No Witness, No Case

by Bill Robertson

  Celia Barraclough ushered him through to the Premier with a haughty sniff.

  ‘Ah Ben, good of you to come,’ said Meadows, ‘I’d like you to meet Professor Cameron Blake, RMIT, Earth Sciences Unit.’

  Blake was dressed casually in jeans, elastic-sided boots, a faded denim shirt and battered sheepskin coat. He had longish fair hair and weathered good looks. Aldrittson guessed he would be in his late forties to early fifties.

  Blake extended his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you Mr Aldrittson. I’ve been looking over your waste concept for the Premier. To put it in scholarly parlance, it’s shit hot.’ His battered face cracked into a grin, Meadows laughed aloud and Aldrittson felt relieved. They shook hands warmly.

  ‘Cameron’s kind of stolen my thunder with that erudite comment Ben. I invited him to go over the scheme as an independent arbiter and raise questions about anything of concern. What we discuss today may determine whether the scheme stands or falls. I wanted you to be part of that process.’

  ‘Thanks Graeme,’ responded Aldrittson, ‘I appreciate that.’

  ‘Over to you Cameron.’

  ‘I’ll keep it brief Mr Premier. I know you’ve already had the plan independently assessed and a double check was suggested for computations on the soil and water tests. That’s my forte. I’ve been to the proposed site and taken samples of the soil and water at various depths. Everything matches the original calculations. To be completely certain, I gave three student groups samples to analyse. Within allowable tolerances, their analyses agreed with mine. This means there is no question about the geologic capacity for handling the waste, provided the methods specified in your plan are rigorously followed.’

  ‘Excuse me for asking Cameron, but the Premier did promise the second opinion would be confidential. You gave our information to students?’

  ‘No Ben. I read everything here, got acquainted with my brief then conducted my field and lab tests. The students were merely testing my anonymous samples as a lab exercise.’

  ‘Thanks. I misunderstood.’

  ‘No, a fair question.’

  ‘Anything else Cameron?’ asked Meadows.

  ‘Only to endorse what’s been said. What I found heartening is the innovation and integration of different technologies with nature – it is so harmonious. I admire the scope of this plan; it’s breath-taking. I also admire the underpinning philosophy, it says everything – Earth First. Naturally, your scheme has little impact on consumption, but it should help slow our remorseless assault on the planet. The key benefit of this thinking is that it comes from government. Too often, government thinking lags far behind business and the community. In this case, you’ll be in the vanguard. This is excellent stuff gentlemen. I am certain there is nothing like it elsewhere in the world. To cap it off, it has a triple bottom line: social, economic and environmental benefits. It’s brilliant.’

  Aldrittson basked in the praise but thought: you poor misguided bastard. If you only knew what occurred before we got to this point. Instead, he said modestly, ‘Your comments are very generous Cameron, thank you.’

  Meadows rose and smiled at Blake. ‘If there’s nothing else Cameron, I’ll let you go. Send your account to Celia and we’ll take care of it.’ Aldrittson and Blake rose too; all shook hands.

  ‘Ben, would you stay please.’

  When Blake left, Meadows said, ‘As you can see, Blake doesn’t mince words. Had there been flaws he would have said so. Can you deliver a formal submission to cabinet by say, middle of next week, or, at the latest, by next Friday? I know these additional assessments have upset your original plans so let’s hire the best and biggest PR guns we can. I’ll direct the Cabinet Communications Sub-committee to use our media slush fund to get maximum exposure with optimum spin. While I believe this scheme does stand on its own, you know how twitchy people become at election time. Toxic waste disposal coupled with an election is positively incendiary. One good indicator is that not a single person I’ve discussed this with has a bad word to say. I’ve tried to be even handed as well. Many of those I talked to are our greatest detractors – they welcomed it. Looks like a winner for everybody, including Mother Earth.’ Meadows beamed at him and waited for a response to his original question.

  Outwardly, Aldrittson was calm. Inside, he was as taut as racquet strings. Even under the best conditions with the work he had already done, the deadline was a bastard. But the real snag was Pescaro. He would have to work with him on this and if he discovered he had been talking to Chernamenko, especially after Teresa’s house fire, he could probably kiss the world goodbye. He felt ill.

  ‘Well, what do you say?’ He became aware that Meadows was peering at him. ‘Are you alright Ben? You look pale.’

  ‘Yes. No, it’s okay. Bit of a virus. Look, Graeme, I won’t pretend – the deadline is difficult. I will give it my best shot, that’s all I can say. I’ll have a briefing ready by next Wednesday.’

  ‘Congratulations, you’ve done extremely well. I think even our Labor colleagues will embrace this. In their disjointed, uncertain, fumbling way, they’ve been demanding something like this for years. Now they’ve got it, let’s see what happens. Okay, that’s it. I’ll let you know about the PR and media coverage tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks Graeme, this is really good news.’

  Aldrittson was on autopilot. With the confluence of Teresa’s fire, approval of the waste scheme, the need to work with Pescaro, Jack’s illness and Chernamenko’s extortion, he felt as though he had entered that mysterious void that accompanies the onset of anaesthetic. The black abyss pressed downwards, it couldn’t be stopped. Yet it was not unpleasant because there was no feeling, just weightless anticipation. If he cocked up, not only would there be intense pain, but the black abyss would be eternal.

  And he couldn’t stop any of it.

  Chapter

  FIFTY- SIX

  It was mid-afternoon and Pescaro’s mood was vile. After learning of Teresa’s house fire and being on the phones from early morning, the only concrete thing he had discovered was that neither her mobile nor landline were working. As a consequence he directed Ed Masseria to sniff around. Two soldiers reported that 16 Rose Street was burned to its foundations. Even Teresa’s new Mini was a blackened, twisted shell. Pretending to be neighbours, Masseria’s men spoke to firemen and learned the blaze was deliberate. They also spoke to street residents who said police were conducting forensic tests and searching for a body. A neighbour opposite Teresa had noticed lights on around eleven o’clock the previous night and presumed she was home when the fire started.

  Adding to his woes was news that the men sent to deal with Drummond were now enjoying police hospitality. He was ropable. Four competent men had, somehow, been defeated by one man and not only arrested, but seriously hurt. Drummond had become the focus of Pescaro’s cold, implacable fury. While previously he had seemed merely a potential threat, his menace had now become actual and personal.

  Pescaro wondered if Teresa’s fire and disappearance were connected to Drummond’s success. He had no reason for thinking that but he wasn’t ruling anything out. What he did know was that the fire had nothing to do with him. Unexpectedly, that caused him to remember Teresa’s earlier advice: be prepared for pain in order to appear weak. Perhaps this was evidence of the strategy working.

  His telephone rang. ‘Pronto,’ said Giuseppe.

  ‘Giuseppe, Ben Aldrittson. Good news! The Premier has accepted our waste scheme as part of the election campaign. We need to finalise plans for getting it into government machinery.’ Aldrittson was striving to sound upbeat, friendly, but not over the top. He worked harder still to contain his fear.

  Pescaro listened. Aldrittson was too effusive, too affable and trying too hard. He decided to play the game.

  ‘Yes Ben, good news indeed. How about meeting me for dinner at J’taime in Toorak Village tonight, 7:30 sharp.’ He put the phone down without waiting for a response. A bright spot in an otherwise bleak day, he thought.


  He phoned Masseria. ‘Ed, can you tell me if our traitors have recently been in touch with Chernamenko? And do you have anything more on Teresa’s disappearance?’

  ‘No evidence of contact with Chernamenko but we can’t be certain. I sent in a girl posing as a reporter to speak to the residents of Rose Street – people were happy to talk because Teresa was known and liked by quite a few of them. No one saw anything. The trouble is, it’s a bit of a yuppy street, mostly young people who are at work.’ Masseria refrained from stating the obvious –Teresa could be dead.

  Pescaro was quiet then, in pained tones, ‘Okay thanks. In the circumstances ring our Canberra colleague tonight about Chernamenko and his clan. Try to get our information to Immigration authorities by tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure, being from the Embassy he shouldn’t find it too hard to arrange a meeting with the Foreign Minister.’

  ‘Good. Make sure he calls back with the Minister’s reaction. I want to know as soon as possible. This is very important to us. I now believe that not only was Chernamenko behind the deaths of Fabrizzi and Barracusa, but Bernardo’s and maybe Teresa’s too. I think that bastard has been stalking us much longer than I suspected.’ He heard Masseria’s sharp intake of breath. ‘Keep me informed Ed.’

  Pescaro hung up, pleased to at last be striking back. He had abandoned his initial idea of framing Chernamenko with heroin and firearms. Chernamenko’s false immigration information and the sex slavery should be more than sufficient to remove him from the country.

  Drummond hired an old van from a rent-a-wreck firm. Next, he bought two green boiler suits, a couple of peaked caps, clipboard and sunglasses. A block away from Rose Street he phoned Teresa and established there was a second sub-frame door opposite her entry point under the house. After arriving at 18 Rose Street he passed a set of clothes through the second sub-frame door. With clipboard in hand and making “notes”, he conducted a mock inspection of the fire damaged fence while Teresa dressed then slipped into the van.

  As Pescaro was putting the phone down, Drummond and Teresa were walking into the Aspen Street unit. Teresa was cold, trembling and quietly angry. Once inside the unit she had fallen into Drummond’s arms and held him tightly.

  ‘Evil bastards,’ she hissed, ‘evil, evil bastards. They will get theirs …’

  Drummond held her and asked, ‘Do you mean Pescaro?’

  ‘No,’ she said fiercely, ‘this was not Giuseppe. His means of elimination is face to face. No, this is down to the Russians.’

  In the long cold hours under her neighbour’s house, Teresa had reflected deeply upon her life and was angry about a number of things, Chernamenko being top of the list. Until she started working for Pescaro she had led a blameless life. Discovering the truth about him had unsettled her and later, made her ashamed for remaining with him. She could neither excuse nor justify her actions, especially since most of her energy had been devoted to converting criminal money into “clean” money. She felt not only damned, but dirty.

  Reformation had commenced on learning the truth about her parents; renaissance had come through Andy Drummond. Through him too the Mauds had opened their hearts and she had rejoiced in the warmth of their friendship and trust. But her sense of being unclean juxtaposed with her acceptance by Drummond and the Mauds had stimulated a fear of rejection. This fear profoundly disturbed her.

  Acutely aware of both her anger and distress, Drummond smiled and said, “Come on love, a strong brandy is what you need.’ Gradually, Teresa regained her composure and after a while they were laughing about her escape and blessed her good fortune.

  They sat in the kitchen, alive with relief.

  ‘I’d better go and move the ute into Tom’s garage over the road’ Drummond said, ‘I can shut the door there and hide it. We’ll keep the blinds shut too – just in case. While I do that, would you ring Tony and tell him we’re okay. Oh, and could you ask him what we should be doing next. After that you might like a soak in the bath, to thaw out. I’ll be about ten minutes.’

  When he returned upstairs to the sound of running bath water, he smiled to himself. It would be good for her to lie in the warm water after all that stress.

  ‘Teresa, have you got everything you need?’

  ‘Yes and Tony has news.’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Of course.’ Drummond entered the bathroom and grinned at Teresa who was lying in aromatic, frothy green water, two pert nipples peeping through the bubbles, hot tap slowly topping up the bath.

  ‘God, you look good enough to eat,’ he said, ‘I think I’ll join you.’

  She laughed and flicked froth into his face. ‘Enough you precocious man. Tony said his A/C rang just before midday and we are to contact Assistant Commissioner David Tavistock. Tavistock is worried by the fire and your visitors, plural – which you didn’t tell me about. Tony said he would tell Mary we were ok, and Tavistock’s number is on the kitchen table. After that you can join me …’ She pouted, half closed her eyes, licked her lips and laughed.

  Half an hour later Drummond returned to the bathroom after talking with both Tavistock and Maud. Teresa was asleep in water beginning to lose its heat. She looked beautiful and he knelt and kissed her forehead. Slowly, she opened her eyes, took a second or two to focus and mumbled, ‘Must have drifted off.’

  ‘You did and, unfortunately, there’s no more time for relaxation. Tavistock wants to see us ASAP, somewhere in East Melbourne.’

  ‘Did he mention witness protection?’

  ‘He did. Without absolutely committing himself he implied emergency entry at the end of the meeting. He told me he’s already spoken to the bloke in charge of Witsec so I guess it’s taken care of.’

  ‘Andy, we haven’t properly discussed if we should go into the program together. We need to agree about that don’t you think?’

  ‘I do. I think we should be together but I need about a week to quit the farm. Two reasons: if Pescaro goes to Heathcote again this week I’ll be there. It’s only a small thing, but it might help strengthen the impression that you died in the fire. I also want to put it about up there that because of these attacks, I’m taking a holiday overseas. Secondly, I have to organise the farm; I can’t walk off just like that.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘I need to cash up – we are in for difficult times. Now, about the farm. I hate the idea of leaving it but since these problems started, I’ve been thinking of selling to Tony and Mary. Both of them love the place and I can’t see them ever wanting to leave Heathcote. If I do that, then I’ll always feel close to Sue, the farm and to them. What do you reckon?’

  Her eyes grew large and dark with feeling. ‘I think it’s a wonderful idea. But I’m not sure I can wait a week. Promise me you’ll be ultra careful.’ She reached up and drew him down for a kiss that was filled with love and tenderness.

  Chapter

  FIFTY- SEVEN

  They walked into the grey government building on the dot of three o’clock. Waiting in the foyer was a tall, slender man in his mid-forties wearing a navy suit. As the heavy glass door closed behind them, he stepped forward.

  ‘Mr Drummond, Ms Marchese?’ He shook hands with them both saying, ‘Paul Donovan, the boss is waiting upstairs.’ He turned, walked to the lifts and stabbed the button. Seconds later, landing bells rang and a door opened, Donovan entered and pressed two.

  At the second floor they stepped into a long, wide, carpeted corridor full of numbered doors. They moved to their right and stopped outside number 24. Donovan knocked, opened the door and stood back to allow Teresa and Drummond to enter.

  It was a sizeable room with five comfortable arm chairs loosely circling a low, square wooden table. Two men were standing waiting. One was about fifty, balding, of medium height and nuggetty, the other similar to Donovan but whereas Donovan’s hair was black, this man’s was fair, short and spiked.

  The older man stepped forward and smiled, hand extended. ‘Good afternoon, thanks for coming. I’m David Tavistock.’ Tavisto
ck’s countenance was a burnished nut brown, his smile friendly and open, dark eyes glowed with vitality. Drummond wondered if he played golf – he had that look about him. Tavistock’s well modulated voice and clear diction conveyed an English heritage.

  ‘Allow me to introduce Commander Robby Danniellson and you’ve already met Commander Paul Donovan. These two will be running your case and reporting to me.’

  ‘I understand from your friend Tony Maud that you have much to tell. I’m up to speed with your house fire Teresa and with your intruders Andy.’ Tavistock’s charm and well mannered style was both disarming and encouraging. He gestured towards the chairs. After everyone was seated he said, ‘I thought I’d start by explaining the purpose of this meeting. It’s about getting a handle on the scope of the investigation and its various parts. If you don’t mind, I’ll record our conversation which later will be converted to type – you’ll get a copy in due course.’ Tavistock’s reference to recording was not a request but a statement of fact. He nodded to Donovan who took two small digital recorders from a shelf beneath the table. He activated one.

  ‘For the record,’ said Tavistock, ‘this is a meeting between Teresa Marchese and Andy Drummond with Assistant Commissioner David Tavistock. Also present are Commanders Paul Donovan and Robby Danniellson. The time is 3:20 p.m. on Thursday, July 14, 2005. The purpose of this meeting is to obtain an understanding of the scope of an investigation prompted by Ms Marchese. Discussion will be general although some parts may become explicit. You need to know from the beginning Teresa that many hours of interviews with various police and other experts lie ahead of you. It will not be easy. Briefly then, we know that Giuseppe Pescaro is head of the Victorian Mafia and that recently, following the death of Bernardo Santini, you Teresa, were promoted to the position of Consigliere, or counsellor/ mediator within that organisation. As a result, you learned of certain events in 1975 involving Pescaro and your parents. Because of that knowledge, you now wish to tell us about the inside workings of the Pescaro Family. In return, you want us to provide witness protection. Is that a fair summation?’