No Witness, No Case

by Bill Robertson

  Teresa’s hatred of Aldrittson began in her final two years at Genazzano. The parents of her two best friends, Abbie Nathan and Emma Dunlop, were financially, physically, emotionally and spiritually ruined by the ruthless destruction of their company, Generunner. For more than a decade the small Victorian company had painstakingly developed a technique for analysing dog blood. Specific to greyhounds, it could highlight defects, markers of superiority (size, speed, muscle tone and stamina) and indicators of good health. The dog-racing industry stood to gain significantly from breeding super-dogs through a process that eventually could eliminate flawed genes.

  The two scientists, Graeme Nathan and Evan Dunlop, had been lifelong friends whose interest in greyhounds stemmed from their fathers. Aldrittson, not then in Parliament but working for the Liberal Party, had engineered a range of agreements for Generunner’s developers which promised to take them to the next growth phase. Without explanation, Aldrittson suddenly switched support to a huge French conglomerate. Publicly, he argued their size and experience would benefit Victorians through jobs growth and scientific achievement. Generunner was then systematically strangled by the French until, as their last hope for survival, Dunlop and Nathan sold their firm and patent rights for a pittance. Much later, it was discovered the conglomerate had been developing similar, though not as effective, technology. Generunner and its innovative technology disappeared. Everything the two scientists had worked for was gone. In its place was the debris of two fractured families; among them, Abbie and Emma. Teresa believed Aldrittson had orchestrated the Nathan-Dunlop collapse and despised him with a passion. Since working for Pescaro, her sources had returned persistent rumours that, covertly, Aldrittson had financially benefited by supporting the French. Nothing less than his complete exposure and destruction was acceptable to her for the damage he had inflicted upon her friends and their families.

  Teresa’s soft, black frock clung to her trim figure, the discreet neckline revealing only a hint of cleavage. Around her throat she wore a fine silver chain and pear shaped diamond which, beneath the dazzling, pencil-thin halogen lights, blazed with white fire. Her dark hair gently framed her face accentuating the high cheekbones and luminescent, smoky green eyes. She knew she looked alluring and sensual, yet she also wanted to carry an indefinable air of vulnerability.

  She ordered a macchiato and waited, absorbing her surroundings.

  Aldrittson arrived a few minutes after her coffee order. She watched him enquire at the register where she had booked under Santini’s name. He looked every inch the politician – a tall man in a deep blue suit, pale blue shirt and crimson tie.

  Approaching her, his eyes widened in pleasure and surprise as he realised whom he was meeting. Over the years he had seen her several times but only ever at a distance. He had meant to find out about her but with everything else going on in his life, had not found the time. He strode the last few metres, commanding, gallant, dripping with charm.

  For her part, Teresa sat demurely – waiting and watching. She remained seated when he arrived at the table, extended her hand and said, ‘Good evening Mr Aldrittson.’

  ‘Good evening … Miss Santini?’

  ‘Please, call me Teresa.’ She didn’t bother correcting him.

  ‘Bernardo’s death – a very sad thing. Please accept my condolences for your loss.’ Aldrittson, appearing suitably concerned was reluctant to show his ignorance about what, if any relationship existed between Santini and Teresa.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Teresa gently, understanding his dilemma immediately and unwilling to change his perception.

  He sat. ‘Would you like something more substantial to accompany the macchiato? Cognac, benedictine, or champagne, perhaps?’

  She smiled, ‘a cognac would be very nice.’

  Aldrittson summoned a waiter and ordered a long black coffee for himself and cognac for them both. Before the waiter could leave, Aldrittson turned to Teresa. ‘I’ve eaten, have you?’

  ‘I have,’ she replied, ‘the coffee and cognac will be fine.’ Her smile induced near meltdown in Aldrittson.

  He was intrigued by her voice: It was warm and earthy, slightly husky. As he took in the trim shapely figure, rounded in all the right places, he thought – this is my kind of a woman. He noted her necklace and guessed it was worth a small fortune. Though she was dressed simply in black, she looked both elegant and sexy. And yet … he discerned a hint of melancholy. He was already thinking of conquest.

  Teresa looked at him directly. ‘Let’s get the business over with first, shall we?’

  He eyed her approvingly. ‘Of course.’ He withdrew a long and thickish envelope from inside his coat. ‘I believe this is what you need.’

  ‘Explain it to me, briefly,’ she said, a smile playing on her lips, her gaze unwavering.

  He hesitated. Why should he reveal anything to this woman? She was a stranger for Christ’s sake. A cold shiver ran down his spine at the memory of his last meeting with Santini.

  ‘In very simple terms,’ he commenced, ‘it’s a proposal to build a waste disposal and treatment plant in Central Victoria. It will handle the most toxic of wastes except for radioactive stuff. In point form, this paper sets out site and plant benefits in political, economic, strategic and technological terms. It also summarises our environmental impact study and provides a comparison between current legal disposal standards and those set by our environmental study. These, I might add, are higher than any waste disposal standards in Australia. There is also a media campaign framework and indicators for future development. The latter are significant because capacity could easily be expanded to accept toxic waste for the whole country. Everything is costed but the project’s best features are these: first, none of it will cost the government a cent, everything will be paid for by private industry, so, no taxpayer dollars; second, the proposal seeks an independent, government owned, quality control process to monitor every aspect of treatment. These two elements should make the scheme a winner. That’s it in a nutshell.’

  Teresa remained silent but nodded for him to continue.

  He studied her momentarily before resuming. ‘At this stage, a broad concept is all that’s needed to win approval for the next step. That will be progression of the feasibility study and advice to the public about the plan. All background scientific work has been done in preparation for that. Although there are the bones of a media campaign, it still needs a bit of thought. For instance, in 1986, the Government announced plans to create a toxic dump in the Darghile Forest near Heathcote but furious opposition defeated them and it never happened. Factors like that have to be carefully considered. Apart from that, I’d say eighty per cent of the detailed project work is complete. We were not expecting a request to move so quickly so the remaining twenty per cent is still a bit underdone.’ Aldrittson had skirted the truth: the present demand for action had leapt from the blue and Teresa knew it.

  She smiled broadly. ‘Quite the political briefing there, Mr Aldrittson. You have been busy over the past ten days.’ She was gently telling him that she knew exactly when Santini’s request had been made.

  He shrugged and sipped his cognac. ‘I still don’t understand Pescaro’s rush to bring this on. Surely he knows that politically this is the worst time? A scheme like this is immensely contentious and politically fraught. The likelihood of cabinet giving this a green light so close to an election is almost zero. To them it’ll be a sea anchor. Doesn’t he understand that?’

  Teresa listened in silence, nodded and said, enigmatically, ‘He has his reasons. He never does anything without purpose. He will be pleased you have completed the proposal. Now, I have to ask, when are you presenting it to the Premier and cabinet? Or have you already done so?’

  Aldrittson studied her keenly. Vulnerable or not, the woman was sharp. He decided to play it straight. ‘No. I haven’t presented it to cabinet. I am hoping to get an opportunity sometime in the next two weeks.’

  ‘Good,’ said Teresa smiling wa
rmly, ‘but try no later than Friday week. We’ll meet here at the same time next Friday. You can tell me how it went. And of course, you realise this ‘request’ does not come from me.’

  Aldrittson was silent for some moments before he said, ‘Something’s going on here, something I don’t understand. It isn’t appropriate to push this plan so hard without me knowing the reason for it, especially if that reason is likely to prevent the Premier and cabinet endorsing it.’

  Teresa said sharply, ‘You’re in no position to bargain Mr Aldrittson. I’m delivering a message.’ She softened her voice and continued. ‘If you have any doubt about the consequences, talk to your father.’

  Aldrittson suddenly felt as though he had poked a cobra. Her rapid change of manner certainly underscored the message. He decided, for the present, to go along with her. ‘Okay then, if we’re meeting next Friday, why don’t we do dinner? There’s no need for you and me to be at odds with one another.’

  ‘Of course Mr Aldrittson, I’d be delighted.’ Teresa smoothly switched to temptress mode. The game had begun.

  ‘Why don’t you call me Ben, Teresa. I feel it’s time to be a little less formal, don’t you?’ He was all polish and poise and, as Teresa gazed upon the handsome face, cobalt eyes and thick blond hair, she smiled warmly at his invitation while thinking, Boy, am I going to enjoy your demise you black-hearted bastard. And so too will Abbie and Emma.

  ‘Ben, that is one of the most positive things you’ve said all night,’ she purred, fluttering her eyes. ‘Merely because we have different masters doesn’t mean we can’t become friends.’ Although her words were an invitation, her manner remained coy.

  Now, even more interested in this beautiful woman, Aldrittson decided on full-scale pursuit. ‘What about a nightcap back at my place?’ he enquired, his deeper meaning transparent.

  Again, she laughed softly and nodded. ‘Thanks, but not tonight. I’ve had a very long day and this is a pleasant way to finish. Maybe next Friday?’

  Aldrittson was pleased. This was far from a rebuff and he could wait. This woman was different from most others he had bedded and although he wasn’t sure why, he felt a sense of danger and excitement around her. It was not just her Mafia connection, it was something more subtle, indefinable. On this first meeting she had definitely beguiled him and he desperately wanted to explore the trim, firm body beneath that clinging black dress.

  ‘How do I get in touch with you, Teresa?’

  She paused before answering, dipped her face then looked directly into his eyes as though she had reached an important decision. ‘I’ll ring you during the week. I have your parliamentary number and I can leave a message with your secretary.’

  ‘No, no, that’s too convoluted. Here, this is my private mobile number, use it. I’ll be happy to hear from you any time.’ Aldrittson passed across a business card which Teresa took and tucked into her purse.

  ‘I’ll be looking forward to next Friday. Thank you for this,’ she raised the envelope he’d given her. ‘Now, I must go.’ She rose gracefully and extended her hand. Aldrittson took it and squeezed gently. Funny, he thought, I didn’t notice that grip before, or its suggestiveness. He stood watching her as she left. What an interesting package. Finding out about her will be a job to Spencer’s liking.

  Chapter

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Saturday afternoon was cool and sunny and the breeze, although gentle, carried a bite. Hardly surprising, it was straight off the bay in early June. Spencer Johnson sat on the promenade near St. Kilda Baths drinking coffee with Colin Fox, Johnny Holmes and Eric Stanley. Holmes and Stanley were at the pointy end of crime and knew what was going on. They had form for violence, burglary, robbery, drugs and extortion. Only in their early thirties, they’d spent more than half their lives inside institutions. To Fox, that was good reason to be cautious – they didn’t belong to Mensa and they were careless. Johnson, on the other hand, wanted to pick their brains without them realising it. He was hoping they could confirm a rumour about the Russian Mafiya. So he had spent nearly half an hour with them drinking coffee, perving on young female joggers and talking crap about crime and stupid cops. A saving grace was the venue – it was as pleasant as their conversation was mundane.

  ‘So Eric,’ Johnson said, concluding his fishing expedition, ‘you’ve heard some whispers about the Russians eh? Do I need to be careful?’

  ‘Shit no Spence,’ Stanley snorted. ‘You wouldn’t even stir their fuckin’ tea. Nah, they want some real action – big bucks. Problem is, the fuckin’ Mafia’s got things locked down tight, and the Russkies ain’t strong enough to start pushin’.’

  Holmes broke in. ‘Don’t be fuckin’ stupid. They got balls as big as emu eggs, they don’t worry about numbers, they’re the meanest bastards on earth. I tell ya Spence, ya wouldn’t wanna cross these pricks. They don’t give a flyin’ fuck when it comes to vengeance – anywhere, anytime, anyhow is their motto.’

  Johnson wanted a little more. ‘Yeah, I heard they’re vicious. But seriously, I heard rumours about the pricks wanting to move into the fitness industry. I don’t fancy being heavied by some ex-KGB bastard.’

  ‘Nope, heard nuthin’ like that mate. What I heard is they wanna get right into drugs, prostitution and people movin’. Couple of bods mentioned garbage too. But, I reckon you’re safe for now Spence.’ Holmes laughed. ‘An’ mate, if they come after you, don’t fuckin’ call us.’

  Fox finished his coffee and sat, stone-like. Johnson had only hinted at the purpose of this meeting but he could see where it was headed. He decided that if Aldrittson was behind what he thought was coming, then he could pay more – a lot more. In Fox’s opinion, Aldrittson was entering a world that was dangerous, nasty and way beyond his comprehension. But, because he was such a ruthless little shit, he supposed Aldrittson didn’t care.

  Johnson had what he needed. After slipping Holmes and Stanley some cash, he left with Fox.

  Walking back to the underground carpark Johnson asked, ‘Got a plan? A germ of an idea?’

  ‘I have,’ said Fox laconically, ‘want to know about it or read about it?’

  ‘Think I better know about it,’ said Johnson. ‘It could get messy and we have to think it through.’

  Fox peered at Johnson. ‘Do you reckon that idiot Aldrittson has any concept of what he might be unleashing if we go ahead with this Spence? You know as well as I do, the Russians are serious grief.’

  Johnson looked uncomfortable. ‘Yeah, I know, but he doesn’t give a rat’s. As long as he gets what he wants.’

  ‘Well, do we have to give it to him? You could tell the prick to piss off – use another team.’

  ‘Jesus Foxy, you know better than that – we’ll be sidelined. He’s bloody good with the readies and, for something like this, he’ll pay plenty. At least if we take it on we might be able to guide it a little bit.’

  Fox nodded. Although neither had voiced their thoughts, both were on the same wave length – warfare between the Italian and Russian mafiosi. They walked in silence to the car.

  ‘Do you reckon a stoush between these two groups would work?’ asked Spencer as he leaned on the roof over the driver’s door.

  ‘It could,’ was the quick response, ‘the Reds are hungry. They might be low on numbers but they’re accomplished and they’re ambitious. They want to make a name for themselves, assert their authority and presently, they’re in a very limited market. They want territory and income. Sooner or later they’ll take both. In effect, we’ll be starting the inevitable only maybe it’ll be earlier than they wanted.’

  ‘What do you think Pescaro will do?’

  Fox thought a moment. ‘He’ll fire straight back because he’s stronger, but he could negotiate space. I say that on the basis of events in the US. The Russkies have no honour and no rules; they play for keeps and thrive on violence and bastardry. If it gets out of hand, I reckon Pescaro will negotiate. It depends on what the Reds have in mind. If they’re after something Pescar
o cherishes it’ll be mayhem till there’s a winner. Probably Pescaro. But, there’ll be an awful lot of pain in between. I suspect his mob have gone a bit soft and won’t have the stomach for serious warfare. Not on the Russkies’ terms anyway.’

  Johnson nodded slowly. ‘Well, if you’re going to start this, what do you need?’

  Fox grinned. ‘Neat bit of footwork Spence – I thought it was we.’ He laughed. ‘First off I need really sound intelligence. I can’t rely on what those two cretins had to say. And probably we haven’t got time to scout for ourselves. I want to know the watering holes of at least three Italians and three Russians. They should be at different levels in the food chain. So, a pair of soldiers, a mid-level boss and a senior, but not top boss. Find out what the Russians want. We should try and match our pairs to the goal they’re after. Bumping off a couple of the pricks in their area of special interest ought to generate action bloody quick time. We then withdraw and watch what happens. Make no mistake Spence, this is going to be bloody tricky business and we don’t want to be caught in the middle. It goes without saying that neither side must suspect the whole catastrophe was engineered. What really bothers me is that the Russkies are no respecters of life or dignity – they won’t care if innocents are hurt. You know me Spence, I don’t like that. So let me make this crystal: I am not in agreement with this operation and reserve the right to withdraw. I’ll determine the quality of the intel and let you know where I stand.’

  Johnson nodded. ‘Yeah, well I’m inclined to agree with you.’ Colin Fox was particular about many things – especially killing people. Johnson thought of Fox in contradictory terms as a cold but principled killer. ‘I’ll find out what’s needed, speak with Aldrittson and get back to you next week. Where do you want to be dropped?’

  ‘St. Kilda junction is fine with me. Got to see someone near there. Come on, let’s piss off. It’s bloody freezing.’