in the lounge. The murmur of conversations and the hum of an espresso machine wrapped around him
and ushered him out through the sliding doors.

  Will walked the corridors of the airport in a haze, his mind caught between fantasising about the future and browsing through memory. All of this avoided the hard fact so present before him – he’d never see Eva again.

  This occupied his mind as he walked through the rain-racked pedestrian tunnel and into the car park. It was only the sight of a grinning Chris Miller leaning up against the Porsche and spinning his car keys that jolted him to the present.

  ‘How’d it go?’ Miller asked.

  ‘As well as it could. She’s not staying.’

  ‘She’s a great woman, Eva.’ Miller placed his hand on Will’s arm. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out.’

  Will rolled his shoulders and breathed out. ‘She’s moving forwards. I can see no reason why I shouldn’t do the same.’

  ‘That’s the spirit, hombre.’

  Will clapped Miller on the back. ‘How does it feel to be a free man?’

  ‘Exhilarating. I’ve been toying with the idea of suing the police,’ he said, opening the car door.

  ‘I thought you agreed —’

  ‘I’d wait, of course, until after the Royal Commission.’ Miller paused with one foot in the Porsche. ‘I want to see the Covenant torn to pieces. There’s no way I’m getting in the way of that. I have to say it, though: I’m surprised the commissioner is cool with me working on it with you.’

  ‘I haven’t told her.’

  ‘You haven’t?’

  ‘They don’t need to know. As long as we keep it quiet.’

  Miller laughed and got into the car. ‘Who would have thought you’d turn out to be the dark horse? Here I was thinking that was my role in this firm.’

  Will sat in the passenger seat and they pulled their doors shut. Miller started the engine and the car growled into finely tuned life.

  ‘So where to now?’ Miller asked.

  ‘Emmet’s bail hearing. I want to look the fucker in the eye.’

  ‘Excellent. Let’s both do that.’

  Miller reversed at speed, the wheels of the Porsche spinning as he accelerated out of the car park and into the rain.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many thanks must go to my editor Arwen Summers for her astute advice and observations that helped hone a first draft into a novel. I am also grateful to Rebecca Bauert for her diligence and attention to detail on the copy edit. Again, the team at Penguin offered wonderful support and guidance including Lou Ryan, Anyez Lindop, Heidi McCourt, Alexis Chapman and Adam Laszczuk as well as my publisher, Ben Ball, for his belief and support. I am grateful also to my agent, Fiona Inglis, for her wise counsel.