No Witness, No Case

by Bill Robertson

  ‘We’re still working the paedophile thing. Chasing down victims and offenders and trying to locate Australian porno sellers and buyers on the internet. The Sexual Offences Squad has successfully uncovered a clutch of internet stalkers who’ve been pursuing kids through chat rooms. Some contacts have actually resulted in physical meetings and in one case, a sixteen year old girl went home terrified after meeting her cyber “pal.” Fortunately, she had the good sense to tell her parents who then told us. From that we’ve established another tentacle of Baker’s group. We are also concentrating on fall-out from the twelve we arrested yesterday. We’ve started hauling in various company directors named by Aldrittson too. These guys have been paying or receiving kickbacks and are linked to his money trail. We know he’s still keeping stuff to himself and we haven’t told him about the documents Marchese gave us. That’s interesting too because quite a few of her papers don’t match what he’s provided. We think he’s trying to preserve a nest egg somewhere. Optimistic bastard isn’t he? Anyway, he can play his game, we’ll just keep working through it all. By and large though, he’s been pretty co-operative. He’s a very frightened man. The two blokes I sent to Ethical Standards will be there for weeks, maybe months. We need to keep that under review because they’ll want more bodies – it’s a can of worms that just keeps expanding. Corrupt cops, Mafia links to Telstra, the Courts, OPP and, we believe but haven’t been able to confirm yet, the ATO. It’s like Pescaro’s had this great invisible lasso around us for years which has enabled him to keep five steps ahead all the time. Finally, I sent two young colts to help the EPA, a couple of Divisional detectives. Brought them in for a briefing, gave them everything we had and cut ’em loose. They check in every few days with Johnny Morton, my Super. The EPA is grateful and these young fellas have got their teeth into something different and important. Using Marchese’s information, they went straight for the jugular and nailed a bloke called David Mitchellson. He’s right up there in the EPA food chain but not quite at the top. He rolled over quicksmart and they’ve got him for receiving bribes and falsifying EPA records regarding toxic spills. It appears as though Jack Aldrittson paid him around a million dollars over the last five years. That sent some hairy old ripples through the place let me tell you.’ Daniellson was serious as he briefed Tavistock and referred to various comments in his notebook throughout his delivery.

  Tavistock nodded and smiled at his men. ‘Thanks lads. Seems everything so far is on track. This is a big task, but so far, so good. Well done. I’ve been keeping tabs on the ’75 Marchese and Pescaro murders. Teresa’s DNA has been matched to a sample retained at the Coroner’s Court and we can now categorically state that the headless corpse in the car boot at Sorrento was Alfredo Marchese. The Homicide Squad has tracked down siblings of Angelina Pescaro, nee Petrosino, in Italy. They are not, nor ever have been, Mafia. They did ask questions after Angelina’s death but ran into a Mafia fear squad. Since then they’ve remained silent. Arrangements are being made to obtain DNA samples from a brother and sister of Angelina. We’ll compare them with our mortuary sample and once we have results, we’ll probably start moving on Pescaro for those murders. After all this time it’s not going to be easy to prove, especially as the only witness, Santini, is dead. But, Homicide is up for the challenge. Paul, it just occurred to me, would you have an encouraging word to the people at the Alfred Hospital? Make sure their CCTV is top notch at every point – no weak spots. Let them know we think there’s a heightened risk of trouble and if anything does occur, to go along with what’s happening. We don’t want dead or damaged heroes – there’s been enough of that already. Tell them we’ll be upgrading Andy’s security. Also, double check that all our electronic surveillance of Pescaro is up to scratch. I don’t want any stuff ups.’

  ‘Okay Boss, will do.’

  ‘Right lads, thanks for your time. Keep me posted.’

  Chapter

  SIXTY- EIGHT

  By 8:45 a.m., Pescaro’s capos were solemnly assembled around the antique French table in his dining room at Villa Rosa. He had turned on his white noise and anti-bugging equipment and instructed his men to turn off their mobile phones.

  His mien was dark, foreboding and tinged with a trace of regret. He was not looking forward to this meeting but quickly went straight to the heart of the matter. ‘My friends, we are under serious threat. We must unite more strongly than ever to deal with this threat. That is vital now. At the time Franse and Gibaldi left us I was concerned by the amount of information the press was publishing on matters close to us. Specifically, the Aldrittson plant and our waste business. Mixed up in that were also stories of Ben Aldrittson and his foolish behaviour. I thought someone wanted to hurt us. At first I was uncertain. However, with Tavistock leading something special and after the arrest of my police sources, then the swoop on Baker’s paedophile ring, my uncertainty disappeared. I rang a very important source last night. He told me they have Teresa in Witness Protection – she’s singing like a canary.’

  Growls and mutters of disbelief and anger rippled around the table.

  ‘I apologise my brothers. I know some of you objected to her becoming Consigliere and thought she was getting an armchair ride upwards. But, that was never the case. Teresa is a woman of remarkable talent and intelligence and I believed she would be good for us. So did Nardo. However, that does us, and me, no credit now. I thought long about her motivation and concluded it relates to personal matters involving her father back in 1975. The sad part is that as a result of those events, Teresa’s mother took her own life because she couldn’t live without Alfredo, despite what he had done. My opinion was confirmed last night when I learned Tavistock is controlling Teresa. That relationship explains why all my snouts got pinched at once and means this investigation could inflict huge fucking damage to us. We must act on several fronts simultaneously. We have to penetrate the Witness Protection system, find out where she is and get rid of her. Drummond has to go too. I don’t know what that prick’s role is in all this but somehow he and Teresa hooked up and he’s been a thorn in my side ever since. All of you need to fireproof your activities. I’ve put systems in place and had word from Magnus Wyvern that Tavistock is pressing hard in unusual places and soon, if he keeps going, he will get results. He never gives up. I detest the man but I have great respect for his ability. All of you will have to assist me with information from your own copper sources. Be extremely discreet – I don’t want your blokes going the same way as my bastards. Be prepared to cut them loose at the slightest hint of trouble. Aldrittson can hurt us too. I don’t know where he is; he seems to have disappeared.’ Pescaro gave a tiny smile. ‘Mind you, that was after I threatened him for arranging Nardo’s death. In a way, dealing with the Russians was easier than this: at least you knew what to expect. Dealing with Tavistock is like dealing with a Chameleon – he constantly changes his tactics and style to camouflage his attack. Finally, talk to your soldiers. Make sure they all know that, for the moment, we tread softly. We’ve got to get Tavistock off balance while we hunt Teresa and Aldrittson. Never forget: no witness, no case. Your snitches are going to have to work hard. Pressure them any way at all if they resist. Suggestions anyone?’

  ‘Don Pescaro, I’ve got someone near the witness protection mob,’ said Alphonse Catena. ‘I’ll see what he can do. Mind you, the bastard will try to rob me blind, but he’ll probably come up with the goods and not be suspected by his copper mates.’

  Pescaro nodded. ‘Good Al, see what you can get.’

  Sal Moretti spoke, his voice and manner thoughtful. ‘I was wondering about Aldrittson, Don Pescaro. We should check the prison system. If he’s not in police protection, and you scared the shit out of him, my bet is the high security wing. He can’t do a runner because the cops have his passport and we could find him in five minutes in any other state. All that tells me he’s done a deal with the cops and is probably hiding in prison.’

  ‘Good thought Sal. I’ll bring that up with my con
tact. Ed’s been looking for him over the last few hours and it’s like he’s gone up in smoke. Now, one last piece of news. I decided some months back to step down and recent events have confirmed my decision. My successor was originally to have been Nardo Santini then, after his death, Milo Barracusa.’ He noted the surprised looks at his disclosure and idly wondered if they thought he would remain Don until death. ‘I wanted to deal with Franse’s treachery and then step down. Now we have Teresa. Obviously there is no right time to appoint a successor but, I put you on notice – I have spoken to Ed Masseria.’ He was interrupted by a short burst of well wishing, confirmation that his choice was popular.

  ‘I feel it only right,’ he resumed, ‘to see this mess through. But the way is clear for a smooth transition to my successor. I want to show Ed a few things and all of you have my blessing to work with and confide in him as you do with me. Review your operations; draw back; speak to your people; warn them. Think about methods for upsetting Tavistock and put your ideas into practice. But – make sure I know. One good way is allegations. If any soldiers get pinched, especially by detectives, they are to make allegations as standard practice – assaults, verballing, theft, fabricated evidence – doesn’t matter. Anything. Complaints clog the police system internally and often work their way into the courts. They can stop court cases, damage a cop’s reputation and get the public offside. You might even want to sacrifice a few soldiers as part of that strategy, however, make sure you look after their families. One last thing – I don’t know how we’ll fare but our organisation has survived for centuries. No amount of police or government action can remove us because wherever there are opportunities to make money outside the law, our lives and our way are guaranteed by the weakness of human behaviour.’

  Chapter

  SIXTY- NINE

  The regimentation, sounds and smells of prison were getting to Aldrittson. Like the invisible pain of a migraine, they lacerated him. Yet he felt safe and had time to think.

  A crucial snippet gleaned from Danniellson was that police were still unaware of his role in Santini’s death. They had asked many questions about Santini but only in the context of work for his father. They had also asked about the initials, S.J. and he had referred them to his gym. He explained his use of the owner, Spencer Johnson, as a fact finder for his political life. Johnson had been a federal cop with a huge informant network. It was Johnson, he said, who unearthed Baker’s paedophilia. When questioned over the link between himself, Santini and Johnson, he told a part truth and said he suspected, but wasn’t sure, that Santini was a Mafia plant. He told Danniellson his father was linked to Pescaro from years gone by. Neither of them knew Santini was Pescaro’s man until Johnson found out. Soon after, Santini died. The death, he told Danniellson, was due to differences between Pescaro and the Russian Mafiya – at least, that’s what he believed.

  Danniellson had pressed hard about the last time he had seen Johnson. He could only say weeks ago. Johnson, as far as he knew, was in the UK and Europe for body sculpting competitions. In the end, he decided that as long as police were unaware of his part in Santini’s death, there was no reason to rat on Johnson. He could still be useful to him in the future.

  It was now September 15, two days before the election. From gaol, with television and newspapers his only guide to Meadows’ fate, he thought the result could be close. Daily he watched Government popularity slide as both Opposition and media landed savage blows to an exposed underbelly – ethics, transparency and Ministerial accountability. Public confidence was maimed by examples of negligence, corruption, malaise and incompetence. The Government was living its worst dream – the public had stopped listening and turned it’s back upon Meadows.

  Aldrittson knew he had probably triggered this slide but felt no remorse – politics worked like this. His pain, when he analysed it, stemmed from the discovery of his own misconduct and, in his mind, Meadows unworthy treatment of him.

  His reverie was interrupted by the hissing, electronic clunk of the cell door. He rolled to his side, head propped on his hand. A tall, thin warder stood in the doorway but did not enter the cell. He was new to Aldrittson and said nothing. The silence extended languidly and became taut and menacing. Disconcerted, Aldrittson barked, ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

  The warder nodded slowly, imperceptibly and said, so softly Aldrittson had to strain to hear, ‘I came to check on your wellbeing. Giuseppe said I would find you here.’

  Aldrittson’s reaction was instantaneous: colour drained from his face and his gut lurched. He sat up terror-struck, breathing hard, body quivering. The warder coldly observed and, nodding slowly said softly, ‘I’ll be back.’ He closed the door gently and left Aldrittson on the edge of hysteria.

  Fox, in Johnson’s absence, was running the Sunset Fitness Club. They were in regular contact and careful about their conversations. They had agreed not to obstruct police but neither would they help. Their role would be benign. When the police came looking for Johnson, Fox had not been of much help. He provided Spencer’s mobile number knowing that Tanya had already given it to them. He could only say that Spencer was overseas competing and, as usual, he had stepped in to manage. Tanya could confirm this was a normal pattern over the last three or four years. Nor was it unusual, he told them, for Johnson to be away on these competitions for anywhere between two and six months. Club and tax records would confirm that too.

  At 5:30 p.m. Fox hung a sign on the door advising patrons that due to a personal emergency, the Club would be closed until 7:30. He showered, changed and drove to the Alfred Hospital to see an old SAS mate admitted for rampant prostate cancer.

  After finding a vacant spot against the basement wall, Fox parked, smiling at the antics of two men in a dark car two rows forward. Struggling to be discreet, they awkwardly donned white coats before getting out of their car. Suddenly, the spell broke and Fox’s sixth sense went into overdrive. Their behaviour was most unusual.

  He opened his door quietly, took the phone from its console, eased himself into the space between the car and the wall, crouched and watched.

  Stepping from their car they casually, but carefully, examined the basement and cars cruising for spaces. They missed Fox. Sauntering towards the lifts, they looked every inch young professional doctors, particularly when one took a stethoscope from his pocket and hung it around his neck. Fox didn’t believe the charade – they were men with a dark purpose. Real doctors parked in the reserved medical area, didn’t dress in their car or scan faces and passing cars so keenly.

  Discreetly, Fox followed. At the lift, with half a dozen others, he nonchalantly, joined them, inwardly acknowledging their brazen confidence. Short hair, clean shaven, neat shirts and ties, sharp creases, average height and build. At level six they stepped out, nodded to each other and walked in different directions. Fox alighted too but stayed in the foyer to read the directory. Slowly he followed the man he had labelled “Stethoscope” who was striding towards the Nurses Station. When he turned the corner to the Station, Fox accelerated swiftly and quietly after him.

  Stethoscope continued past the Station. Fox watched from the corner and saw a uniformed policeman sitting on a chair half way along the corridor. As Stethoscope approached, the policeman stood to face him. The second “doctor” entered the corridor from its opposite end and began to glide down behind the policeman. Stethoscope moderated his pace while the second man closed silently. Stethoscope picked up pace again, waving to attract attention. It was a simple plan for ambush.

  The man from behind removed a cord from his pocket. The policeman moved towards Stethoscope who engaged him in conversation. Too far away to help and not knowing if they were armed, Fox pulled back behind the corner, punched 000 into his mobile and asked for police. When the operator responded Fox said tersely, ‘Listen up. I’m on level six, Surgical, Alfred Hospital. A copper on guard duty here is being attacked by two men dressed like doctors. I’m going to help. Send back up.’ He clicked off and peere
d around the corner to see the second man loop the cord around the policeman’s throat while Stethoscope delivered a vicious blow to his belly. Winded, unable to draw breath, the policeman was quickly subdued. Stethoscope took a syringe from his pocket and jabbed the policeman who sagged to the floor unconscious. The two “doctors” quickly removed him to the staff toilets and shoved him inside.

  The whole incident had taken a little over a minute and incredibly, nobody else had appeared on the floor. The two men returned to the previously guarded door, paused, then confidently strode inside.

  Fox had no idea who was in there but knew that someone was about to receive unorthodox treatment. He bolted down the corridor skidding to a halt before the door. Gently, he cracked it open. Another policeman lay prone just inside. He opened the door to see the men advancing upon a form in bed at the far end of the room, a form heavily wrapped in bandages and struggling to rise.

  Fox emitted an ear-splitting yell and charged into the room at full tilt. The two men whirled, bracing for attack. Frantically one tried to get something from his pocket. Fox, bent double, covered the distance at lightning speed. Two metres from them he threw himself to the floor and slid on his side, one leg drawn back. His foremost foot slammed into Stethoscope’s shoes at which instant Fox unleashed his bent leg to deliver a powerful kick to the kneecap. There was a sharp crack and Stethoscope fell to the floor, deathly pale, writhing in agony and screeching.

  Fox twisted, rolled and still on his back, delivered a mighty double footed kick upwards to the gut of the second man whose gun had snagged on his coat pocket. Bouncing to his feet, Fox grabbed the convulsing man’s gun arm and broke it across his knee at the elbow as though it were a piece of kindling. The gun fell to the floor, the man screamed and fainted.

  Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Fox lifted the weapon from the floor and took it to the bandaged man whose nameplate proclaimed: Andy Drummond. Fox’s dusky features broke into a wry grin as he realised the irony of the situation.