No Witness, No Case

by Bill Robertson

  After replacing the journals she turned to Aldrittson’s still active computer. She figured he must have been in quite a state after his mother’s call. Connecting a memory stick, she began downloading and smiled to herself: Aldrittson was evidently so confident about his security he didn’t bother with a password.

  As the memory stick sucked information from the computer, Teresa pored over different journals and found a reference to the Waste Depot and Santini in 2003. Although brief, she could understand enough to see that a series of meetings had occurred between July and August. Something had occurred which involved the Environment Protection Authority and a benzene spill. Prominent by the entry was the name D. Mitchellson and $50,000. Strike two – gotcha. Jack and Ben seemed to be working with Mitchellson from the EPA to hide a toxic spillage and most probably, the money was Mitchellson’s fee. She copied the page with others containing similar entries for different people and activities in other organisations.

  In the current journal, she found the initials S.J. and Santini frequently linked in different contexts – two entries screamed at her. One concerned Santini and S.J. the other, Lance Baker and S.J. The notes about Santini were too cryptic to unravel, but the important thing was the date – ten days before his death. Knowing that Santini had warned Pescaro about Aldrittson she was, once again, astounded by the sensitivity of his antenna. Beneath Baker’s entry, a list of names was underscored by the word paedo’s. On that list she recognised two serving judges, a senior policeman, some government officials and an iconic Melbourne businessman; the others were unknown to her. Was this information in some way, linked to Baker’s death? She couldn’t tell, but the information was dynamite.

  She found herself mentioned with S.J. the night she attended The Squid’s Legs with Aldrittson. Thinking back to that evening, she could not recall Aldrittson speaking to anyone apart from herself and the waitress. Still, if S.J. was doing his job, he should have been invisible!

  Glancing at her watch she realised that more than an hour had passed. Although she had barely scratched the surface she worried about Aldrittson’s return. She assumed he was still at the hospital and hoped the soldiers downstairs were alert. She worked quietly probing the journals, every so often copying a page that caught her eye. Flipping through the current journal once more, a letter fell from its pages. At the same time her mobile vibrated.

  Hurriedly unplugging the memory stick, she checked the shelves and books and stuck the letter in her pocket. She left the copier on to account for its warmth and hoped Aldrittson would not remember its status. She rewound the recorder to 0815 hours, set the chair back at the computer, checked her phone images, adjusted the chair, then closed the mirror door to within a few centimetres, checks that took worrying minutes.

  Peering into the foyer she left the unit and dashed for the stairs. The lift arrived as she skipped into stairwell. Ramming the door shut, she held it a moment, then marginally opened it. Aldrittson and the young couple with the child emerged talking to each other. Silently she closed the door and ran down three flights of stairs before summoning the lift.

  Driving back to the Villa, Teresa decided to tell Pescaro everything she had seen except for the pages she had copied and the letter she had yet to read. Recalling her first visit to Ben’s unit, she realised she had been incredibly lucky; the sound activated recorder must have been switched off. Had it been otherwise, Aldrittson would, at the very least, have changed the front door lock. From now on, she told herself, I must exercise extreme care – life is fraught and any action I plan against Aldrittson and Pescaro will only make it more so. She had no idea where her actions would take her but hoped for justice. In a couple of rare moments she had even dared daydream of pleasant times with Andy Drummond.

  Chapter

  FORTY- TWO

  Aldrittson walked into his unit and was struck by its untidiness. A fastidious man, he liked things in their place. He spied the black panties and laughed aloud remembering his evening with the delectable Paula. He collected the clothes, walked into his kitchen and threw the knickers in the bin. A one night stand, no recriminations. He chuckled at the thought of her bare arse on a cold taxi seat on the way home.

  Taking his own stuff to the clothes basket he entered the bedroom and was stricken. The door to his history of intrigue, double dealing, blackmail, influence and corrupt financial transactions was open. He dropped the clothes and immediately checked his secret cupboard. Bugger! Both the computer and copier were running. He couldn’t remember activating the copier, but then, he had been distracted by his mother’s call and he was on the computer at the time. After a cursory check he thought everything seemed okay.

  His father. Shit! What a mess! Jack had suffered a major heart attack and would be out of action for six to eight weeks. With Santini gone, Judd in Santini’s seat for only a month and himself not wanting to be directly connected to the business, he had just stepped on a banana skin. Judd knew neither the history nor nuances of the place and he certainly didn’t know about Pescaro. But there was nothing else for it – Judd would have to be placed in charge. And that could be problematic. Others had been there longer and probably, were better managers, but they were ignorant of the black stuff. Judd was not. What a balls up! Handled wrongly, his father’s bloody firm could bring him down.

  His immediate priority was the firm, nothing could be allowed to go wrong. He would visit the staff, tell them about Jack and, for the moment, make it clear that Judd was in charge. They could consult with him if necessary but since he knew little about the actual mechanics of his father’s business, Judd was the man. He also wanted a cushion between himself and the firm if it went tits up for some reason. Judd would have to hang on until Jack was back.

  In thinking about this he realised Pescaro had yet to be told about Jack. He could imagine Pescaro’s acid displeasure if something backfired and he hadn’t known about Jack’s heart attack.

  As if all this wasn’t enough, Meadow’s experts had reported back on the waste scheme saying it was “comprehensive and essential”. They were particularly impressed with the safeguards and had told Meadows that, subject to data reliability and a Business Impact Statement, they believed the Victorian system eclipsed anything similar in the world. The fundamental question was: How quickly could it be implemented? Good news though it was, it had dramatically escalated the pre-election pressure on Aldrittson. To add to his woes, the experts wanted to conduct their own soil and water tests as a double check on calculations.

  Aldrittson knew their logic was sound, especially given the prize at stake, but their suggestion totally screwed his timeframes. He would have only ten days or less to convince the public and his colleagues that the scheme was essential. Even the strategies he had proposed to Meadows could not achieve the impossible.

  He was thinking about ways to strengthen the media campaign when his phone rang.

  ‘Yes Spence,’ he said after reading the caller ID.

  ‘Yo, Benny. Good news. That little lady you’re interested in, I’ve tracked her down.’ Johnson’s exuberant voice reverberated in Aldrittson’s ear. ‘You threw me when you said her name was Santini, it’s not, it’s Marchese. Turns out she’s no relation to Santini at all. Lives at 16 Rose Street, Burnley and drives one of those new Mini Coopers, jet black: TSA 006. It should be easy to spot. Mostly she works out of Pescaro’s joint and starts any time between six and eight in the morning and often stays until about ten at night. Her main background is financial management, international investment, the stock market and stuff like that. I suppose you might say she’s a market analyst, I’m not sure. Can’t tell you much about her early life. Seems she was orphaned at about five. All that’s pretty vague and probably doesn’t matter anyway. She was an outstanding student at school and brilliant at university. She’s had some education in Italy and also worked in some classy financial houses in the UK and Europe. I don’t know how she got mixed up with Pescaro. Nothing in her background suggests she’s bent,
in fact, from everything I’ve seen I’d say she’s straight-up. But, I’m still looking into that. So, there you go. Not only a good looker, but a thinker too.’

  ‘Spence, you astound me. Where did all this come from?’

  ‘Sources old son, sources. Still interested?’

  ‘I’m a bit pissed off to tell the truth. Haven’t heard from her since the night Fabrizzi was shot. I suppose she’s tied up in Pescaro’s affairs. Anyway, good work. Now, on another tack, got any new stuff I can belt the Force with Spence? The smear job’s going well. At the current rate, they’ll end up with no authority, answerable to a Crime Commission and that bloody Chief Commissioner’s “operational independence” nothing but a memory. It shits me that that clown of a Chief can look into things we want to bury.’

  ‘Steady old son, don’t forget I was a copper once,’ Spencer laughed. ‘But, to answer your question, I am working on some material involving a couple of Superintendents and a Commander. Need a day or two to wrap it up. I think you’ll be happy with it. The splash should be felt all the way to Brisbane and everywhere in between. It’s a matter of drugs and prostitutes; that’s all I’ll say for now.’

  ‘Is it factual? I mean, will it stick?’ asked Aldrittson, his curiosity aroused.

  ‘That wasn’t your brief: You only wanted stuff that would damn by innuendo and raise a bad smell. And that’s what this is. These coppers might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time and seen things they should have reported but didn’t. Like I said, the blowback could scorch New South Wales and Queensland too. Anyway, there’ll be plenty of heat and dust for a few days. That’s what you want isn’t it?’

  ‘Sure is.’

  ‘I’ll send you the stuff when it’s ready.’

  ‘One last thing. Did you get a phone number for Ms Marchese?’

  ‘Not so far, she’s got a silent line. Won’t be long.’

  ‘Can you get it?’

  ‘Of course I can.’ Johnson’s tone projected wounded pride. ‘Money talks. But I do need to be careful. Pescaro has a similar network and this is a specialised field of enquiry. If I make too many waves they could lap around his feet and that could be painful for me.’

  ‘Good point, I hadn’t thought of that. Well, leave it for the moment. What you’ve given me is good anyway. Thanks Spence.’ He put the phone back in its cradle.

  Aldrittson considered this new information: Marchese eh? She was as cool as ice that one. When he thought back to their initial meeting he remembered she had never actually given a surname. He had said Santini and she allowed him to think that. Cunning minx! He wondered about the story behind her being an orphan. He sensed she was even more interesting than he originally thought, a factor which, instead of being a warning, made him only more determined to see the colour of her underwear.

  Chapter

  FORTY- THREE

  By Friday morning Teresa had the necessary proof to show that Chernamenko and his Vors had entered Australia dishonestly. Although the possibility was slender, she hoped to obtain final confirmation of just how and where their criminal histories had been expunged.

  The information had cost Pescaro some big favours overseas and Teresa was apprehensive about compromise in Russia. If word leaked back to Chernamenko their plan was stuffed before it even started. Moreover, it was an absolute certainty that Chernamenko would exact retribution here and in Russia.

  In the meantime, she was busy analysing details from Ben’s computer. Apart from Liberal Party material, Cabinet documents and some personal letters, the most significant item was a set of complex financial trusts, banking and currency arrangements involving millions of dollars – all owned by Ben Aldrittson. While it appeared that Swiss Banks held all this money, nothing indicated which banks. Aldrittson had defied the Australian Securities and Investment Commission and Austrack – the Federal money tracking systems – by using tax havens and colleagues in different companies and countries to carry out his transactions. Unravelling his system of concealment would be difficult.

  In short, Ben Aldrittson was obscenely wealthy. Laughably, his pecuniary interest statements, filed in the computer, listed his sole income source as parliamentary salary only. The truth about his financial affairs was explosive. Not only would ASIC and Austrack be intensely interested in his fiscal arrangements, but so too would Premier Meadows.

  Annoyingly, Aldrittson’s information had to go on the back burner – Teresa’s number one priority was collating the daily intelligence about Chernamenko’s team. And disappointingly, the Russians appeared to be doing very little.

  At ten o’clock she asked Rosa to make coffee and went to the library. Pescaro, as usual, was wreathed in cigar smoke and ploughing through the morning newspapers while listening to the gentle melody of Debussy’s Claire de Lune. Outside, soft soaking rain fell steadily.

  ‘Good timing Teresa. I’m getting lazy as I get older. Would you mind lighting the fire please? It’s getting chilly in here.’ In a moment of tranquillity, they waited for Rosa to bring their coffee and watched the flames begin to dance across the logs. On the spur of the moment, Teresa decided to raise with Pescaro the possibility of visiting Drummond at Heathcote.

  Speaking quietly and leaning slightly forward, she said, ‘Giuseppe, I have an idea I’d like to explore with you. It could be a little risky, but, I hope you’ll hear me out.’

  He studied her keenly, it was an unusual opening.

  ‘You’ll remember that after Bernardo was killed you gave me several tasks. Since then, more urgent matters have intruded.’ Rosa bustled in with fresh coffee and biscotti and they fell silent until she left. Teresa poured for them then, in a businesslike manner, continued. ‘One of those tasks was to find out all I could about Andy Drummond. It’s been difficult because he lives at Heathcote up near Bendigo. However, a couple of weeks ago I was at the State Library checking some international financial journals. Near me, at the counter, a fellow was requesting information about Aldrittson’s firm and when his name was called, I found it was Andy Drummond. Later, I spoke with him and as a result, I’ve had a meal with him. He has a place here in Melbourne which he occasionally uses.’ Teresa had finessed the truth.

  As he listened, Pescaro became curious, unsure where this was heading.

  ‘I don’t think Drummond is connected with Bernardo’s death but I am not certain. During our dinner he told me he had been interviewed by police over the smash on Westgate Bridge. I feel he knows more about Bernardo’s death than he’s letting on, otherwise the police wouldn’t have interviewed him. He’s a widower and I know he definitely took a shine to me. I think if I spent some time with him I could find out what he knows and how much of a threat he might be.’ Teresa smiled at Giuseppe and fluttered her lashes. ‘He is not unattractive and I am quite prepared to do what it takes to get our information. We know Drummond’s involved somewhere, but not the context. My overall impression is he’s not the type to be killing people. In fact, I’m inclined to think your police source gave you wrong information, either by design or mistake. But … I don’t know. I hinted that I would like to spend a weekend in the country with him and if I do that, you need to know about it.’ It was a bold gamble and Teresa could feel the pulse in her throat beating rapidly.

  For his part, Pescaro now thought Drummond almost irrelevant. He was surprised Teresa would go to these lengths. He stared hard at her but saw no guile – what she had said basically agreed with what he already knew. It concerned him though that Drummond might possibly learn too much from Teresa.

  She waited, controlling her breathing, appearing calm. Her lies contained indisputable grains of truth, but, was it enough? Was Pescaro even interested in Drummond any more? She was acutely aware that since their meeting with Chernamenko he had become very secretive. Her plan, shallow as it was, embraced two opposing precepts, deception and trust; a trust Pescaro had invested in her over her lifetime. All she could do was hope it worked.

  ‘How do you think he would re
act to you staying with him for a weekend?’

  ‘As I said, he’s a widower. On the basis of our conversation I am almost certain he has not been with another woman since his wife died. What I do know is that he was strongly attracted to me. I believe I could pull it off.’

  ‘Did I tell you Teresa,’ he responded softly, his eyes drilling holes through her, ‘that recently I had Mario Embone attempt to kill Drummond? The fool bungled the job. Tell me, why do you think Drummond was not responsible for Nardo’s death? The police information was pretty damn clear I thought.’

  She felt her stomach lurch. Andy had mentioned nothing about an attempt on his life. She knew her feelings about him were probably foolish – one tame evening together and a few phone calls. Yet whenever she had time to think seriously about him she found herself drawn into the type of fantasy that made her belly flutter and her loins buzz with warm, moist desire.

  She swallowed. She and Drummond had not discussed Santini’s death at all. She had lied about that but knew instinctively Drummond was not involved. The truth, she was certain, lay in those terse, truncated notes between Aldrittson and S.J., the notes discovered in Aldrittson’s hidey-hole. She feigned a slight cough before answering.

  ‘He didn’t actually say much about the police interview at all, but he did say something else quite interesting – he applied for work at AWD. Bernardo turned him down. While he doesn’t know anything about what goes on there, he did go to the truck fire and he’s clearly suspicious of Aldrittson’s. I really think we should find out what he knows. But, since I’ve only known him five minutes, he is not going to open up, just like that.’ She snapped her fingers sharply. ‘A weekend of conversation and honey might do the trick though.’ She smiled demurely.