No Witness, No Case

by Bill Robertson

  Arranging them had prevented Teresa from meeting Aldrittson again but she had discerned his guiding hand behind a crusade to smear Victoria Police. The murders of Fabrizzi, Santini and Barracusa were being hailed as beacons of police incompetence. The Force’s reputation was being ravaged and the spectre of corruption hung heavy. Only a Royal Commission, the media argued, was powerful, independent and transparent enough to establish the truth. The overt protagonists for this campaign were two silks. One barrister, a well known tippler, did little more than assist in the running of the Bar Council. His repugnance of police was legendary. The other, a slick academic type had, on several occasions, chaired various government enquiries. With several shock-jocks from talk-back radio, the silks and a criminologist had combined to become a strident and articulate force for change. Their collective mantra hammered two points: a Royal Commission and a Crime Commission. The first to probe police corruption, the second to provide an ongoing forum for corruption investigation among police and public officials. Nothing connected Ben Aldrittson to any of this.

  Slowly, however, tiny fragments of information from a variety of sources eventually revealed to Teresa that Aldrittson was at the heart of the campaign. The objective was to keep police off balance, to damage their credibility and divert attention from him and his father. The Mafia murders were a godsend. The public grappled to understand the truth beneath the damaging allegations against their police. The frequency and terseness of public comment were signs of early success.

  Intimately knowing Pescaro’s activities, however, Teresa also knew the allegations underpinning the campaign were wildly exaggerated.

  To her intense frustration, she had managed only two brief calls to Andy, a situation which made her realise just how quickly and deeply her private thoughts about him had invaded her soul. Not that she would tell him so. Instead, she spoke about the discovery of the burglaries at AWD. He had professed keen interest in all she had to say about the event but was otherwise non-committal. Privately though, her news suggested the Aldrittsons were unsettled by what had occurred, and better still, the identities of the villains remained unknown.

  And now, she sat at Crown, glaring at a Russian bully of huge girth, bald head, bad breath and serious acne scarring. A bully who was crass, intemperate, fearless, clever and cruel. His thick accent and crude speech seemed only to accentuate his repulsiveness.

  Before meeting, Chernamenko had challenged and mauled every aspect of the arrangements: the time, the date, the venue, people numbers, carriage of weapons and of course, topics for discussion. Despite his tactics, Chernamenko had won no meaningful concessions, a remarkable result given the two murders. Pescaro considered this a revelation about his opponent’s power – that he was perhaps not as strong as he portrayed. In the end, Chernamenko came with his seven colleagues who maintained a silent but intimidating presence.

  From Pescaro’s perspective the meeting plan was uncomplicated: niggle Chernamenko, keep him off balance and slowly build an illusion of his decline. Achieving that outcome was, however, complex. The capos –not privy to the strategy – saw Pescaro parrying questions through Teresa, discussing his responses with her, and, to Chernamenko’s bitter frustration, frequently allowing her to answer. As the meeting staggered on, Chernamenko’s opinion of Pescaro became increasingly negative while correspondingly, he became more confident, more arrogant and more insistent.

  He demanded an interest in all Pescaro’s main activities: prostitution, drugs, uncut tobacco sales, stolen cars, contraband, credit card and insurance frauds, restaurants, waste management and others. As Pescaro grudgingly gave ground, his capos became anxious and sometimes, volubly angry – a reaction confirming Chernamenko’s belief that Pescaro was past it. The capos saw their empire shrinking at the hands of a tired, fearful old man sheltering behind a petticoat. Without agreement or discussion, they witnessed Teresa’s stellar rise in status.

  Privately, Pescaro was pleased. His foundation to flush their conspirator into the open was being carefully laid. That person would see him as weak and possibly attempt his removal. And even though the enemy remained concealed, subtle nuances caused him to at least consider one man.

  The meeting dragged on. Chernamenko, acrimonious and caustic; Pescaro, deferential yet controlled; Teresa, patiently and persistently bargaining. After two hours, and a bunch of commissions ranging from fifteen to twenty five per cent per activity, Chernamenko took a share of the Mafia crime base. Future disputes would be settled by the two leaders.

  Chernamenko professed satisfaction with the deal. Everyone else in the room knew differently; this was only his starting point. It was obvious that he regarded his opponent as a spent force unable to tolerate a duel for supremacy. Chernamenko was confident that he had just taken the first steps towards fully controlling the Victorian underworld.

  The capos were furious but, for the moment, the deal was done. The more reserved thinkers wondered, however, if the wily old fox had not been playing a game. He was too compliant, just a little too uncertain and not at all the person who had fought and planned and killed to become the Don.

  Giuseppe too was satisfied. He saw Chernamenko become puffed with insolence and drop his guard. Chernamenko was not a stupid man but he had been blinded by ego and his own sense of power and self-importance. Seemingly, he had missed the stealth beneath Pescaro’s passivity.

  As they left, Pescaro saw Masseria head for the toilets – he followed. At the urinals he said to Eduardo, ‘I have that bottle of cognac we discussed a while ago. Could you call by on Monday to collect it?’ Masseria looked up and nodded. As one of the “thinkers” he smiled to himself. They had never had a discussion about cognac. The old fox wants to eat some chickens, he thought.

  In the car Pescaro said, ‘What do you think Sun Tzu would say of today?’

  Teresa looked sideways. ‘I think he would have said, “well done”. However, I have to say dealing with that brute is truly draining. He is such a vile pig.’

  Pescaro merely nodded. He said, ‘Did you notice anything between our people and Chernamenko or his men today?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, ‘but then, I was concentrating on containing myself, listening to him, taking your cues and giving the right answers. I didn’t have time for much else. Sorry.’

  ‘That’s alright. I was merely curious. What did you make of his men?’

  ‘Easter Island statues. I felt that Chernamenko had silenced them beforehand. Our people were much more restless.’

  ‘Yes, well, we learned nothing from their silence except perhaps their obedience to Chernamenko. Now, on Monday, I want you to take another look at Aldrittson’s unit. While his campaign is underway he might have forgotten some small detail at home that could throw light on Santini’s death. I’ll make sure his place is clear.’

  Teresa was surprised. With so much happening, she thought Santini’s death had receded into the background. Pescaro’s tenacity constantly amazed her.

  Chapter

  FORTY

  Eduardo Masseria buzzed Pescaro’s intercom at precisely 11:00 a.m. on Monday, July 4. When his car stopped in front of the Villa, Pescaro was on the steps waiting. They went straight to the kitchen where biscotti and freshly ground coffee had been prepared. Pescaro began loading a tray.

  Masseria, taciturn, thoughtful and still wondering why he was here, watched Pescaro in silence. When everything was ready, he followed Pescaro with the tray to the library. After pouring coffees, Pescaro said, ‘I know what you are thinking. The answer is, I need your help. We have a problem and I am entrusting the task to you personally.’

  Masseria was flattered but remained silent. He was a large man, balding with short greying hair and light brown eyes. Waste management was his special interest and he also ran a string of brothels. Shrewd and cautious, he was thorough and strict. Over time, he had built a reputation for generosity, mainly towards hard workers and needy cases in the community. He likened himself to the first godfather o
f the American Mafia – Don Giuseppe “Battista” Balsamo. A solid Family member, in his younger days he had been a hard man who had killed, wounded and beaten non-conformers.

  ‘I’ll come straight to the point,’ said Pescaro, drawing on his cigar, ‘I believe someone in our ranks is helping Chernamenko. I want you to confirm or clear my suspicions. In due course, I also want you to remove Chernamenko’s team.’

  A faint smile cracked the edges of Masseria’s generous mouth. ‘Ah, so the meeting had more than one layer then, it was not a sell out? I hoped this was the case.’

  Pescaro momentarily allowed himself a sly grin and affected an innocent air. ‘You didn’t think I‘d roll over that easily did you? Eduardo, you disappoint me.’

  ‘No, but you had me wondering. There are others who already are strongly convinced you caved in to the Russian.’

  ‘Well, that’s a good thing Eduardo. For what I have in mind, it is essential the capos think that way. They will be uncertain and therefore on their toes. I don’t want you informing anyone to the contrary either,’ he glowered.

  ‘Excuse me interrupting Don Pescaro, but … Teresa’s performance. Was that part of your strategy?’

  ‘Of course, we needed Chernamenko to behave just as he did.’

  Masseria sat back and smiled broadly. ‘I am much relieved. What can I do?’

  ‘We are gathering intelligence about Chernamenko and I want that to continue. But, I want Chernamenko, Bilyenko, Vitalev and Silverstein under your special scrutiny. It is imperative that operation remain secret. Can you manage that?’

  ‘I won’t lie Don Pescaro – it won’t be easy. That kind of work needs special skills and with our people already so busy, it will be difficult. I can only say I will confirm as soon as I can. Just as we are watching them, Chernamenko’s men are watching us like foxes.’

  ‘I am thinking of arranging some gifts for them, gifts I don’t want them to discover. I want to know the best place to leave them and I don’t want anyone around who can’t be trusted when it happens. I also want their criminal activities accurately tagged. You will have to choose your team wisely.’

  ‘When do you want this Don Pescaro?’

  ‘Yesterday.’ Pescaro allowed a grim smile. ‘With the Russians nibbling our cake, they will soon want it all. Greed will make that hard to resist. So, when you know your capability, tell me. I am asking a lot, but this is our business we are protecting.’

  ‘Don Pescaro, you didn’t ask me here just for this – tell me about the snitch.’

  ‘Would you like fresh coffee Eduardo?’ Deflecting the question he rose and poured himself another cup. Masseria declined. When he had resettled, Pescaro continued in a matter of fact tone. ‘I believe we have a traitor. I cannot rely on our intelligence because that person could either be sending it on to Chernamenko or changing his parts in small important ways before it gets to me. However, I must continue in the same manner rather than draw attention to my concern.’

  ‘Okay, I understand. But what about this traitor? Who is it?’

  ‘This man,’ he said coldly, writing the name on a piece of paper for Masseria. Surprise crossed Masseria’s face. He looked up to find Pescaro’s eyes boring into him.

  ‘I am astonished Don Pescaro. I know he is ambitious, but … that ambitious?’

  Pescaro held up his right forefinger, his eyes speared Masseria. ‘Think for a moment Eduardo. If Chernamenko has inside help to erode my authority, the outcome will be my replacement – possibly by force. Recall for an instant the reactions of some of your colleagues at the meeting: they hated what I was doing. They think I’ve become weak, or senile or that I am hiding behind Teresa. It would take very little for someone with ambition to orchestrate my removal. If successful, that person would be elevated and the balance of power will have shifted to Chernamenko.’ Then harshly, ‘I believe this is what lies behind the deaths of Fabrizzi and Barracusa.’

  Thoughtfully, Masseria nodded, he could see the ramifications of Pescaro’s viewpoint. He said, ‘What about Santini? The papers are linking him to those deaths as another victim. Is that true?’

  Composed again, Pescaro weighed up his response before saying, ‘No. I’ve got Teresa on that now, but I don’t believe it is related. Do you have more questions?’

  ‘Only one; what about placing your suspect under surveillance? Hopefully, he won’t know you’re on to him and I doubt that he’ll be dealing openly with Chernamenko. If you are agreeable, I will take care of that.’

  ‘Thank you Eduardo, I would appreciate that. There is always the possibility I am wrong about him. I hope so, he always seems so agreeable. But, I have been around a long time and my instincts on this are strong. I appreciate you taking this task and I will not be speaking to the others, not even Teresa. I say again, your people must be totally trustworthy – the slightest whisper and we have lost.’

  ‘Your trust will be honoured Don Pescaro. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.’ Both men rose and shook hands. Soon after, Masseria drove away to begin what Pescaro hoped was another step towards Chernamenko’s removal.

  Chapter

  FORTY- ONE

  Wearing a white uniform, curly auburn wig and dark framed spectacles, Teresa timed her entry to the apartment block perfectly. After waiting patiently in a car near the block, she watched the progress of a middle aged woman in a hot pink track suit being led by a poodle who sensed home. As they entered Aldrittson’s units, Teresa slipped in behind them.

  The dog lady stood outside the lift, foot tapping impatiently. ‘Bloody unreliable lift,’ Teresa heard her mutter. When it arrived they stepped inside. The dog lady viciously stabbed the button for eleven. ‘Where are you going dear?’ she asked brusquely.

  ‘Mrs Ortega,’ said Teresa. ‘I’ve got a small parcel from the pharmacy for her.’

  ‘Oh, is the poor thing unwell? She’s on ten dear. This bloody, bloody lift. It’s so damned slow.’ She faced Teresa, ‘ I have to go to town today for a hair-do and at this rate, I won’t make it until next week.’

  Keeping her face slightly averted, Teresa smiled her understanding. At the tenth floor she stepped out and the dog lady continued. Entering the stairwell she ran quietly up the stairs pulling on surgical gloves as she went. It felt good having a backstop downstairs. Even with Aldrittson on the campaign trail, his movements were unpredictable: Pescaro had sent two men to watch out for her.

  On the twelfth floor, she cracked the door open and peeped into the foyer. A young couple with a baby and stroller waited by the lift – as the dog lady had said, it was slow. Waiting, she heard the lift arrive and its doors close – the foyer was clear.

  Inside Aldrittson’s unit her senses were tuned to the max. As before, she stood just inside the door assessing. It appeared that Aldrittson had been working and partying hard. Note pads, pens, papers, glasses and wine bottles littered the dining table, a few dishes were stacked on the sink.

  She spotted some lacy black knickers on the arm of a settee and wrinkled her nose. Then she saw a man’s sock and pair of bright red silk boxer shorts on the floor by the fireplace. Aldrittson had been having a good time. Moving to his bedroom to begin her search she stopped dead: the mirrored wall had a gap at one side running from floor to ceiling. It was a cupboard. She remembered thinking last time there was something odd about this room; it was too austere and didn’t match the rest of the unit. This secret cupboard, she now realised, diminished the room while the mirrors created an illusion of space.

  She went straight to the gap between the mirror and wall and pushed the door: it didn’t budge. After a painstaking search she located a pressure pad beneath the carpet under the left bedside table. After some substantial foot pressure the mirror door opened. Aldrittson’s oversight had just become her good fortune.

  Inside the cupboard, she found lights and a compact, well organised office containing photocopier, telephones, voice recorders, radio scanner, small TV and computer equipment. Overall, the space was abo
ut two metres deep and ran the width of the room – it was a veritable Aladdin’s Cave.

  The shelves were stacked with copy paper, floppy disks, CD, video and DVD blanks as well as a host of day journals. The lode was so rich it was hard to know where to start looking. She pondered, stepped back and, using her phone camera, took a series of snaps of the cupboard, the bedroom and position of the pressure pad. She knew she had to exercise great care in what she did next.

  For Pescaro, she was looking for anything that might support Ben’s prior knowledge of Santini’s death. For herself, she sought a connection between Jack and his son confirming the latter’s knowledge of the illegal dumping. She was also looking for information disclosing links to any of the business schemes he had corruptly influenced or pushed through Parliament.

  She turned on the sound activated recorder, neutralised the record button, backtracked and heard Aldrittson and presumably the owner of the lacy knickers engaged in lusty, hilarious and breathless sex. She fast forwarded and heard Aldrittson shower and get into bed – alone. At 6:00 a.m. the recorder picked up the sounds of Aldrittson working at his computer. At 8:05, there was a distraught phone call from Aldrittson’s mother. Jack was on the way to hospital by ambulance – heart attack. That would be important news for Pescaro but meant she could not be complacent about her search: Aldrittson could return at any time. She rang her watchers and warned them to be vigilant.

  Listening to the recorder Teresa carefully flicked through the journals. They were filled with succinct references to conversations involving a multitude of people. One she found referred to a Chuck Taylor of the American computer company, Phoenix. Beneath his name was a six figure sum against what Teresa instantly recognised was a coded Swiss bank account. While there was no time for study now, she had a pointer and soon found similar entries. Copying six pages from different journals over a period of ten years, she mentally calculated that a sum exceeding $5 million had gone into this account. Even in this unpolished state, Teresa believed she had just scored strike one.