No Witness, No Case

by Bill Robertson

‘Excuse me sir, Commander Daniellson, Victoria Police. Would you mind accompanying me to the office please?’ Danniellson nodded towards the Airport Security Office.

  Aldrittson immediately protested but read something in Danniellson’s eyes that chilled his nerve. He desisted.

  In the Security Office the presence of his neatly paired bags hit him like a punch in the guts. He was completely unaware that for thirty minutes prior to boarding, Robby Danniellson had been studying him closely. Tavistock’s passport alert to all Australian exit points had paid dividends sooner than anticipated.

  Danniellson was the iconic iron fist sheathed in velvet. Possessing a deceptively gentle style, he was also blessed with a healthy dose of mongrel, which is why Aldrittson thought he was leaving the country. For Danniellson, jousting with sacred cows – among whom politicians were most sacred – was a sport to be enjoyed. He had waited patiently and at the last minute, struck like a viper.

  Inside the office Danniellson said politely, ‘As I said, I am Commander Robby Danniellson, Victoria Police. I believe, Mr Aldrittson, you can help us with an investigation we are conducting involving bribery, suborning government officials, receiving secret commissions, concealing criminal offences and unlawful waste disposal.’

  Aldrittson was astonished. He had never personally done anything nasty, money had always been his muscle; others did the dirty work. His financial power had always been sufficient to insulate him and intimidate others. Yet, in tough situations with only himself to rely on, he folded quickly. He understood his position perfectly: somewhere, someone was leaking very accurate and very harmful information. The only thing he could do was keep his mouth shut.

  Chapter

  SIXTY- ONE

  As Teresa’s Witsec handler, Senior Constable Aleisha Campbell was a godsend. After receiving news of Drummond’s shooting, Teresa felt she would go insane. Yet Aleisha’s constant reassurance and calm strength had carried her through. Daily hospital bulletins kept Teresa informed of Drummond’s progress, and, in every way possible, Aleisha showed she cared.

  Because Mary Maud’s contact with Teresa was restricted to the secure Witsec phone, she visited the hospital each day and was able to provide a little more information than the official bulletins. Today, ten days after the shooting, Mary had good news. Although still serious, Drummond was being moved from intensive care – his condition was no longer life threatening.

  Shot by a .357 calibre hollow-point bullet, it had ploughed into his body at greater than 300 metres per second destroying the top of his right humerus and much of the shoulder blade socket joint. Bone and bullet had savagely torn through the lungs and bored into his body until the bullet stopped near his heart. Initially, its position was considered too dangerous to conduct a safe operation. But with Drummond’s chances of survival being less than 50/50, surgeons finally decided there was everything to gain and little to lose by operating. After four hours, the bullet was successfully removed and the lungs repaired. The shoulder was patched to await further repair while the more serious wounds began healing.

  The next stage involved a total shoulder replacement. The top of the humerus would be removed, a metal rod and ball joint inserted into the bone and the shoulder blade reshaped to receive a new plastic socket. With physiotherapy and exercise, and a little luck, Drummond might regain as much as 80 per cent of normal movement.

  As for the shooters, they had vanished. Teresa learned from Tony that milk crates had been stacked behind the fence for a view of the police yard. Eventually, the forensic team concluded the crate platform had collapsed in use, an event which most probably interfered with the shooter’s aim and saved Drummond’s life. It was also the most likely cause of the shell casing being left behind as they departed in haste.

  The Nissan Pulsar found in Iron Bark Lane turned out to have been stolen from Moonee Ponds a week prior to the shooting. Four days after the shooting, the Manager of the Bendigo Colonial Motor Inn reported a white, four wheel drive Range Rover abandoned outside unit 23. It had been stolen from Wallan six days before the shooting.

  Tavistock and his team learned that two young men were seen in the Pulsar in Heathcote the afternoon Drummond returned from Melbourne. They had bought three pizzas from Heathcote Kebab and Fast Food in High Street. Two similarly described men were staying in unit 23 at the Colonial Motor Inn under the names Adam Smith and Henry Browning. They were quiet, polite and paid in cash for a week. They claimed to be on holidays and interested in the old goldfields around Bendigo.

  As can happen with investigations, chance intervened. The woman delivering breakfasts to unit 23 told police that on Tuesday morning after the shooting, a man from 23 put a bag into the boot of a green BMW outside unit 26. Unit 26 was occupied by a Mark Kennedy of Blackburn who checked out alone shortly after nine on the Tuesday morning. Later, the BMW was found to have been stolen from Brighton six days before the shooting.

  The conclusion was that a team of three using stolen cars had stalked Drummond and struck at their most opportune moment. Descriptions of the men were inconclusive – all in their thirties, short dark hair, Australian accents, discreetly dressed. Except for the observation of the bag put into the BMW, the occupants of units 23 and 26 appeared unknown to each other. It seemed reasonable to think that “Smith,” “Browning” and “Kennedy” had met in Bendigo on Tuesday morning and left the stolen Range Rover outside unit 23.

  Subsequently it was established that all three men had used false names and addresses and, according to the forensics team, had been ultra careful about leaving trace evidence behind. A further complicating factor was the daily room cleaning – it was of high standard. In the odd spots where finger prints might have been expected, only unidentifiable smears were found. The recovered cars too had been scrupulously cleaned.

  Intuitively, Teresa knew Pescaro was behind the attack and advised Commander Donovan. After learning the method of attack, she nominated Argolia’s team. Donovan told her that for the moment, there was nothing directly linking Pescaro to either the shooting or to Argolia. As an added complication, they could not exclude Ben Aldrittson either.

  But today was significant for Teresa. Not only for the news about Drummond, but because Rosslyn Zimmer had shone a spotlight on Ben Aldrittson under the banner headline: Politician Under Investigation. The story contained the bones of Teresa’s information thoroughly fleshed out by Zimmer’s own research. True satisfaction lay near the end of the story: Premier Graeme Meadows had requested Aldrittson’s resignation from his Ministry and next morning, police intercepted him attempting to leave the country. The article concluded by stating that Mr Ben Aldrittson was now “helping police with their enquiries”.

  The two events caused Teresa to feel that at last the sun was beginning to shine. It was 9:30 a.m. and at 10:00, Aleisha was coming. She was visiting regularly and explaining the difficulties of living under witness protection, particularly the psychological pressures.

  Deep fears were known to arise from being a target. Aleisha gave many examples of the problems of living under a false life history. She had spoken too about the difficulties of entering a new community, the need to develop new habits and new behaviour patterns while exercising ceaseless vigilance. And not only was there risk of danger to friends and family, but the deep pain and loneliness of having those ties severed. There was a possibility of depression, feelings of anxiety, isolation, anger and even a range of physical ailments from these stressors. Constantly concealing the past, Aleisha had said, was exceptionally wearing and responsible for many people leaving the program. Some protectees had even committed suicide.

  On the other hand, there were witnesses who experienced none of these problems. For them, the program was a way out, a new beginning with a clean slate. The dumping of sadness, misery and sometimes, evil.

  At ten sharp there was a rap on the door. Squinting through the peephole Teresa saw Aleisha. When she opened the door the two women smiled at each other. Aleisha observed a s
ubtle but important change even before Teresa spoke.

  ‘Alright, out with it. What’s going on?’

  Teresa smiled broadly, her grey-green eyes shining. ‘The very best news: Andy’s out of intensive care and though not out of the woods, I just know he’s going to be fine. The second best news is that rotten hound Ben Aldrittson is getting his come-uppance.’

  Aleisha chuckled at Teresa’s pleasure. ‘Sounds to me like you want to throw on the glad-rags and celebrate.’

  ‘Oh I do! Could we go out for a coffee somewhere? I feel so cooped up in this unit and it seems a lifetime since anything nice happened.’

  ‘Yes of course we can. I’ll just let the boss know.’ In the short time she had been managing Teresa, Aleisha had grown to like her. Unlike many women she had met on the program, Teresa was classy, polite, sensitive, interesting and thoughtful. She did not fit the stereotype of a Mafia moll. Although there had been little opportunity to see it, Aleisha also suspected that lurking within this woman was a quick wit and sparkling sense of fun. Teresa’s resolute dignity and focus on the task before her was impressive and it was pleasant working with her.

  They went to a quiet strip shopping centre and entered a small classy restaurant. Inside Teresa said, ‘Oh this is nice, I’m buying. What about staying for lunch?’

  Aleisha said, ‘We can do that, but I must be gone by two o’clock. As you know, in this early phase just being with you is important. You need to feel okay about the system, understand everything and have your questions answered. This is as good a way of doing that as being shut up in the unit. Even if your man walked in right now, he wouldn’t recognise you in that long blonde wig.’

  Teresa laughed, noting Aleisha’s avoidance of Drummond’s name. ‘Yes, well I told him once I was good at dressing up.’ They both laughed and ordered extra hot coffees. Teresa asked, ‘How did you get to be doing what you do?’

  ‘A couple of things really,’ Aleisha replied. ‘I’d had enough of general duties policing and some time ago the Force reviewed the witness protection scheme. Some changes after the review opened it up for me. They realised the need for more women in the Unit as more women and children were entering the Program. Secondly, they changed Witsec recruiting methods and it became more accessible than it had been. When I read the selection criteria, I thought, “this is for me”. After interviews and an integrity check, here I am. I’ve only been here a few of months. You might remember that politician who suicided – Lance Baker. My application for this job had gone in a couple of weeks before his death.’

  Teresa nodded and said thoughtfully, ‘Lance Baker; did you know him?’

  ‘Heavens no. I delivered the death message to his wife Marnie,’ Aleisha spoke slowly, seriously. ‘We’ve since become friends. She and her little girls are lovely people and his death was a terrible shock to them. They had no idea it was coming. To make matters worse, that last day he went to work they’d had a row and she feels guilty. It’s all still out there, unresolved. As a matter of fact, I’m having dinner with her and some others on Saturday night. She’s shifting house down to Kongwak to be near her sister. As part of the clean out she gave me a box of videos from Baker’s boat. She didn’t know what they were and didn’t want them. Because I love film, I took them. I think they’re golden oldies, but I haven’t had a chance to watch any of them yet.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Ever noticed how so few restaurants have clocks around? I can’t believe it’s almost midday. Want to order lunch?’

  Teresa nodded. ‘Yes. The events of today have made me hungry.’ Privately she was wondering if the videos from Baker’s boat would hold any evidence helpful to Tavistock. Much as she would like to discuss that possibility with Aleisha, she realised it might also compromise Tavistock and his team.

  Chapter

  SIXTY- TWO

  Pescaro’s crooked cops were feeding him unpalatable advice. Most of it about Ben Aldrittson. They warned of a secret high powered task force investigating Aldrittson and other matters. Anything linked to Ben Aldrittson, thought Pescaro, was a worry, but just as worrying was the news that David Tavistock headed the task force. Tavistock was not only incorruptible, but clever, thorough and strategic. They had crossed swords over a series of bank robberies and large scale fencing rackets when both were much younger. Pescaro escaped prosecution by the skin of his teeth but his then lieutenant, Franco Zirconi, was gaoled for fifteen years and died there.

  Tavistock’s task force, he was told, was handpicking members on the basis of incorruptibility, investigative experience, track record, motivation and initiative. Bridges had been established with the Office of Public Prosecutions, Federal Police, Customs and, at this stage, New South Wales and Queensland Police as well as the Office of Police Integrity. Other similar liaisons were likely to follow. Beyond that, everything was secret.

  The news spoiled an otherwise good week. The banquet at Luciano’s was finalised and three of Chernamenko’s second tier had been removed. The fourth member, Pyotr Asimovich, had escaped Argolia’s roundup and vanished. Pescaro was confident they would get him later.

  Argolia said the Russians had been tough and unafraid, hurling abuse at his men until the last moment. Not that it made any difference: they had all been shot dead. Even the mock raid at Aldrittson’s Bayswater Depot attracted minimum publicity. Nothing appeared in The Age and only a small story ran on page 7 of the Herald Sun: Armed Men Rob Nightshift Staff. Not unexpectedly, passing comment was made to the investigation of Ben Aldrittson by police but it was a bland regurgitation of past news. The article reported that three masked and armed men had robbed the small night shift crew at Aldrittson’s Waste Disposals in Bayswater. Money, watches and mobile phones were taken from the victims. After the office safe was ransacked for a measly $55 the robbers left the nightshift crew gagged and bound. The robbery camouflaged the true purpose of the visit – disposal of the dead Russians. While the robbery was occurring, three of Argolia’s men were grinding the Vor’s bodies to a pulp in the huge destructor. With an eye for detail, they had left little to no evidence.

  But there was another matter which had tarnished Pescaro’s week – Drummond. He continued to survive. Despite that, he congratulated Frankie for his team’s Heathcote performance. The coppers had not got a clue where the shooters had come from or gone to. He smiled to himself. He might let Drummond recover enough to think himself in the clear, then snuff him out.

  His thoughts returned to the troubled Ben Aldrittson. Now unmasked for long standing corruption on a scale which surprised him, Pescaro was uncertain of what to do next with the firm. With Jack conveniently dead and Ben snared by the cops, the firm seemingly was leaderless. To the contrary, it was not. A deal struck between Aldrittson and Pescaro years before had swung into operation: Pescaro now had full control of the firm. But when lawyers had conceived their contingency plan, they had not foreseen the kind of investigation now being conducted by Tavistock. For Pescaro to assume control of the business at this time was both delicate and dangerous, even though the takeover would be managed through a blind company.

  He would need legal advice. If Aldrittson started blabbing about their illegal waste dumps, he, as owner would be implicated, notwithstanding the firewalls constructed by his lawyers. More than ever, he wanted their waste scheme implemented. Not only was it sound, but would make millions of dollars. Ben Aldrittson had become a dark unsettling spectre.

  Pescaro reflected deeply on Teresa’s house fire, Jack’s death and Ben’s very public political demise. He did not believe in coincidence and with these events coalescing, it was too much to be synchronicity.

  Thinking about Teresa raised another issue; her remains. Nothing had been found and he knew forensics investigators were very capable and could easily differentiate various types of ash. The absence of Teresa’s remains was alarming. While he could not quite put a finger on the origin of his foreboding, it was there. Another menacing shadow.

  His unease caused him to wonder too abou
t the sudden press scrutiny of Aldrittson. Where did Zimmer get the story? Someone had to have tipped her off. Who would do it? Feeling as anxious as he did, he could not ignore the possibility of another traitor in their midst, one who now threatened his entire empire. Worse still, there was potential fallout for the interstate Families. He wondered if this was the reason behind Tavistock’s operation and shivered. The implications were bad.

  In the meantime, he would severely pressure all of his police sources to sniff out more about Tavistock’s investigation. They were on generous retainers and many were virtual sleepers. Time to wake them up; the dirt he had on them would be greedily accepted by the Ethical Standards Department and OPI. Not only that, it was dirt that didn’t involve him, they had done it all by themselves years ago. Everyone needed insurance – now it was time to collect.

  Clearly he needed a meeting with his principal legal team, Wyvern and Sprite. His businesses, investments, accounts, partnerships and other “arrangements” had to be scrutinised for vulnerability. There had not been a need to test the legal firewalls and loopholes in this way before but Tavistock made him nervous. He sighed, it was a blessing that the law could, at times, be so technical. With adroit manipulation, investigations had been known to be kept at bay for years. Which reminded him, he needed to top up the retirement fund of his most secret snout: $500,000 should be enough. No one suspected the Attorney General was in his pocket. He was a good source to be used sparingly.

  Pescaro smiled grimly. Funny, he thought, living a life of crime can involve so much treachery and betrayal among people who supposedly were straight: coppers, politicians, government officials and a host of others including, unfortunately, his own men. Well, tomorrow would sort them out.

  Chapter

  SIXTY- THREE

  Luciano’s Warehouse was closed to the general public and packed to the rafters with Mafiosi. It was Wednesday, August 10, 2005. Outside, a cold blustery wind heralded rain and the pungent smell of ozone laced the air. Inside, Pescaro, his capos and their favourites were in attendance – 150 respectful men respectably dressed to honour Dominic Fabrizzi, Emilio Barracusa and Bernardo Santini.