No Witness, No Case

by Bill Robertson

  Aldrittson slouched into Barraclough’s office. He mumbled in a barely audible voice, ‘Type out my resignation Celia.’ In less than three minutes it was done: Aldrittson’s years of machinations, manoeuvrings and manipulation to become Premier of Victoria were destroyed in the blink of an eye. He could scarcely comprehend the enormity of his fate. How had Zimmer tapped his secrets? Sick with loss and embarrassment, punctured by Meadows swift, merciless action, he could not even begin to imagine how this had occurred or how he might retaliate. Nor did he have the wit, at this point, to realise things would only get worse.

  The Great Barraclough, on the other hand, had seen it all before. She had no need to speak – Aldrittson was beneath contempt. Instead, she speared him with a poisonous glare and flourished the resignation. Aldrittson looked at her through glazed eyes, her haughtiness stirring his juices back to life. Mentally, he shook himself, signed with flare and said, ‘Well Bitch, this is where we part company.’ He stalked to the door. She merely sniffed, disdain being superior to insult – he was nothing. Now she could freely tell her cronies how she had never liked him, had always known he was a cocky false pretender and, knowingly or not, fissured with self-destruction. Oh yes, she thought, the Great Barraclough, is an excellent reader of men’s characters.

  Chapter

  FIFTY- NINE

  At their Friday meeting, Tavistock reluctantly agreed that Drummond could enter Witsec two weeks behind Teresa. He was blunt in pointing out that Drummond was at risk and made it clear he thought deferral a poor decision. He had smiled disarmingly at Teresa when he said, ‘Did you know this man was so stubborn when you met him? He’s the kind that gets people killed.’

  After a long day of questioning, Drummond drove back to Heathcote. His concession to Teresa’s and Tavistock’s concern was staying with the Mauds each night. Over the next three days he worked fiendishly to pack, sell his cattle, chooks and geese. He had not mentioned to Tony or Mary his plan for disposing of the farm, or the legal instrument he already had prepared to facilitate that.

  During these busy days he had seen numerous cars and trucks travel Schoolhouse Lane but none attracted suspicion. Until today. Mid afternoon. A navy blue Nissan Pulsar had driven at slow speed along Schoolhouse and into Hunter’s Lane. Half an hour later, the same car repeated the journey. Watchful, but not afraid, Drummond kept his Savage .22 magnum under and over handy. On its second journey he examined the car through binoculars and saw that it carried two dark-haired occupants – he was unable to read the number plate.

  As he promised Tavistock, he rang the police station and reported his sighting. Now, on his evening drive to Maud’s, he kept a sharp lookout for the navy car.

  He drove off High Street and parked behind the station residence, locked the ute and walked in through the back door. Mary was labouring over the stove amid delicious smells of curry.

  ‘Hey, Andy love. Thought I would make one of your favourites – curry on a cold night will go down really well.’

  ‘You bloody ripper Mary. I’ve got some bottles of Marson Rosé in the ute. My first dinner with Teresa was curry and chilled rosé. I’ll nip out and get it.’ He placed a fat, buff coloured envelope on the kitchen table saying, ‘We’ll talk about this after dinner.’

  He removed the wine from a cooler bag behind his seat and was locking the ute door when simultaneously he heard a pop and harsh whisper accompanied immediately by enormous tearing pain in his right shoulder. He fell to the ground unconscious, oblivious of bottles smashing around him and screeching tyres roaring towards Chauncey Street.

  Vaguely, Mary heard the spinning wheels but was concentrating on the coconut sauce. A few minutes later she realised Drummond had not returned. She walked to the sink and looked over to his ute. The pale light from her kitchen window stuck to a lumpy shadow by the ute. Fearful, she ran to the kitchen phone and buzzed the police station. When Ken Jones answered she blurted, ‘Jonesy, I think something’s happened to Andy. I just heard a car squeal off and I think Andy’s lying beside his ute. I’m going out to check.’

  ‘No Mary, don’t,’ he barked. ‘Raise the ambulance instead, we’ll be there in a second. If I wave, it’ll be an emergency, otherwise, don’t worry.’ The phone went dead.

  Mary was explaining to John Pridmore the ambulance driver when Tony and Jonesy ran into the yard and began waving furiously. A controlled calm settled as she said, ‘John, it’s an emergency – back of the police residence. Hurry!’

  ‘On the way Mary. Ring the hospital and alert casualty.’

  Maud stayed with Drummond while Jones scouted Heriot and Wright Streets. Mary, inside, was still unaware of what had occurred.

  Drummond lay on his left side, legs twisted. Unconscious, his breath sawed in ragged gasps; globs of blood bubbled from his mouth. Tony worked hard to staunch the blood spurting from his friend’s shoulder. Mary appeared briefly then shot inside for clean towels. As she came out again, the ambulance pulled into the yard, headlights blazing on the deathly tableau.

  ‘Mary,’ Tony yelled, ‘go with Andy and John. Jonesy and I will go and look around. Haven’t got a bloody clue what we’re looking for but we’ve gotta start. Get a message to Teresa as soon as you can.’

  At the hospital, casualty staff were ready and smoothly removed Drummond to theatre. Pridmore told Mary that Drummond would probably go either to Bendigo or Melbourne after he had been assessed.

  As the magnitude of the shooting settled on her, Mary was conflicted about whether to be angry with Teresa for drawing this “grief ” to Drummond, or with Drummond, for not immediately going into Witsec. She bit her lip, teary at the thought of Teresa dealing with this alone, in witness protection. While she and Tony would weep for their friend, they at least could console each other.

  Forty minutes later, John Pridmore returned from casualty. ‘It’s not good Mary. He’s going to Melbourne. The doc says the bullet smashed its way through his shoulder and has gone into the thorax between the second and third ribs. At this stage, they’re not quite sure where it has lodged. There’s a hell of a lot of damage and his condition has been classified as critical. The air ambulance is on the way and will take him to the Alfred at Prahran. It should be here in about twenty-five minutes.’ Pridmore reached forward, took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Would you like me to call Tony and tell him?’

  Speechless, Mary nodded, eyes stung by tears. One minute curry and wine, the next, near death. How tenuous life could be. Pridmore went to the reception desk and returned a few minutes later. ‘I’ve just spoken to Patch. He’s given what he can to Bendigo, Axedale, Kilmore, Craigieburn and Seymour. Tony and Ken are out looking for the blue Pulsar Andy rang in earlier. But it’s a needle and haystack situation. Tony’s going to call here soon. I’m sorry Mary, but I’ll have to go.’

  Ten minutes later, Maud and Jones entered the reception area. Tony was ashen but steely and determined. Jones was similarly focussed.

  ‘Hello Mair,’ said Tony softly, ‘bastard of a situation. The air ambulance is nearly here. We’ve had a quick burst around town looking for stray Pulsars. Nothing yet. I contacted A/ C Tavistock personally and he’s going to set up road blocks. I understand why, but I think it’s a waste. We’ve got buggar all to go on and with Andy unconscious, it’s going to stay that way. Tavistock is arranging for Teresa to be told.’

  ‘Tony, sit a minute.’ Mary patted the seat beside her, eyes full of tears. ‘He’s not good – he could die. John Pridmore said he’s critical and has terrible injuries. I feel ashamed to say this but I am so angry about him getting shot; angry that he exposed us all to risk and angry that he was so bloody pig-headed about sorting out his farm. We could have done that for him. He should have stayed with Teresa. I’m torn because I feel like this, but if you’d been out there … you could be lying there with him.’ Tears coursed down her cheeks.

  Tony slumped, his eyes moist. He said hoarsely, ‘I know how you feel, he’s a good friend to us both, but we all knew the r
isks. Defending himself at the farm must have really stirred the hornet’s nest. Will you go with him Mair? Stay at his unit until we know what’s going on. I truly understand everything you say but ... Teresa can’t do anything, even if she wanted to. She’ll be gutted by this.’

  The receptionist called Maud to the phone. As he sprinted towards her, Jones followed. Maud took the phone. ‘Yes Patch, go ahead.’ Slowly, he turned to look at Jones. ‘Okay mate, thanks, we’ll go there and have a look at it. Pass this straight on to the A/C‘s Staff Officer, his number’s on my desk by the phone.’ He handed the phone to the receptionist and said to Jones, ‘Claire Farrelly just walked into the station. She told Patch she passed an abandoned navy blue car tucked into the scrub in Ironbark Lane near Andy’s joint. She didn’t know the make but said it looked like a recent model. If it’s what I think it is, we’ve got no bloody idea what the bastards are driving now or where they might be.’

  The staccato beat of a helicopter throbbed from the south – it would land at the hospital helipad and take Drummond. Soon after, prickling with tubes, bags and monitors, Drummond appeared on a hospital trolley accompanied by medics. Mary and Tony followed. They hugged then went their separate ways.

  Chapter

  SIXTY

  Aldrittson lay on his lounge before the gas log fire becoming gently pissed. The city lights tinged his darkened room with a phosphorescent glow and burnished the spattering rain as it dribbled slowly down the windows. The gloom suited his mood.

  After his spray from Meadows he had gone from Parliament House to the Epworth Hospital and told Jack he was quitting. He said he had finished with Parliament and the waste scheme and was moving to Europe. He hadn’t directly said, You’re on your own, but his manner and tone was unmistakable.

  His attitude had wounded his father, he knew that. Too bad. He had to think of himself. He had called in favours and obtained a first class flight to London from Tullamarine at eleven the next morning. Everything was paid up front, including a $10,000 commission. He didn’t care about that – it guaranteed escape. He would take minimal luggage, replenish in London and disappear. Supported by huge funds secreted around the world, with a new identity and modest plastic surgery, he would re-invent himself. He would be unstoppable.

  In the meantime, he thought hard to discover how that bitch Zimmer had discovered his secret, a secret that had enraged Meadows. All of that information was stored in his hidden office. Nowhere else. Scores of people had visited over the years and Mrs Mandrell cleaned every week – no one had even come close to suspecting the den’s existence. Zimmer’s breakthrough was a sickening mystery.

  He finished his whiskey. Time to stop. He wanted to be clear-headed, not hung-over. He flicked the telly on and listened half-heartedly to a Channel 9 news bulletin. A man had been shot in the backyard of the Heathcote Police Station in Central Victoria. When he heard it was Andy Drummond he laughed aloud. He was the shit who had told police about Santini’s prang on the bridge. Someone had good sense. He was a bloody pest and a permanent holiday was perfect for him.

  At 9:45 p.m. his phone rang. Irritably, he looked at the caller ID and saw it was his mother. Shit! He sighed and reluctantly answered, ‘Yes Mum, how are you?’

  She was babbling hysterically, unable to speak.

  ‘Mum, what’s the matter? Take hold of yourself. What’s going on?’

  Between sobs she managed to say, ‘It’s your father. He’s … he’s … dead … a massive heart attack.’

  Jesus Christ! What an inconsiderate bastard! Well, that alters nothing, he thought, I’m not hanging around. ‘I’ll get over to Epworth and fix things up, in the meantime, get your friend Gladys to come over. I’ll drop in and see you later.’ What a fucking nightmare.

  Unexpectedly he thought of Lance Baker. Christ, he lamented, I hope Zimmer hasn’t got all that too. With Jack dead and Zimmer in pursuit, Pescaro would hunt him to the ends of the earth. Nowhere on the globe would be safe.

  He shook his head, locked up and caught a taxi to the hospital. Five minutes later, his father’s doctor, Teddy Drake, stepped from the lift and ambled across to him. Drake was a tall, thin man with wispy straw coloured hair and a melancholy expression. His skin was so pale Aldrittson wondered if he ever saw daylight.

  ‘Ah, Mr Aldrittson.’ Drake’s light voice seemed suited to his physical appearance. ‘So sorry about your father. Come up to my office and we’ll get the details sorted.’ Drake’s manner imparted genuine warmth and concern.

  Aldrittson nodded and followed Drake to the lifts. They stopped at four and walked along a brightly lit corridor pungent with cleaning agent. Drake’s office was small and basic – a desk with wooden shelves at one end, his chair and two visitors chairs.

  ‘We’ll be issuing a death certificate of course, but I do need to ask a couple of questions. Can you tell me what you talked about while you were here?’

  ‘I told him I thought he was looking better, gave him a run down on the election campaign and let him know about recent events at his firm. You know, the usual stuff,’ he lied.

  ‘Hmmm,’ exclaimed Drake. ‘It’s just that one of our nurses said after you left he seemed very distressed. He tried getting out of bed and was attempting to pull out the tubes he was connected to. She said she couldn’t quite understand what he was muttering but it was to do with you.’

  ‘No. Our conversation was mundane.’

  Drake shot an enquiring look at Aldrittson but said nothing. He opened a drawer in his desk saying, ‘These things belonged to your father.’ He handed Ben a white plastic bag of personal effects.

  Shit, thought Aldrittson, all that wealth and power and it comes down to a cold body and a plastic-bloody-bag of toiletries and underwear. How pathetic.

  ‘Do you want to see your father Mr Aldrittson?’

  He equivocated. His dad was probably in the best place he could be. No bastard could hurt him now. He wasn’t really a bad old prick. ‘Yes, I will see him, where is he?’

  ‘In our mortuary downstairs.’

  ‘Can I ring the undertakers from here before we go down?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll be back in a few minutes.’ Ben Aldrittson’s reaction to his father’s death surprised Drake. Aldrittson seemed … distracted or … greatly inconvenienced. Still, Drake had dealt with these situations so often he knew there was no set pattern when a loved one died.

  Aldrittson studied his father lying under a sheet on a trolley while Drake stood at the door. A hundred things ran through Ben’s mind. Their relationship, although friendly, had been a contest, especially in later life. Jack’s work had been all consuming and Ben had drowned himself in his quest for political power. But now, in the hospital mortuary, he remembered warmer feelings for his father long since forgotten. As a boy, when he became annoyed or frustrated with schoolwork, Jack would say, ‘Listen Son, lean into the wind and you’ll rise above it.’ And that was how Ben, through persistence, discovered the value of money.

  He worked hard to please his father. At nine he was considered very bright. Bigger kids in his grade thought he was a spoilt, rich, smart arse and hassled him outside school. Being smaller and skinnier than most, he always came off second best. One day three boys had him bailed him up on the way home from school. Fortunately for Ben, an older boy came by and kicked their arses. Ben gave him a dollar in appreciation. The boy had seized the opportunity and suggested that for a dollar a day, he would see the aggravation ceased. For Aldrittson the lesson was important, he learned that for a price he could entice other people to do, or not do things – just for him. He never told his parents and when he got older, the problem disappeared. Through sport and sheer hard work, he excelled to become a hero among his peers.

  Years later he told his father the story. Jack had grinned and tapped the side of his nose. ‘My boy, that skill, developed wisely, will take you anywhere and get you anything.’

  Ben put a hand on his father’s forehead and murmured quietly, ‘Good bye Old Man, I
know you’d understand.’ He looked at Dr Drake, ‘Thanks Doc, I appreciate your time. I’d better get over to see Mum now.’

  At midnight, Aldrittson returned home, exhausted by the day’s events. He had placated his mother, explained the arrangements, given her the names of the undertakers and convinced Gladys to stay the night. Her presence would take the edge off his mother’s pain. Walking into his own place, he felt relief, relief underscored by the two packed bags ready in his hallway. He had wiped the computer hard drives, scrubbed his phone tapes and trashed his journals and records. Copies of crucial details were in a safety deposit box and other vital information was in his luggage on disks. Everything was taken care of. He had one more whiskey, asked his father’s forgiveness, went to bed and dived into sleep.

  At eight the following morning he stowed his bags in a taxi. So far, things were ticking over smoothly. He had listened to the news and heard nothing about Zimmer’s story. Not that that meant anything; she was obviously still digging.

  The airport was calm and orderly and he proceeded through formalities without a hitch. At 10:15 he was called, with other first class passengers, to board the aircraft. As he rose from his seat he was tapped on the shoulder by a tall man with short, cropped, fair hair.