No Witness, No Case

by Bill Robertson

  The deep silence signalled anxiety.

  ‘Look,’ Maud continued, ‘I don’t want to make this sound like a total nightmare. The upside is that everyone on the scheme has a contact officer. That person becomes your shadow – they arrange things, explain things, provide company, get you through the blues, talk to you, listen to you, shop with you, organise care if you get sick and, in all ways, look after you. They liaise between you and the investigators and set up all necessary meetings or journeys. Once you’re on the program, investigators are always at arms length. Witness protection cops aren’t like any you’ll ever meet elsewhere, they’re literally, guardian angels.’ From the pride in his voice there was no doubting Tony’s sincerity.

  Drummond said, ‘We kind of knew it wouldn’t be easy, and we are prepared to take it on.’ He looked enquiringly at Teresa who nodded. ‘What’s the next step?’

  Tony poured fresh coffee. ‘I’ll come to that in a minute. A key component will be setting up a meeting between you and the right people for initial discussion. They will want to know all the things you told me, probably in even more detail, so they can develop a plan. You could be interviewed by different specialists for different types of crime, for instance, Homicide Squad for the murders, Fraud people for the financial scams and Sexual Offences Squad for the paedophile ring. Then there’ll be joint investigations. The Tax Commissioner, Federal Police and probably Austrack. They’ll all want to get into Aldrittson’s and Pescaro’s local and overseas financial activities and that means talking to you. The Environment Protection Authorities in Victoria, New South Wales, Queensland and South Australia will want to check out things as well. That’s just for starters. What you are giving us Teresa is this huge jigsaw; putting all the pieces in place will take considerable effort. I personally reckon a special Joint Taskforce will be needed. As for the next step, I’m seeing my Superintendent tomorrow morning. If he’s convinced he’s likely to suggest a meeting with the A/ C Crime and my Regional A/C.’

  ‘Excuse me Tony,’ Teresa interrupted, ‘A/C?’

  ‘Sorry Teresa, police speak, Assistant Commissioner. Your matters will have to go to that level for their management, planning, co-ordination and investigation. From the start, security will be paramount. That means finding skilled investigators of integrity and talent, people who will not succumb to bribes or threats. There’s an awful lot to think about.’

  ‘Tony,’ Teresa sighed, ‘In some ways I’ve lived with this a long time, yet I’ve only recently discovered my whole life has been a deception. How do you think I feel about all this? Are you implying I should go away and say nothing?’

  Leaning forward to clasp her hand, Maud said gently, ‘No, of course not Teresa. I don’t mean to offend you. But I get bloody angry when I come across this kind of stuff. Most coppers do the right thing most of the time. But the five per cent who don’t make 95 per cent of the rest of us smell like sewers. That’s when I start believing a firing squad is too good for such bastards.’

  Drummond rose and stirred the logs, as much to break the mood as to energise the fire. ‘You’ve given us lots to think about Tony, just as we have given you. For the moment, let’s call it quits. Teresa and I will map out our plans, you do your thing. We won’t be doing anything that, at least initially, doesn’t go through you. Until this whole thing is on track, we’d prefer everything funnelled through you which means that until we’re told otherwise, we’re not putting our faith in anyone but you. I’m sorry if that’s a burden mate, but that’s what you get for having integrity.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Maud grinned wryly, ‘I’ll cope. Now, I think we should hit the track again, eh Mair? As soon as I have something concrete, I’ll be in touch.’

  Chapter

  FIFTY

  At midday on Monday, Teresa turned into Villa Rosa. Leaving Drummond had been a wrench for them both, but there was no going back. They had set the wheels in motion. She was composed and rehearsed. Her story for Pescaro would be mostly truthful. While she would add to and clarify events about Santini’s death by throwing suspicion towards Aldrittson, she could not deliver proof of actual complicity.

  Thinking about different conversations over the weekend she concluded that Aldrittson’s involvement in Santini’s demise was, right now, problematic. Pescaro needed him to push their scheme through government and to watch the business while Jack was ill. Yet Santini’s death could not go unanswered. Michael Judd was another complication. His appointment had, at least temporarily, removed Pescaro’s influence at the firm. He was unlikely to respond to external pressures and was flaky enough to go straight to police if Pescaro began making demands. His loyalty to Jack Aldrittson was beyond question. She guessed Pescaro was tolerating the situation because their grand plan was so close.

  After parking the car she walked inside feeling as though she had moved through a lifetime since Friday afternoon. With an effort, she shook off her fears and stepped into her role as Consigliere. She knocked at Pescaro’s library door and entered.

  ‘Ah Teresa, you are back. How was your weekend?’

  ‘Rewarding Giuseppe, and pleasant. Have you had lunch yet?’

  ‘No. Why don’t you make sandwiches for us both and bring them here. You can tell me what you learned.’ His silver head was cocked to one side, eyes bright and shrewd, voice calm and mellow.

  She smiled and nodded. It was no less than she expected.

  Soon they were consuming proscuitto and rocket sandwiches. Teresa accurately reported all that Drummond had seen the night before Santini’s death, his attempt to find the man who’d crawled from under Santini’s car and the trashing of his ute. She detailed her suspicions of Aldrittson on the basis of his link to both S.J. and Santini. She did not mention Aldrittson’s visit to her home on Friday afternoon – she would deal with that in her own way. If Pescaro asked – because not too much escaped him – she would tell him what happened.

  ‘Do you have any concrete evidence of Aldrittson’s involvment in Nardo’s death Teresa?’

  ‘No, but you’ll remember Bernardo rang to warn you about Aldrittson. Given his intuition and the timing of his death, I feel this link to Aldrittson can’t be ignored, especially if considered with Drummond’s observations and our discoveries in Aldrittson’s home office.’

  Pescaro felt she was right. Yet, for the moment, the Vors and his need for Aldrittson prevented him acting the way he wanted.

  ‘For now, Teresa, we’ll leave it. The election is critical. When our scheme is on a firm footing with the government, Ben Aldrittson will meet an untimely end. Right now, we need patience. In your absence Teresa, I’ve asked Ed Masseria to organize a banquet at Luciano’s Warehouse to celebrate our friends Dominic and Emilio. Please work with him and Felipe to make sure everything is right. I want a sumptuous and traditional Sicilian feast for the capos and their lieutenants. In the meantime, give the surveillance boys a roust. Their reports on the Vors are shit. I want good solid information for our Immigration contact and I want it within the next fortnight; two weeks ahead of the banquet.’

  ‘Is there a reason for this timeframe Giuseppe?’

  ‘There is.’ He smiled but did not elaborate.

  His lack of explanation was not an affront because she understood his way of working.

  ‘Right, I’ll check what’s come in over the weekend and we’ll talk later. I’ll also speak to Frankie Argolia. I agree that our field reports are not helpful but the Vors appear … she searched for the right word, motionless. It’s as though they are waiting for something to happen.’

  Pescaro nodded. ‘Yes, I agree that’s how it seems. But they must be doing something. In the meantime, I want to read about this new software developed for rooting out insider trading. It could threaten our “laundry” at the Stock Exchange. Ring Aldo Morelli at the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology and ask him to come and see me. He’s that smart alec computer bloke. If anyone knows whether it’s as good as claimed, he will.’

 
After lunch Teresa buried herself in Argolia’s weekend intelligence. For a change it looked promising. Chernamenko’s gang had committed a series of car thefts, assaults, robberies and drug transactions. Several of the principals had been part of the spree. One report especially caught her attention. Over two days three of Chernamenko’s men had met international flights at Tullamarine from four different countries. Four young women from each of the flights were taken to Chernamenko’s home. These sixteen women, aged between late teens to early twenties and all speaking Russian, appeared still to be with Chernamenko.

  She rang Argolia. ‘Frankie, your boys had a busy weekend, what’s going on?’

  ‘G’day Teresa. Weird eh? They suddenly got as busy as bastards – it looks to me like Chernamenko flicked a switch. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he got some kinda word and cranked things up.’

  ‘Do you think it might be to do with these women from overseas?’

  ‘Dunno. It certainly includes them. The shoplifting was mostly women’s stuff and most of the cars they pinched went for a makeover – all that could be linked.’

  ‘What about the women’s passports – real or fake?’

  ‘Dunno. I reckon they’re sex slaves, and as you know, many of ’em end up dead. I’ll get ’em checked out. If they’re using fake docs that could take some time. It might have been the docs that stalled action, I dunno. Maybe the Russians are always scatty. Trouble is, we don’t know enough about how they operate yet.’

  ‘Any idea when or how Chernamenko was notified?’

  ‘Nah, sorry Teresa, no idea. We can’t even bug his bloody house – he’s over it twenty-four seven. A very careful operator is our Mr Chernamenko.’

  ‘I noticed some key Vors taking part in activities over the weekend, is that usual? Do they normally go out on ram raids?’

  ‘Yeah, often enough. They like the sport, especially roughin’ up people. Those people who got beat up at Brunswick over the weekend were Russians – shop owners. We think they weren’t paying their dues and got a lesson in punctuality.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘One got his skull fractured with a jack handle, the other got two broken arms. Chernamenko’s people walked into their shops on Saturday afternoon and beat the shit out of ‘em, broad daylight, heaps of people around. They didn’t give a rat’s. As far as we could tell, no one called the cops.’

  ‘Let me guess, both assaults by Silverstein?’

  ‘You got it. By the way, they’re still hot. They’ve knocked off another five cars this morning and lifted a bunch of stuff from Camberwell market and that big K-Mart over there. If I was making a comparison with the weather, which I’m not, I’d say the drought has broken. I tell you, their behaviour is weird.’

  ‘Okay. Frankie, I’ll make sure The Don knows. Are your people still good? Not being lured away to chase this stuff so you miss something of real importance are you?’

  ‘Good point. Don’t think so but I’ll check.’

  ‘Thanks. If anything comes up let me know. Don’t forget – Chernamenko is ex-KGB Intelligence. His file says he was good. This might all be a double bluff to unseat The Don somehow, in spite of their agreement.’ She hung up, curious about Chernamenko’s activities yet knowing the pattern they wanted was beginning to emerge.

  With a jolt, she sat upright. Step back, she thought. Am I worried for Pescaro? How did that fit with her commitment to Tony Maud? She was confused about her feelings and realised she had better deal with this quickly or her plans could be in tatters. Here she was making sure the Russians didn’t steal a march on Pescaro while protecting his position as Don and at the same time, wanting him to face justice. Her situation felt surreal. She could scarcely remember her parents and she had never known Angelina. Listening to Pescaro’s narration of the executions she had felt his pain, his grief and his deep sense of betrayal. His actions after discovering the lovers were, he believed, without choice: he had to honour the Code.

  It was this man too who had ensured that from childhood she enjoyed a solid home life, good education and sound employment opportunities. Silently, remotely, benignly, Pescaro had seen that she wanted for nothing. It was his way, she believed, of apologising to the child for the sins of her father and she was grateful for that support. He needn’t have done anything. Her decision to make Pescaro pay for the three deaths, juxtaposed with his benevolence, conflicted her deeply. She knew what was right but she could not easily erase the friendship and depth of feeling that had grown between them.

  Nor could she deal with this the Mafia way. She felt neither distant nor strong enough to regard her help to the police as merely business. To the contrary, she was intensely passionate about the course she was embarking upon – it was absolutely personal. Yet, as painful as it was, the mental gymnastics were timely, she had to face reality. She was in touch with her strengths and knew she was courageous. Though others might disagree, she considered herself a person of integrity. Conflict or not, she had to stay the journey.

  The flame that would sustain was Andy Drummond.

  Chapter

  FIFTY- ONE

  Drummond’s mood was as black as the sky. His perfect weekend was over and he was hurting. Having learned most of Teresa’s dark secrets, he was particularly fearful of the moment she had to deal directly with the police. Pescaro’s crooked cops created a fearful precipice which threatened her very existence, and that deeply concerned him.

  Added to this was Teresa’s belief that Pescaro had accepted her reasons for wanting to see him. In his opinion, her faith was misplaced. He couldn’t fathom why Pescaro would agree to the visit. On Sunday night they had again made love. Passionately, with fire and abandon. And later, slowly and tenderly, exploring each other’s bodies, expressing their feelings and commitment for one another. He had lain awake for a long time after that while Teresa slept peacefully. Many times over he dissected every aspect of her visit, each time arriving at the same conclusion – benign as it seemed, it was a set-up. Pescaro could ask innocent questions about the house, its design and the farm layout, all in the context of her weekend “off ”. When eventually he reached out for sleep, he had committed to becoming proactive.

  He had not told Tony Maud about the shooting at his farm and Drummond figured that with Teresa’s visit out of the way, Embone would try again. He smiled as he drifted off – all that time in the army had not been for nowt. Mr Embone, if he called, could be in for some unpleasant surprises.

  After Teresa’s departure, he spent the rest of the day installing a variety of hazards around the house and its approaches. Working on what he could control, his mood lifted. He had Teresa, they had a plan and, one day, they might even be together. He needed to be positive and optimistic for them both.

  That night, after dinner, Teresa began planning her retaliation against Ben Aldrittson. She had to be patient and needed time but even then, she was uncertain of the outcome. The crucial element was the election; if she could properly mesh with that she believed she had a reasonable chance of success.

  From material downloaded at Aldrittson’s home she began crafting a document which carefully explained how Aldrittson sponsored companies through the government, received kickbacks and where his bribe money was hidden. Intended for the newspapers, her expectation was not that her letter would be published, rather it would become a catalyst for comprehensive investigation by the media. She worked hard not to compromise matters already discussed with Maud and worried that, at some point, she might not be able to keep the different chunks of information separate. Her fervent hope was that Aldrittson would be exposed for the corrupt bastard he was.

  By midnight, she had what she regarded as a tight, factual and explosive three page letter set to electrify any decent editor yet still generate sufficient caution to ensure the paper made its own enquiries. The recipient of her document was to be Rosslyn Zimmer, an investigative journalist at the Herald Sun.

  In all, there would be three such letters. Ea
ch would contain new information and build upon its predecessor. Each would be damning. The last would reveal Aldrittson’s knowledge of, and inaction about, the paedophile group. By the time Zimmer received this, Teresa hoped to be deep in witness protection.

  Mario Embone had already reconnoitred Drummond’s farm late Friday evening. It had not been easy – with so much rain the conditions were perilous. Nevertheless, he had been close enough to observe the intimacy between Marchese and Drummond. Pescaro’s most recent instructions had been simple: wait for her to leave then kill Drummond. He had driven past the farm a couple of times Monday morning and at 11:30 noticed the black Mini had gone.

  Now, at 2:45 a.m. on Tuesday, the rain had ceased and large, inky humps of cloud filled the sky. Every so often, shy, translucent moonlight stippled the ground, light which, to Mario, seemed only to accentuate the bleak July night, though it did ease his way towards Drummond’s house. Again, he had walked the gully of the adjacent farm to reach Drummond’s copse of winter-naked oaks. He recalled his previous visit: the perfect location, the perfect shot. He was still mystified why, at the precise moment he fired, Drummond bent to the floor. He had been fearful of recriminations from Pescaro yet there had been none. But … that would not be the case a second time. His intention was to cut Drummond’s throat as he slept … Bugger! He kicked free of some thick, dry, dock weed; he hated the clinging burry tops that stuck to his trousers.

  In Drummond’s bedroom, a bell tinkled – he awoke immediately. Arranging his bed, he pulled on a track suit and slipped into the toilet. Sitting on the lid, door ajar, he waited patiently, his Savage fully loaded with .410 shot and .22 magnum cartridges. Senses razor sharp.