Inside the locker were the usual accoutrements of a gym rat: perfume, shampoo, towels, a couple of swimsuits and a pair of running shoes. Then I saw, in the back of the locker, a DVD in a jewel-case. No sticker or writing on the disc. What was it doing there? It seemed out of place. And DVDs contain information, right? So maybe it was what I was looking for. My heart started a fancy beat I hadn’t heard before.
I stuffed the DVD into my sports bag and tried to shut the locker door. But I’d knocked it out of shape and it wouldn’t close properly. Fuck it. I picked up my bag and scurried towards the entrance.
As I left, the woman at the front counter didn’t even look up. Then I was outside, sucking in fresh air.
Striding towards my car, I realised that crime was not my metier. A few more episodes like this and my life force would be used up.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I rushed home to see what was on the DVD. Would it explain why Yvonne and Joanna were murdered? Or did it just contain old episodes of Seinfeld or Big Brother?
When I got there, I sprinted inside and popped the DVD into my player. I pressed "play" and prayed for a dramatic revelation. All I saw on the TV screen was footage of an empty living room which seemed familiar. Then I realised it was Yvonne’s.
She must have set up the camera. But why film her living room, particularly when it was empty?
I had to wait about ten minutes to find out. Just as my concentration was flagging, she entered the room with Vincent Martin trailing behind her. They were both dressed in business clothes, as if they’d just finished work.
Shit. Vincent Martin. A Minister of the Crown. What the fuck was he doing in Yvonne’s humble abode? The answer was obvious: getting laid.
Then I discovered the DVD had a sound track.
Martin said: "Fuck. What a day."
"Come here. I’ll make you feel better."
They spent the next minute kissing and fondling, while I developed a half-woody.
I didn’t know much about Martin’s private life, but knew he had a wife and three kids who lived in Sydney. So he was being a very naughty boy. Indeed, despite my own chequered past, I felt a flush of moral disapproval.
I was also a little perplexed. It was hard to believe two women were killed because of this DVD. So what if Martin had an affair with a political groupie? No media organisation in Australia would touch the disk. Someone could, of course, put it on the internet and embarrass Martin. But it was unlikely even that would harm his political prospects. Australian voters are very broadminded about sexual matters. They’d only crucify a politician if he was found in bed with a dead woman or a live boy.
Yvonne broke free of his clutches. "You want a glass of wine?"
"Sure."
She went off screen, while he removed his tie and sat on the couch, facing the camera. She returned with two wine glasses, handed him one and joined him on the couch.
She said: "So you had a bad day?"
Martin looked worried. "Yeah, fucking awful. During Question Time, I kept getting asked about that fucking army base."
The DVD must have been made several months ago, when Martin was being questioned in the House about whether he helped George Potter win the tender to build an army base in northern New South Wales.
She said: "I didn’t see Question Time. What did you say?"
"I said I never talked to Potter about the tender."
"Was that true?"
He looked anger. "Of course not. Shit. The bastard kept calling me day and night about it. Wouldn’t leave me alone."
"Why didn’t you tell him to stop calling?"
"I couldn’t. I owe him too much."
"So you helped him win the tender?"
"Of course. Had no choice. He’s got my balls in a vice."
"How did you help him?"
"Oh, I had a quiet word with a few people on the tender committee, and I slipped Potter some information about the other tenders. Christ. If that comes out, I’m beyond fucked."
"Is that likely?"
He sighed. "No. I should be alright."
Famous last words.
Now I knew why this DVD was so important: why two women died because of it. It proved Martin was corrupt and lied to the House. The exposure of either offence would destroy his career. No doubt about that. Instead of ending up in the Lodge, he'd end up behind bars.
Of course, such pillow-talk is common in Canberra, and usually deniable. Not this time. Yvonne had secretly recorded Martin’s confession for posterity.
That wasn’t the last revelation on the DVD. Indeed, it wasn’t even the greatest. Martin drained his glass.
She said: "You want another drink?"
"No. Actually, I’d like some powder, if you’ve got some."
"Sure."
Yvonne went off-screen and came back with a large mirror. On top was a long line of white powder. She sat next to Martin, handed him a tube and held the mirror under his nose. With the practised ease of a Sydney barrister, Martin shoved the tube up his nose and hoovered up a whole line of coke.
Oh shit, I thought. Naughty, naughty, naughty.
Martin said: "You going to have some?"
Of course not, you boob. She’s filming this.
Yvonne said: "No, later." She put her hand on his crotch and suggested they go to bed. Without further ado they exited, stage right.
She obviously hadn’t set up a camera in the bedroom, so I was save the sight of Martin’s hairy arse going up and down. Why so demure? She hadn’t shown much class so far. Maybe she’d realised that sex tapes were very passé.
I turned off the DVD machine and sat back, stunned.
Now I knew why Yvonne and Joanna were killed. They died because, like most people in Canberra, they couldn’t keep a secret.
Let me explain.
Vincent Martin and Yvonne Clarke were having an affair, which she secretly filmed. That was easy, because these days you can even buy spy cameras in toy shops. Privacy is an out-dated concept.
Why did she film him? Probably because, like most mistresses, she wanted evidence of their affair so that, if it went sour, he couldn’t just brush her aside. After all, she wasn’t bonking him for nothing.
Anyway, the DVD was her little secret. But a secret isn’t much fun unless you share it. So she told her best friend, Joanna Parker, and maybe even gave her a screening.
However, Joanna couldn’t keep a secret either. For her, the DVD was an enormous opportunity. It was leverage to get what she wanted.
So Joanna stole the DVD from Yvonne’s apartment and put it in her gym locker. Then she got in touch with Richard Reston, the PM’s political adviser, and offered to hand it over, for the right price.
Yvonne discovered the DVD was missing and realised Joanna took it. She panicked, went over to Joanna’s place and demanded it back. They had a screaming match, but Joanna wouldn’t hand it over.
Yvonne had now run out of options. Desperately, she contacted Martin and warned him that she’d made the DVD and Joanna had stolen it. Maybe he could get it back from her.
Martin must have freaked out. He was on the verge of making it to the Lodge. But the Australian public draws the line at politicians snorting coke. If the DVD surfaced, it would be as deadly to his political career as growing a toothbrush moustache.
Desperately, Martin turned to his political patron, George Potter, and told him what had happened. Potter swung into action. He ordered his favourite goon - Jack Cooper - to recover the DVD from Joanna Parker.
I wasn’t sure whether Potter told Cooper to kill Joanna Parker, or left that to his discretion. In any event, Cooper broke into her apartment and killed her. But when he looked around for the DVD, he couldn’t find it, because it was tucked away in the gym locker.
Cooper realised that when Yvonne Clarke heard Joanna Parker was dead, she’d probably head straight for the cops. So Cooper had to silence her too.
By now, Yvonne was terrified. She knew Martin wasn’t happy with her and the r
epercussions could be severe. To protect herself, she decided to talk to a journalist she trusted: me.
However, Cooper killed her before I got to her house.
Later, when Cooper saw on TV that I’d discovered Yvonne’s body, he decided to make me the patsy. He got someone to sneak into my bureau and steal my electronic diary. Then he planted it in Joanna Parker’s apartment, where the cops found it. However, luckily, his frame-up fell flat.
Meanwhile, Cooper pressed forward with his main mission. He’d killed two women, and still didn’t have the DVD. He had to find it.
Suspecting I had it, he broke into my townhouse. When he didn’t find it there, he tried to kidnap me. That attempt failed, very publicly, at Canberra Hospital.
Potter now realised Cooper was a very dangerous liability. If the police caught him, he might ruin everything. So Potter had him eliminated. Cooper left this world in a Canberra motel room, courtesy of a few bullets from someone he knew and trusted. Probably Baldy.
As I pieced together what had happened, I felt a mixture of surprise, horror, disgust, fear and - most of all - excitement. I’d stumbled onto a huge story that would bring down the Government. God. This was my ticket back to the big time. No, it was more than that: it was my ticket to journalistic superstardom. Women would want to be with me and men would want to be like me. I’d crush all my enemies with a single blow.
My by-line would endureth forever. Amen.
I was anxious to get back to my bureau and write the story. I slipped the DVD into the jewel-case and headed for the door. Then I flung it open and found myself looking straight into the muzzle of a pistol.
Fuck.
I don’t know much about pistols and can’t tell you its make or calibre. I can only report it was big, black and shiny. The muzzle looked enormous. Fear lit up every part of my system. My legs did a funky jive.
From behind the pistol came a gravelly voice. "Where the hell do you think you’re going?"
Until now the cannon had my undivided attention. I peeked at the man behind it. Bald and heavy-set, he wore a grey overcoat and looked familiar. But my thoughts were so scrambled I couldn’t remember where I’d seen him before.
My tongue felt snap frozen. "Wot?"
The man said: "Turn around and go back inside the house."
Though I was anxious to obey, my legs felt numb. I had trouble turning. He got impatient and shoved hard. I stumbled into the living room. He followed, shutting the door behind me.
"Sit," he said, pointing his pistol at a couch.
I tottered over to the couch and collapsed onto it, still holding the DVD. He looked at it and smiled. "I think you’d better give me that."
Nervously, I held it up. He stepped forward and grabbed it.
"Thank you," he said sardonically. "Now make yourself comfortable, because we have a short wait."
I spoke through rubbery lips. "Woy? Who fer?"
"You’ll see. And remember, any funny business and I’ll shoot you, understand? I don’t want to, because I don’t want to have to dig a grave and stick you in it. But if I’ve got to, I will."
He sat in an armchair, rock-steady pistol still aimed at my chest. We were playing his game, not mine, and I was the away team.
Suddenly, I remembered where I’d seen him before: outside Joanna Parker’s apartment, just before I discovered her body. He walked past me, avoiding eye contact.
Shit. Had I got it all wrong? Did he, not Cooper, kill Yvonne and Joanna? And was he now going to kill me? Fucking hell, I really was in shit.
He seemed to read my thoughts. "You remember me, don’t you?"
I didn’t want to mention seeing him at a murder scene and lied: "No."
"Really? Because I remember you, outside Joanna Parker’s home. Oh, don’t worry. I didn’t kill her. I was looking for this." He held up the DVD. "Fortunately, now I’ve found it."
It didn’t look like he was going to shoot me - not immediately anyway - so my tongue loosened. "Who’re we waiting for?"
He grinned malevolently. "Be patient. Everything will be revealed, in time."
Neither of us was in the mood to chat. We sat, facing each other, with dead air between us.
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. The bald guy got to his feet and slide across to the door, still pointing the pistol at me. "Don’t move."
I was so afraid I probably couldn’t have budged if I wanted to. My bowels rumbled ominously.
My captor opened the door and I got another surprise to add to that day’s long list. Richard Reston, the PM’s chief political adviser - his Mr Fixit - stepped into my living room.
Reston glanced at me briefly, then at the man with the pistol. "You’ve got it?"
"Yeah, here."
Reston took the DVD with obvious relief. For a moment, I thought he might want to watch it himself. Then I realised he already knew what was on it: Joanna Parker told him before she died.
Reston looked over at me. "Hello Paul. Sorry to barge in like this."
Seeing a familiar, if unfriendly, face gave me some courage. "What the fuck’s going on? You’re not allowed to do this."
Reston dropped into the couch opposite, his beatific smile hiding a rotten soul. "Really? Why not?"
"Well, umm, because it’s wrong. Give me back that disk."
Even to me, that sounded monumentally piss-weak.
He just laughed. "I’m sorry. I intend to keep it. I think you can understand why. You thought you had a huge scoop, didn’t you? Could taste victory? Well, sometimes you’ve got to run through the tape. I hope my friend here didn’t have to get rough."
"No, he was a perfect fucking gentleman," I said sarcastically. "Who is he?"
"You don’t need to know. All I’ll say is that he works for one of the Government’s more obscure agencies."
"You mean he’s a spook?"
"Yes. He specialises in what they call wet work. He also does odd jobs for me. Hah, very odd jobs. He knows how to arrange accidents or suicides. So don’t do anything stupid." He waved the DVD in the air. "I bet you’re wondering how I knew about this."
"I already know."
He lifted an eyebrow: "Really?"
"Yes. You originally found out about the DVD from Joanna Parker. She stole it from Yvonne Clarke and then offered to sell it to you."
"That’s right."
"So you sent your goon here to Joanna’s house, to get the disk."
"Correct. But all he found was her body. I also understand that, on the way out, he passed you on the balcony. After that, I told him to keep an eye on you, in case you had the DVD. In fact, we even bugged your phone. You know, you should make up with your girlfriend, she sounds very nice."
He looked at his bald henchman, who’d put away his pistol and was now unscrewing the back of my telephone.
Reston said to him: "Got it?"
The bald guy held up a small device, which I assumed was a bug. "Yep."
"Good." Reston turned back to me. "We didn’t realise she’d hidden the DVD in her gym locker. That was smart work on your part. You’ve been very busy this morning, haven’t you?"
I said: "What are you going to do with that DVD?"
"It’s quite obvious that Vincent Martin isn’t suitable to be our next Prime Minister. I mean, he has a few, umm, character flaws. Certainly, if this disk got out he’d have trouble selling the Government’s family values and anti-drugs policies." Reston shook his head. "Silly bastard. He should have just got blasted on booze, like most pollies in Canberra. Then he’d be OK. He chose the wrong poison."
"So you’re going to blackmail him into abandoning his challenge to the PM?"
"Of course."
"Then you’ll give the DVD to the police?"
He frowned. "Oh, I don’t think so. After all, my job is to protect the Government, not destroy it."
"Two women were murdered because of that DVD. Those responsible should be brought to justice?"
"The man who killed them - Jack Cooper - is alread
y dead."
"Maybe. But what about George Potter? He gave Cooper his orders. He should be held accountable."
"Look, if I were you, I’d forget about Potter. There is absolutely no evidence against him. And even if there was, he’s untouchable. When you’ve got as much money as him, you’re fucking bullet proof. Understand? Normal morality just bends around you. Don’t even think about fucking with him."
"OK. Then what about Vincent Martin? Surely you’re going to tell the cops about his involvement in all of this, aren’t you?"
Reston smiled at my stupidity. "Of course not. There’s no evidence he knew those two women would be killed. Indeed, he has a solid alibi. He wasn’t even in Canberra when they died. But don’t worry. He’ll be punished: his political career is over."
I shook my head. "It’s a fucking disgrace."
"Maybe. But, if you’re smart, you’ll forget about everything that has happened. I mean, let’s face it, the only evidence you’ve found is this DVD, and I’ve got it. Cooper is dead and we never had this conversation. You’ve got nothing. Zero. It’s over."
Though it seemed he wasn’t going to hurt me, I had a craven need to be sure. "So, umm, you’re not going to harm me?"
"Of course not. We’re not going to touch a hair on your head." He shrugged and gave me a big smile. "Shit. I may be a bastard, but I’m not a fucking bastard."
"And the PM gets to keep his job?"
"Of course. That’s the plan."
"He’s so fucking useless."
"Look, he’s not much of a PM. In fact, sometimes he’s pretty fucking stupid. But at least he’s reasonable honest, unlike Martin."
"He can afford to be, because you do all his dirty-work."
Reston looked pleased. "I’ll take that as a compliment." He got to his feet and held up the DVD. "Thanks for your help."
"Don’t mention it," I said bitterly.
He smiled ruefully. "You know. This is probably the high point of my career. Too bad nobody will ever know what a fantastic job I’ve done. Still, I suppose that what really counts is personal satisfaction."
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