No Witness, No Case

by Bill Robertson

  Embone crept closer using logs and shrubs to reduce his presence to a shadow. He was deathly quiet. His reconnaissance had revealed several doors to the house – he would enter the first he found open. It was still unusual here for people to lock up at night, access shouldn’t be a problem.

  He inched towards the eastern verandah with its doors to the kitchen, lounge and Drummond’s bedroom. Crouching by a thick grevillea near the verandah steps, he waited for the moon to disappear. Rising, he moved forward then stifled a gasp as, without warning, he slipped into a deep hole about a metre from the steps. A sizeable rock at the bottom of the hole caused his ankle to twist. Jesus Christ! Tears welled in his eyes; his ankle was on fire. Shit! He could have sworn the ground looked solid. He crawled to the steps, sat a few minutes and breathed deeply, massaging his ankle. He stood carefully, testing his weight. It was bloody painful but he could manage. He shuffled quietly to the double doors of the lounge room – locked. He moved on to the kitchen door – locked. He didn’t want to chance Drummond’s bedroom doors in case it woke him. He checked the sleeping form before passing the room. Slowly, silently, he moved towards the back of the house; his ankle throbbed but was more or less under control.

  At the corner of the house, in deep shadow, he became entangled in a hose casually looped across the walkway. He kicked it free then screeched in shock. Something had punctured his leg causing intense pain. He leaned against the wall sucking in air, eyes streaming. Gingerly, he felt his left thigh and calf – he was bleeding. Christ, what was happening? He stood still, leg violently throbbing. When moonlight returned, he saw a cord attached to a slender piece of wood clamped to his leg by four needle-like nails. From this, a nylon line tied to the hose ran to a stout piece of bamboo which acted as a spring. The fucking bastard had set a trap!

  Mario saw red. He steeled himself, removed the spikes, let the blood flow and continued silently forward. He tried the laundry door – open. Given the painful surprises already, he was wary and wondered if the open door was another trap. Remaining outside, he pushed the door gently until it was fully open; nothing happened. He stood quietly for two long minutes before stepping forward. Ahead a closed, glass panelled door sealed the laundry from a hall running into the house. A low voltage night light glowed halfway down the hall. The house was otherwise dark and silent.

  Painfully, he limped to the glass door, his leg and ankle screaming. He withdrew a long razor-like blade from a soft leather sheath at his side. We’ll see in a minute Mr Clever Dick just how you like pain, he thought.

  Gently, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. With his hand still upon the door, one foot in the air, the world collapsed around him. The foot upon the floor commenced to slide and he began to fall but before he hit the floor, a soft clinging mesh enveloped him. Suddenly, there was blaze of light behind which loomed the large dark figure of Andy Drummond, roaring at the top of his lungs and bearing a steadily pointing shot gun. Mario’s humiliation was complete when his head cracked upon the tiled floor and robbed him of consciousness.

  At 4:00 a.m., Maud and Drummond talked in the kitchen. Embone had been carted off to the Heathcote hospital for a check-up. From the time he regained consciousness until his departure, he had not uttered a word.

  Maud was intrigued by Drummond’s defence mechanisms. ‘You might be sailing close to the wind with that nail device Andy.’

  ‘Why?’ enquired Drummond. ‘It’s my kangaroo scarer. The buggers come right up to the house and eat my plants. It doesn’t do them any serious harm but they get the message. If one of them cops it, the mob disappears.’

  Maud looked sceptical. ‘Yeah, but a court might construe the damn thing as a man trap, and man traps are an offence under the Crimes Act.’

  Drummond shrugged. ‘It’s for kangaroos.’

  ‘Well what about inside the house? You couldn’t say that wasn’t deliberate.’

  ‘Of course it was deliberate. After our talk on Sunday I considered myself under threat. And I was correct. It was very bloody deliberate. But shit, you’d have to work bloody hard to say that a fish net falling from the ceiling and a patch of grease on the floor was a man trap. Neither are designed to kill, maim or injure – they were merely warnings.’

  ‘Yeah … right. Is that why all those little bells are in your room? Warnings hooked up to trip wires all over your bloody farm. That poor bugger didn’t stand a chance.’

  Drummond grinned at his friend and said, ‘Yeah, well I’m alive and he’s stuffed. Apart from his sprained ankle, which I know nothing about, he’s only got some small holes in his leg, a headache and a big dose of wounded pride. It could have been quite different. Did you see that bloody long knife he dropped? It’s so sharp it’ll slice cigarette paper. He wasn’t in my house at that hour to talk fishing was he?’

  ‘You’re right about that! Army life was handy then?’

  ‘Bloody oath – simple but effective.’

  ‘Okay, come in later today and make a statement. You’d better start thinking about a holiday for safety reasons and, while I think of it, keep Teresa in the loop. Pescaro is probably behind this so she’ll need to know. By the way, that meeting with my Super is set for today. This’ll add a bit more weight.’

  A slow smile cracked Maud’s face, ‘Bloody good work Cobber.’

  Chapter

  FIFTY- TWO

  After Drummond’s 5:00 a.m. call Teresa had risen, completed a workout and meditated. Her lesson for the day was adaptability and flow.

  Mid-morning she took coffee to Pescaro. As she entered his library he was replacing the phone, a troubled look on his face.

  ‘What’s the matter? You look worried Giuseppe.’

  ‘Tell me truthfully Teresa, what is between you and Drummond?’ he countered.

  ‘Nothing Giuseppe. As I said before, Drummond is a very personable man, but what I went for, and obtained, was information about Bernardo. Why, what’s happened?’

  Pescaro was inscrutable, his sharp eyes searching her face. Teresa waited, impassive, knowing her opponent was a Grand Master. ‘Can I believe what you say?’ he rumbled at last.

  ‘If you have doubts then give me a test,’ she challenged.

  ‘Would you kill him?’

  ‘You know I would hate to do that.’ She shut down her feelings and focussed on every nuance of their conversation – searching for what lay behind his thinking.

  He spoke coldly. ‘You must be a very good actress Teresa – Embone tells me you two appeared intensely intimate and, I am not talking about mere physicality. I won’t allow that. I sent him to kill Drummond last night. The incompetent failed again. I should have cut off his hand the first time. That phone call was from one of our lawyers. Embone fronted the Bendigo Magistrates’ Court this morning. Fortunately, he hasn’t said anything since his arrest, not even to the court, so he’s not on bail. The useless bastard! So Teresa, two attempts on Drummond’s life and two failures. What’s his secret? More to the point: did you know about Embone’s arrest?’ Pescaro’s eyes pierced her like lasers.

  ‘I didn’t know about the arrest,’ she lied. ‘As for Drummond, he was in the army and I guess he has certain skills. Apart from that he’s very fit, he’s confident and my impression is that he doesn’t scare easily. Are you asking me to kill him?’

  ‘No. I have special people who will not make the same mistake again. Have you spoken to Drummond since your return?’

  ‘No,’ she lied again, ‘we both knew what my visit was about. I will not be taking matters further. The situation is different now.’ She made herself emphatic without, she hoped, sounding false.

  ‘Good. By the end of this week he’ll be dead, a matter of principle. Find someone else to dally with.’ His manner was curt with no room for argument. ‘Has Frankie rung in today?’

  ‘Yes. Chernamenko has brought girls in every day since that first sighting. Gino Duchin in Customs is checking the passports and so far, they seem valid. This is looking very much
like sex slavery. Since the weekend, more than fifty girls have arrived from all around the world. Same pattern each time: they arrive in small numbers from various countries, are met by Chernamenko’s men, go to his home, then vanish. When we involve the Immigration authorities we’ll have some good stuff for them.’ She relayed the information automatically, chilled by Pescaro’s promise of Drummond’s death.

  ‘Okay, I am lunching with Ed Masseria today and might even go on to one of our clubs. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She was dismissed.

  His attitude was distant and not as she anticipated. With their hunt for a traitor in full flight, she expected to be followed and to have her phone tapped; she also expected a close grilling about Drummond. She had believed her composure would dampen any concern Pescaro might have about him. What she saw however, was suspicion and disbelief in his eyes; what she felt was a vast, cold gulf between them. She had not anticipated the immediate and blunt death sentence for Drummond. Dead by the end of the week meant any time from now. She was terrified for them both and with Pescaro becoming ever more secretive, needed to watch her own back carefully. From this point on she must always expect the unexpected. Anyone in the Family was expendable and Pescaro’s lunch with Masseria was sinister.

  At midday Teresa retrieved her film of Aldrittson’s assault from the bank, took it to a camera store and explained her requirements. Later, she bought a new mobile phone.

  After lunch at the Booktalk Café in Swan Street, she collected her prints. Although she had not specifically detected a “shadow,” she was slightly unsettled by a young couple she noticed several times at different places she had visited that day. Given her concerns about Pescaro, she decided to test her suspicion. Going to the first floor of Dimmey’s she pretended to browse the materials and spotted the young woman inspecting curtains. Unhurriedly, Teresa worked her way to the escalator. At the bottom, on the ground floor, the woman’s partner was absently flicking through some books. He was perfectly placed to watch the escalators and lifts. She no longer doubted she had a tail.

  Andy’s unlisted mobile rang. ‘Drummond,’ he answered.

  ‘Hello Drummond. This is what you might call a welfare check. Are you okay?’

  ‘I am, what about you?’

  ‘Better for talking to you. I’m sending a text so we don’t have to talk. You’ll see why. Bye.’

  *

  Andy,

  Embone seen in Bendigo Court this a.m. by a P lawyer. P asked if I knew about it said no. P highly suss said UR dead by end of week - means any time from NOW! Will use skilled soldiers. Pls stay Tony and Mary & take a holiday. If anything happened couldn’t forgive myself.

  This is a new phone & will B on silent. Ring & let buzz twice, cancel, call again. Will know its you. Give number to Tony. No one else has it. Using code I’ll know difference.

  Was followed today. Never seen them B4. Pretty sure gave the slip.

  B careful. I love you. T

  *

  Teresa,

  Thanks will tell Tony. We’re in this together. Pls B gone by end of week. Take own advice B damned careful.

  Tonys Super went straight to Regional A/C. He rang A/ C Crime who wants all in Melb tomorrow. Tonys credibility! Select things of value & remove from house. Put in storage or give to friend. Departure may be super fast. Need to ask more questions don’t know enough.

  Ring tomorrow. All my love. Andy

  *

  Drummond made himself a cup of tea and sat by the fire thinking. The problem, as he saw it, was that if he left now and Giuseppe’s men came tonight his absence was likely to increase Pescaro’s suspicion of Teresa. That must not happen. It would be logical for Pescaro to assume he had left the farm because of Embone’s attack, but with Embone under arrest, there was no ostensible threat. In which case, Pescaro would probably anticipate finding Drummond at home.

  He rang Maud’s private mobile, relayed the conversation with Teresa, her new mobile number and outlined his plans. Maud was unhappy but reluctantly conceded Drummond could probably contain anything Pescaro threw at him. There was no question of Teresa’s concern being anything other than well founded.

  Chapter

  FIFTY- THREE

  Aldrittson’s rage had hardened from white hot fury to cold, implacable hatred. Five days had crawled by since his humiliation at Teresa’s hands, five days of embarrassment, public explanation, lying and self justification. Five days in which he saw his standing demeaned. Every time he recalled that meeting, bile rose from his gut. But he had not been idle, he had leant on Commander Tommy Duigan from the Crime Department – a member of Baker’s paedophile group – for contact with Valentin Chernamenko. Now he waited for the Russian.

  ‘Your guest Mr Aldrittson.’ The waiter had arrived so quietly he had been unaware of his presence. He was accompanied by a man of medium height, huge girth and prominent facial scarring.

  Aldrittson rose and extended his hand to Chernamenko. ‘Ben Aldrittson, pleased to meet you.’

  Chernamenko ignored the outstretched hand and growled, ‘I know who you are Mr Politician. What you want?’ He sat rudely making Aldrittson look foolish, his unaccepted hand stranded mid air.

  Aldrittson tried to regain control. ‘I have a task I think you might enjoy. But I think we should discuss it in a civilised way over dinner. What do you say?’

  ‘If you are talking to me job,’ sneered Chernamenko, ‘then better you pay well. What you want?’

  Aldrittson stared levelly into the small, bright eyes in front of him; he was repulsed by Chernamenko’s foul breath. He said quietly, ‘I want a woman killed: Teresa Marchese.’

  Chernamenko sat motionless, his interest registered only by the slightest twitch of his eyebrows. Then he smiled cruelly, saying, ‘To be pleased. When?’

  ‘As soon as you like, but I leave that to you.’ Aldrittson waited expectantly.

  Chernamenko reached into his coat pocket and removed a card. ‘Ring midday tomorrow. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars you will put at the location told. When job is done, another one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.’

  Aldrittson was furious. ‘Hang about, I don’t operate like that …’

  Chernamenko leaned forward and impaled him with a steely glare. ‘Mr Politician, you are talking to me already compromised. You think because politician you invincible? You are fool. I know already you turned down by everyone.’ Tapping his chest for emphasis he hissed, ‘I am solution to you problem. From now, you will arrange when I want something.’

  Stunned by the sudden reversal of roles Aldrittson found himself saying, ‘Listen, I’ve changed my mind. Don’t worry about the job I won’t proceed.’ His tone was both positive and placatory.

  Chernamenko grinned sardonically. ‘What you want or not change nothing. Because you request, I not kill Ms Marchese. But price of her life is same as death. Arrangement stands. If money not paid, I personally will get you head. I know where you live, I know you father in hospital and I know where mother lives. You people in this country, weaklings, know nothing of power. You now in my employ, remember.’ Chernamenko rose and without a backward glance, strode from the room.

  Aldrittson was numb. What just happened? Too much on, that was the problem! Not thinking logically. No, fuck that – he hadn’t been thinking at all. More to the point, Johnson’s warning reverberated in his head. Christ! He stood, put $50 on the table and left, all thoughts of dinner banished by the icy and growing fear of what he had called down upon himself.

  A soft footfall in gravel woke Drummond instantly. Since Teresa’s warning two days earlier he had maintained his routine and gone to bed at the same time each night. Soon after, dressed in black from head to foot, he slipped outside to bed down on a door he had bolted to the carport rafters years earlier for storage. There, above his ute, he rested on a foam camp mattress beneath a feather sleeping bag. Spartan as it was, it allowed him to see but not be seen; it was the price of surprise. Tonight, the sky was dense with starlight an
d the temperature sinking to a frost; a half moon sat high in the western sky staring down icily.

  The footstep was close to the front door. He moved cautiously, mindful of the rustling bag. Slowly, he raised his head and peered over the edge of his perch. Two dark shadows moved quietly onto the verandah. Banking on his visitor’s need to surprise him, he had funnelled their access to the house just as he had for Embone, this time by leaving only the front door unlocked. The plan was to make the intruders obvious and buy time to move while they searched the house.

  He slid onto his ute as soon as they entered the house. From under the ute he took a small satchel and sloped off along a shadowy pathway to the ironbarks at the southern end of his house. Scaling the first tree, he sat in the crude hide he had built around a thick branch. From the satchel he removed and fitted night vision goggles then filled his pockets with large steel ball bearings – ammunition for his powerful shanghai. Lastly, he strapped on a belt and looped several articles to it.

  Soon after, the men emerged: one from the front door, the other at the laundry door used by Embone. He heard a low whistle. As he watched, another shadow moved to the house from the western side of his driveway. The three met at the front door, and, after a short exchange, two fanned out to look around the grounds while the third searched Drummond’s ute then angled off towards the oak copse. They worked in silence.

  One of the men moved into open space near the back of the house, pausing mid-step at the call of a nearby owl. The goggles and moonlight gave Drummond a perfect view. He fitted a bearing to his shanghai and fired. With barely a grunt the man fell to the ground, victim to the experience of countless hours spent knocking Corellas out of trees.

  Leaving the hide, Drummond ran to the man, checked his pulse, bound his wrists with cable ties then hefted him across to the tree. From his belt he took a length of broad coarse cloth, gagged the man and tied him to a branch using rope he had previously attached to the tree. He checked again; the man’s pulse was strong.