No Witness, No Case

by Bill Robertson

  Drummond started to laugh. ‘He is so wide off the mark. His source is either mistaken or lying.’ He told Teresa the full story finishing with his search for the man who vanished.

  She was intrigued and said, ‘Well at least I can tell Giuseppe most of that. But tell me this: why were you at Santini’s in the first place?’

  ‘It was to do with the truck fire. My friend Tony Maud was investigating it. He’s not now because its become a murder enquiry. We thought the whole thing was suspicious but had nothing to go on. I went to Santini’s house to suss it out for Tony merely because he was part of the Aldrittson team. I didn’t know if there would be anything to find or to report on. Depending on how you look at it, I was either lucky or unlucky when that bloke crawled from under the car. Next day, Santini was dead. I don’t know who the bloke was, where he went or what he looked like. All I can say is that he was slim and fit.’

  Teresa finished her tea and put the mug on the coffee table. She looked troubled. ‘What happened next?’

  He told her about his trashed ute and the shot into his kitchen. Without elaborating, he implied the latter was way off beam and that he had decided to keep it to himself.

  Concern flooded her face. ‘I heard about that only this morning. Giuseppe organised it on the basis of that wrong information about you. He told Mario Embone to do it. Do you know Mario?’

  ‘Yeah, just to nod to. Most people around here regard him pretty well. I didn’t know he was Pescaro’s man. But Tony and I knew nothing about Pescaro. Our sole focus was AWD. I have no idea what happened to Santini’s car. I still don’t, but I see the press is suggesting his death is connected to some form of gang warfare.’

  Teresa frowned and said, ‘We know that’s not right – Santini’s death is unrelated to the other two. I think this is an orchestrated campaign to discredit the police.’ She paused, looking at him with a slight frown, ‘Can we treat this Aldrittson thing as work for the moment and just get it done and out of the way? I want to enjoy this weekend and discover more about us.’

  ‘Of course we can. What about a glass of wine to help things along?.’

  He rose and went to the kitchen while Teresa drifted around the room. She examined his books, absorbed the paintings, scrutinised the colour, grain and feel of the coffee table and sat in a window seat. She completely devoured the essence of Drummond which so richly permeated the room.

  He returned with the wine. ‘What are you up to?’ he enquired mildly.

  She crossed the room, a smile hovering on her lips then kissed him with great tenderness. ‘Nothing, merely checking you out. This room speaks volumes about who and what you are. I’m just taking it in.’

  He looked embarrassed. ‘Well, it’s not all me. Susan and I did this together – this is how we were. I don’t want you getting the wrong impression.’

  She sat, her eyes sparkling. ‘Oh, believe me, I haven’t got the wrong impression – I can see and feel that you both created this. And that only strengthens my perception.’

  He sat beside her and reached for her hand. Lulled by the whispering rain, a delicate counterpoint to Korngold’s wistful music, they quietly watched phantoms in the flames.

  With effort, Drummond wrenched himself back to reality. ‘Earlier you said you knew Santini’s death was unrelated to the other two. How do you know?’

  For the next hour Teresa spoke of the Russian Mafiya’s plans, the murders of Fabrizzi and Barracusa and Pescaro’s intention to emasculate them through immigration laws. She told him about Aldrittson’s unit and saw that while he was intensely interested in the secret office, he was dismayed at the danger in which she had placed herself.

  Then, excusing herself, Teresa left and returned with copies of Aldrittson’s journal pages. Together, they pored over them looking for meaning in the Santini entries linked to S.J. Ultimately, they could only conclude the outcome for Santini was sinister and that Aldrittson was somehow involved. They could take it no further. She spoke of his Swiss accounts, the discovery of Lance Baker’s acrimonious letter and finished with an account of Aldrittson’s unhappy visit just prior to leaving for Heathcote.

  Drummond was furious about the assault but relieved to learn it was on film. He was impressed that Aldrittson’s battle scars would be highly visible and probably embarrassing. Nevertheless, he regarded Aldrittson as dangerous.

  ‘All this talking has made me hungry; let’s have dinner,’ he said, ‘we need a break.’

  He reached for Teresa who slid from her chair and nestled on his lap, arm around his shoulders, cheek on his forehead. Although their closeness inflamed the chemistry between them, reluctantly, they decided to postpone their more earthy desires. There was still too much to discuss.

  Over dinner, they stayed away from serious topics and talked generally about their lives, travel, likes and dislikes, music, food and country life. Afterwards they cleaned up and loaded the dishwasher. Outside, rain fell heavily and the wind moaned and rattled around the house. Inside, their harmony was bliss.

  Returning to the big room, Drummond dragged the old couch closer to the fire and left only the standard lamp on. He threw a couple of thick, gnarled ironbark roots on to burn, placed their wine within easy reach and invited Teresa to sit with him. Leaning against one end of the couch with Teresa’s back against his chest, heads and faces close, he gently cradled her.

  In a voice husky with intimacy, Drummond said, ‘You’ve given some subtle hints before about a darkness in your childhood. That first time we met, you were teary over what you said was family history. Tonight, at dinner, you skirted your early years while dredging some of mine. I can only guess that what ever happened must have been painful so … I’m ready to listen.’ He felt Teresa draw a couple of deep breaths and clutch his hand hard.

  After a time she said, ‘Much of what I want to say is still new to me and … raw. It’s not a pretty story. It’s ugly, violent and murderous and I feel I must expose a crime and bring people to account. Essentially, that means Giuseppe, and that’s difficult. I know who he is, what he is, what he does and what he has done. But paradoxically, he’s been nothing but kind and caring to me all my life. My whole existence is contradictory. The work I do is unlawful and breaking into Aldrittson’s was wrong. I know “noble cause” can never excuse crime yet, I don’t feel I do anything deliberate to harm people. I know I’m no saint but, as far as Aldrittson is concerned, he’s got coming what he deserves. With all these conflicting tensions I’ve been so knotted up inside and then, out of nowhere, you arrive. A man who supposedly is my enemy.’

  Over the next two hours, Teresa told him about her childhood with the Benedettis, her school, university, Italy, Pescaro’s entry to her life, living and working overseas, her transition to the Mafia and her recent distress after learning how her parents and Angelina Pescaro died.

  Drummond was anguished by her story. His and Susan’s young lives had been steady, loving and full of good times while Teresa’s had been an illusion underpinned by abandonment, murder and deception. The Benedettis had loved and nurtured her, but they too had been part of a cruel illusion. The crimes Teresa discovered in working for Pescaro were horrific and from his perspective, could not go unpunished. For him the question was: how to do that without placing her in harm’s way? The thought of her remaining with Pescaro was intolerable. Yet to leave and give evidence against him would almost certainly result in her death. The only solution he could think of was Tony Maud.

  By the end of her story, they were drained. The fire, the wine and the endless lullaby of rain had made them weary. Drummond unwound himself from the couch and, slowly pulling Teresa to her feet said in a voice gentle with tenderness, ‘Come on, time for bed.’ He had imagined this night very differently but after the power and brutality of Teresa’s revelations they lay quietly in each other’s arms for a long time before gently making love – fire and passion could wait.

  Outside, cold and wet, and mindful of Pescaro’s dire warnings about fa
ilure, Mario Embone had seen enough to give the Don a comprehensive report. He would telephone in the morning.

  Chapter

  FORTY- SIX

  ‘Benny,’ Spencer Johnson’s voice was harsh. ‘I warned you about this sheila. The Mafia is not the normal world. Plenty would say serve you right for trying to grope her on the street. For Christ’s sake, you’re a bloody politician! What the fuck were you thinking? Put your bloody dick in neutral and your brain into gear!’

  Johnson was remorseless. Aldrittson had already been a bloody fool and now wanted him to arrange Marchese’s death. He was nuts! His advice only made the embittered Aldrittson more furious.

  ‘Spencer,’ he said bleakly, ‘I pay you bloody good money to take risks. Don’t lecture me. I want that bitch fixed up! I can take care of any grief that might follow … just get it done. If not, consider this the end of our dealings.’

  ‘Benny, you pay me to take risks I assess as manageable. I don’t do stupid. Taking out Marchese is bloody ridiculous. You’ll have both the cops and Pescaro up your arse and, just in case you’d forgotten: you’re not fucking superman. You are a person in the public eye, you are facing an election, you’ve got good prospects for re-election and you have a bright future in the party. Do you seriously want to piss all this up against the wall because you couldn’t get your end in? For fuck’s sake, grow up!’

  ‘Just do it.’ Aldrittson was implacable. The black eyes and nose plaster gave him a sinister appearance and seemed to bolster his belief in his own invincibility. He simply could not absorb Johnson’s practical advice. Revenge was the only thing on his mind.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do Benny, and this is final. I’ll talk to my man. If he says he’ll do it, okay. If he refuses, find someone else because I am not interested. And, if that means a parting of the ways, so be it.’

  Aldrittson glared at the resolute Johnson. He could always find others for the job but they wouldn’t be as careful. And, having too many people knowing his plans was not smart. That’s why Johnson was always his first choice. The Santini thing had been unfortunate – if that interfering bloody Drummond hadn’t appeared it would have been done and dusted as a spectacular but unfortunate accident. That aside, in all the time he had used Johnson, there had never been the slightest trouble. Grudgingly, he told himself he should listen, but his rage had burned twenty-four hours and still he could not quench it. He was Ben Aldrittson, man about town, fixer and shaper of events. He had more power and influence than anyone could shake a stick at. He would not be beaten by that Mafia bitch.

  Aldrittson rose. ‘Alright. Speak to your man and get back to me no later than five this afternoon. I’ll wait till then.’ He stalked out of Johnson’s office.

  Fox, as it happened, was exercising in the gym. When Aldrittson left, Johnson called him in. ‘Shut the door Foxy. I suppose you noticed our friend leave?’

  Fox grinned, ‘How could I miss him. Who gave him the shiners?’

  Johnson laughed. ‘Teresa Marchese no less. And that’s the problem – the old red haze has descended. He wants her killed.’

  Fox guffawed. ‘He’s not serious, surely?’

  ‘He is, that’s why he was here. He asked me to organise it.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘Well initially I told him to go jump, but he wouldn’t be put off and said that if I didn’t take care of it, we’d be parting company … forever.’

  ‘Bloody good thing I reckon,’ said Fox still grinning. ‘However, I can feel a “but” coming on. What gives?’

  ‘Well, I said no. But I also said I would ask my man. If he said okay, then I’d arrange it, otherwise, no deal.’

  ‘Since you called me in I assume you mean me. No deal.’ There was no hesitation. He then spoke vehemently, ‘Marchese may be Mafia, but she’s not a killer and she doesn’t do violent crime – she’s a glorified book-keeper for Christ’s sake! If she were a murderer, a rapist, child abuser or promoter of drugs, then okay – no problem. But she isn’t and you know how I think. Secondly, bumping her off would start a vendetta that wouldn’t stop until we were all dead and I’m actually quite fond of life. Aldrittson’s got rocks in his head to think he can pull on Pescaro and win. This only confirms what I said weeks ago … he’s a fool who will bring himself undone. The coppers are already out of the blocks and up on their toes because of Fabrizzi and Barracusa. And they’re still uncertain about Santini’s death. Why would I risk their attention when right now they’re thinking: underworld warfare. Marchese’s death would be seen as an escalation of that and only make them work harder. No thanks. Tell Mr Bloody Aldrittson that his request poses an unacceptable risk. Triple “A” stupid level. He can find someone else … perhaps. Anyhow, what’s the story? How come she did that to him?’

  Johnson told him Aldrittson’s version of events.

  ‘Jesus Christ! He deserves what he got. I like her style. Bloody pity she didn’t break his arms as well. Do you know what his problem is? First, he didn’t value her smarts. Second, he didn’t listen to all that stuff you gave him about her. Third, he saw her as an easy mark – low grade because she’s Mafia and a woman. That he showed no respect for her intellect, status or gender says a lot about this clown. Christ knows how he’s fooled people for so long. He can get stuffed. And listen Spence, while I’m giving advice, it’s not going to do you any harm to distance yourself from the prick either. If I were you, right now I’d start thinking about some of those overseas body competitions. Aldrittson is losing it and he definitely can’t be trusted. If he can get leverage by tipping you in, you’ll be in shit up to your teeth before you can smile. Make the most of this – piss him off.’

  For the normally taciturn Fox, this was a sermon and confirmed his hostility towards Aldrittson. Without hesitation Johnson accepted Fox’s opinion as reinforcement of his own belief.

  ‘Righto mate, I’ll tell him. Your future income won’t be as good, but hey, I agree with you. I’ll tell him now.’ Johnson dialled Aldrittson.

  Aldrittson’s voice whined through his broken nose: ‘Ben Aldrittson speaking. Can I help you?’

  ‘Benny … he says no.’ Johnson waited for a response. After a few seconds, the phone quietly clicked. ‘He hung up on me. I guess that means he’ll look for someone else. Good luck to them.’

  Chapter

  FORTY- SEVEN

  ‘He’s a dark horse,’ said Mary as they pulled up at Drummond’s front door. ‘He never said a word about getting a new car. That little Mini looks gorgeous. Bit girly though don’t you think Tony?’ It was the Saturday evening after Teresa’s arrival at the farm.

  Tony Maud smiled at his wife affectionately. ‘Mary, there is nothing girly about Andy. Perhaps a bit more sensitive than most blokes, but nothing girly.’

  She had just finished speaking when light spilled onto the drive and Drummond stood in the open doorway, a wide and happy grin upon his face. ‘Come on you lot you’ll drown out there! Isn’t this the best wet for years?‘

  Both of them put his cheerfulness down to the rain. Mary stepped inside saying, ‘You’re a sly one. When did you get that great little car?’

  Drummond laughed. ‘I am indeed a sly one. It’s not mine, it belongs to Teresa.’ As if by magic, Teresa appeared from behind him, laughter in her eyes, a smile upon her face.

  ‘Don’t blame me,’ she laughed. ‘He wanted to surprise you Mary. He reckons you’ve been giving him a hard time. Hello, I’m Teresa Marchese. Andy has told me what wonderful friends you are and I’m really pleased to meet you.’ Teresa stepped forward, hand outstretched.

  Tony was gobsmacked. He recognised Teresa instantly and was struggling to find a response. Drummond saw his dilemma and said comfortably, ‘Tony, you know who Teresa is, but don’t worry – all will be revealed.’

  ‘Well,’ said Mary, looking quizzically between all three, ‘I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. I can see already what you’ve done for this man. Pleased to meet you, and
this big galoot is Tony.’ Warmly shaking Teresa’s hand Mary gave Drummond an affectionate hug and presented him with the beer.

  ‘Come inside, it’s warmer and more comfortable.’

  Tony shuffled forward, extending his hand to his friend. ‘G’day cobber. Have to say I agree with Mary, you are a bloody surprise packet.’ He stepped forward again, hand outstretched. ‘Hello Teresa. Sorry about my bad manners. Knowing this bloke as well as I do there’s bound to be a story. Nice to meet you.’

  Teresa’s smile broadened, her eyes crinkling with humour. She shook Tony’s hand warmly accepting his apology. ‘Yes, there is a story and we are hoping you will have a major part in it. I am genuinely happy to meet you.’

  ‘Listen up folks. Seeing it’s so bloody cold and damp Teresa and I made mulled wine earlier using some of the new Marson Sangiovese from Mount Camel. Like to try it? We reckon it’s a treat.’ In a few minutes they were grouped around the fire in the big room sipping the hot, spicy, red wine and enjoying its richness.

  After a leisurely dinner full of banter they took their coffee and cognac and regrouped again in the chairs and couch around the fire. An air of expectancy bubbled impatiently in Tony and Mary as they sat in front of the crackling flames. Rain drummed steadily on the roof.

  Looking serious and choosing his words carefully, Drummond addressed his friends. ‘We are pleased you two are here to listen to a long and painful story. We’ll try and keep it brief, but the thing is, we’ve reached a point where we need help, police help – your help Tony. We need you to tell us what to do next and how to do it.’

  Tony nodded, suspecting that what was coming would be well beyond his means at the little bush station.