No Witness, No Case

by Bill Robertson

  He said, ‘You’ll be needing this. You should be okay, I’ve called reinforcements.’

  Drummond’s eyes had not left Fox’s face since observing the amazing spectacle. A frown creased his brow, questions blazed in his eyes. ‘Are you a copper?’ he croaked hoarsely.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have we met before? You seem familiar.’

  Fox’s grin widened. He said laconically, ‘Not formally, no. Take better care of yourself. I’ve got to be off.’ He walked from the room. Watching him leave, Drummond’s mind flew to a rain soaked June night in Collingwood when he saw a man roll from beneath a car and walk into the night. There was something about him reminiscent of that man. Only after the door had closed did Drummond ring the emergency bell for help.

  Within minutes, two nurses arrived. One stopped to assess the policeman on the floor, the other came to Drummond, eyes wide, stepping around the groaning men on the floor near his bed.

  ‘What happened here?’ cried Nurse Siu Lee.

  ‘These two blokes,’ rasped Drummond nodding to the men on the floor, ‘came in here, belted the policeman and came for me. One had this gun.’ He nodded to the revolver nestled in his lap. ‘Look around, you’ll find a syringe on the floor.’ He pointed to Stethoscope, ‘That fella had it ready to stick into me. A third man ran in, knocked ‘em rotten and left. What happened to the policeman outside?’

  Siu Lee shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  With that, two detectives and a huge uniformed Sergeant rushed into the room. The Sergeant appraised the scene as he came up to Drummond. ‘Sergeant Gunter Schmidt from Prahran. What the hell has been going on here?’ Drummond repeated his story then handed Schmidt the weapon.

  Schmidt said, ‘Did you know this bloke who helped you?’

  ‘Never seen him before in my life,’ lied Drummond.

  ‘I thought there was a copper outside this room,’ said Schmidt.

  ‘There was,’ whispered Drummond, ‘he seems to be missing.’

  Schmidt turned to the detectives. ‘Check out the rooms off the corridor would you Sam. Start with the toilets, they’re closest. Derek, find the Administration Centre and see what’s on their CCTV.’

  The door pushed open and Paul Donovan walked in. Drummond watched him assess the scene as he walked towards them. ‘G’day Andy, Schmiddy. I’ve had a full briefing on the way and extra troops aren’t far behind. We’ll get these two characters off to be repaired …’

  Stethoscope snarled from the floor, ‘You fuckin’ bastards are going to cop every fuckin’ writ known to man for the pain and fuckin’ suffering you’ve given us, wait and see. Your miserable fuckin’ lives and shitful treatment will be all over TV tonight and headlines tomorrow. You’re nothin’ but fuckin’ scum.’

  ‘ … and then we’ll have a crack at finding out who they are, why they were here and who they’re working for,’ continued Donovan. ‘But, from the sound of those remarks, perhaps they don’t need any treatment. Do you know who they are Schmiddy? Andy?’

  As Drummond shook his head a doctor arrived with aides, trolleys and four uniformed police. The villains were lifted onto the trolleys, handcuffed to the side rails and wheeled out leaving a trail of poisonous invective behind them.

  ‘To be truthful Boss,’ said Schmidt to Donovan, ‘I’m only just ahead of you and I wanted Mr Drummond’s story before hearing what they had to say.‘

  Donovan said grimly, ‘I think we’ve just been dealing with Pescaro, though we’ll be scratching for evidence to prove it. What’s on the CCTV?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. I sent Derek Connelly off to find out,’ said Schmidt.

  Sam Bowden and Derek Connelly returned together, the latter holding a tape cassette.

  ‘Do you two know Commander Donovan?’ asked Schmidt. They nodded. ‘What can you tell us then?’ Schmidt enquired.

  Connelly said, ‘The tape says it all. Footage starts at basement three with our assailants getting into the lift. Mr Drummond’s rescuer joined them there with several others. It’s possible this bloke saw something in the car park. It looks pretty clear from the tape he was tracking that foul mouthed prick with the broken leg, the one with the stethoscope. Sam says our police guard in the toilets was injected with a sedative. He’s also got a nasty ligature burn around his neck. The copper in this room has a fractured jaw. What did they clobber him with?’

  Drummond spoke up. ‘I thought I saw something on the hand of the bloke with the gun – knuckle dusters or something. They might be on the floor. I didn’t see it again after my “helper” attacked them.’

  ‘Anything more Derek?’ asked Schmidt.

  ‘Only that our good Samaritan has already disappeared. Seems he didn’t hang around so we don’t know who he is or why he was here.’

  Donovan took the tape and said, ‘We’ll know more when we look at this. I think we’d better get the scenes-of-crimes blokes in and formalise guards for those two villains. So let’s wind it up. Andy, do you want me to let your friend know what’s happened?’

  ‘Yes, I’d appreciate that. Thanks Paul.’

  ‘Right. Schmiddy – stay here with Andy until we get replacement guards and take a statement about this evening’s events. Organise a blood sample from that drugged guard too. It might turn up something useful. The A/C and I will discuss security arrangements and we’ll keep you informed. Are you cool with that Andy?’

  ‘Yep. They never touched me, I’m fine.’

  Chapter

  SEVENTY

  Tavistock was jaded, it had been a long day. He rose from his desk and walked to the credenza. ‘Don’t know about you blokes, but after all these goings on today, I need something a bit stronger than coffee. What will it be, scotch or beer?’

  ‘A cold beer for me Boss,’ said Donovan.

  ‘I’ll join you in a whiskey thanks, Boss,’ replied Danniellson.

  Tavistock opened a door in his credenza to reveal a small refrigerator and removed an ice cold Boag. From the cupboard next to it he took two squat crystal glasses and a bottle of Johnny Walker Black.

  He returned to his desk with the drinks and set them down on one corner. ‘Help yourselves.’ He raised his glass: ‘To the incarceration of bastards,’ he said with a weary grin.

  Danniellson and Donovan smiled and raised their drinks with him.

  ‘Okay Rob, a brief recap so I’ve got it clear. The Chief wants an update at 2030 and I want it right.’ They could hear fatigue in his voice and saw the shadows under his eyes had deepened. Even so, his dogged personality would never yield to a villain like Pescaro and despite his weariness, his briefing to the Chief would be crisp and accurate.

  ‘In brief Boss,’ commenced Daniellson, ‘Aldrittson was visited in gaol today by one of Pescaro’s hit men. Tony Rosario is inside for a series of stabbings. A woman came to see Rosario on visitor’s day and soon after he arranged for a warder named Levine to be paid $45,000. Rosario borrowed Levine’s uniform and got the codes and keys to visit Aldrittson. I don’t know what they were thinking, or why they even thought they could get away with it. Come to that, since Rosario got to Aldrittson, I’m buggered if I know why he didn’t kill him there and then. Anyway, we’ve got most of the action on the gaol’s CCTV, we’ve got Levine, who’s already rolled over, Rosario’s in solitary and Aldrittson is now gibbering in the New South Wales high security bin. He seems a broken man.’

  Tavistock had settled into his chair and closed his eyes, both hands across his stomach holding the tumbler. ‘Thanks Rob, good result. Paul?’

  ‘I see today as a high point for us Boss. I think pressure forced our opponent into error. I mean, really – that stunt in the gaol was bloody stupid. So was the attack on Drummond. Although, it did lead to the arrest of two of Argolia’s men – Silvio Iacocca and Francis Rivera. Apart from complaining, they’ve said nothing since we reeled them in. We even had to apply to the court to get their prints because of their behaviour. Made no difference of course, we got an Order, took p
rints and DNA and confirmed their identities. Their bloody complaints are astounding. Allegations against Gunter Schmidt and me for assault, fabricating evidence, planting a firearm, theft of personal monies, destruction of a mobile phone and on it goes. The firearm is at Forensics and I had a call just before coming here. Early indications suggest it is the weapon used on Drummond at Heathcote – a fifteen centimetre .357 Smith and Wesson magnum revolver. We’ll probably clean up that shooting too. As we speak, Argolia is being interviewed downstairs. We don’t expect much, especially with that supercilious Lorton – bloody – Sprite present. But, bringing him in was more about sending a message to Pescaro than anything else. We’ve decided to leave Drummond where he is with extra security. At most, the hospital want him only another two or three days. After that, he can join Marchese and we’ll arrange outpatient care. He’s comfortable with that. Lastly, we’ve re-interviewed Colin Fox. He was the bloke who came to Drummond’s aid. When we checked the hospital CCTV footage we connected him with Spencer Johnson. Interesting fellow – cool as ice. Ex-SAS, bit unusual for an Aboriginal I think. Claims he went to the Alfred to visit a mate recovering from surgery. We checked and it’s true. Says he saw Rivera and Iacocca and reckoned they were up to no good. He rang 000, called for back-up, saw what they did to our guards then went in and demolished them. We’ve checked it out and everything tallies. There’s no link we can find between Drummond and Fox and the military will confirm tomorrow if their paths ever crossed in the Army. But … my gut tells me Fox is somehow involved. He works either for or with Johnson who’s poncing around in some bloody body sculpting competition overseas. Christ, the prick’s over fifty and still reckons he’s got it.’

  Tavistock opened one eye which twinkled with mischief. ‘Wait till you reach my age Paul – you’ll find chronology has little to do with how old you feel’.

  They all laughed. ‘Sorry Boss, forgot you’re in the zone. Anyway, Johnson has worked for Aldrittson and with Fox linked to Johnson and Aldrittson to Pescaro, I am very suspicious. Unfortunately it’s only instinct. Fox was not unhelpful, very much in control but … I felt he was laughing at us. Like he knows a bloody sight more than we do. He’s likeable enough, nothing hostile or unpleasant about him. That’s it.’

  ‘Good, thanks Paul. Homicide had a break today too. A blood sample found in the car with the bodies of Franse and Gibaldi was different to theirs. DNA testing matches it to a very nasty piece of work called Angelo Tomasetti. He’s one of Masseria’s soldiers and Masseria is one of Pescaro’s capos. Homicide have got a couple more things to clarify but they’re ready to drag Tomasetti tomorrow morning. So, good news all round. Certainly enough to keep the Chief happy. Anyone for another drink?’

  Chapter SEVENTY- ONE

  October, 2006

  Monday, October 30, 2006. Thirteen months had passed since the failed attempt on Drummond’s life at the Alfred Hospital. Much had happened.

  The State election of September 17, 2005 had brought a tortured victory to Labor’s Clive Crystal. Exit polls disclosed a level of hostility towards the Meadows government not shown since the dumping of Premier Kennett in 1999. Animosity towards Meadows was fuelled by perceptions of corruption, sexual misconduct, maladministration and self-interest. Although a distorted belief, it was widely held. Thus, while Crystal had a slender majority, he was compelled to negotiate with a large number of prickly Independents holding the balance of power. A good result for democracy, a blow to the Party system.

  For months after the election, sullenness had lain like a dark stain across the community. Countless letters, editorial pieces, radio talk back, current affairs programs and various political analysts teased out four elements of governance shouting for reform: responsible leadership, ethical behaviour among politicians, transparency and accountability, and demonstrable representative democracy. The populace was fed-up with the sleazy, behind-scenes machinations occurring between big business and government, practices starkly exposed after the election.

  When Premier Crystal examined the Aldrittson waste scheme and understood its breathtaking scope and application, he conceded its brilliance. As a novice Premier under pressure however, he also knew that to endorse it would be political suicide. For the life of the present government at least, it would be shelved. Jakob Kindler’s solar energy program on the other hand, was overwhelmingly supported.

  Aldrittson avoided the humiliating public stocks of court by pleading guilty to all charges and foreclosing on a trial. His barrister, James Sylke, QC, dismissed himself and left Aldrittson to his fate. That fate was eighteen years gaol with a minimum of fifteen. Life in custody compelled a name change and for reasons of protection, interstate imprisonment. He remained unconnected to Santini’s death and, for his own reasons, Pescaro too remained silent.

  Spencer Johnson remained overseas allowing Fox to run the Sunset Fitness Club. At the same time Fox gently nurtured a mutually satisfying relationship with Johnson’s receptionist, Tanya Taylor. Every so often, when time allowed, Danniellson dropped in to chat with Fox. His suspicion of Fox’s connection to Aldrittson’s dirty games never disappeared, but Fox’s laconic manner, dry wit and good nature were beginning to wear Danniellson down – they were in danger of becoming friends.

  And on this day, Monday October 30, 2006, committal proceedings against Giuseppe Antonio Pescaro commenced. The charges were legion and other protagonists such as ASIC, the Federal Police, Australian Customs Service and the Australian Taxation Office were all circling for chunks of Pescaro’s wiry old frame.

  Wyvern and Sprite had done a masterful job building a bulwark of legal entanglements around the mighty Pescaro Empire. Yet despite their formidable efforts, that Empire had become too big and too convoluted even for them to effectively manage. Through dogged application and remorseless persistence, small chinks in the labyrinthine defence were exposed by Tavistock’s multi-disciplinary team of lawyers, forensic accountants, business analysts, computer gurus, health and environmental experts and police investigators. The chinks had become cracks, and the cracks valleys. As a result, Wyvern and Sprite found themselves on the back foot defending their own existence before the Bar Council on multiple allegations of unethical and unlawful practice. On this day however, they were still tenuously operational and still shielding their valued, and of course, well paying client.

  At the top of the list were four charges of murder against Pescaro for the deaths of his twenty-two year old wife, Angelina, Alfredo Marchese, Vito Franse and Roberto Gibaldi. Next were three charges of conspiracy to kill Andy Drummond followed by a host of accessory charges among which were money laundering, conspiracy, receiving, deception, prostitution, drug dealing, gunrunning, bribery, and unlawful waste disposal. The Vors’ deaths and their disposal via the Bayswater destructor had, so far, remained off the police radar.

  Wyvern and Sprite, optimistically aiming for victory, opposed everything the Prosecution suggested which might have shortened proceedings. The Crown case had upwards of 500 witnesses – Wyvern and Sprite intended to mercilessly test each and every one. Their approach was pedantic, comprehensive and powerfully argued. Concession and loss were foreign to their philosophy.

  Tavistock gritted his teeth, addressed his troops and told them to be patient, to stay focussed, to de-personalise matters, and above all, to stick to the truth. This case would be an ultra-marathon. It would also, he said, be a trial that besmirched the Force’s reputation and diminished police standing in public eyes because of the depth of corruption unearthed among its members. They had to be mentally and emotionally prepared to withstand that.

  The safety of witnesses caused Tavistock serious concern. If eliminated, their case would be substantially, if not irrevocably weakened. Prominent among these witnesses were Marchese, Drummond, Judd, Aldrittson, Mitchellson and several others.

  During the thirteen months it had taken to assemble Pescaro’s prosecution, Andy and Teresa were together in witness protection and, like Aldrittson, were in
terstate. They saw Aleisha Campbell regularly and had developed great affection for her. She and the Witsec team were fully aware of Pescaro’s treacherous tentacles inside and outside the Force. For them it was a matter of professional pride that no one would ever suspect, let alone know, Drummond’s and Teresa’s location.

  With the committal about to start, the pair returned to Melbourne. Their evidence would be presented by video link from protected sites that could change daily. Knowledge and selection of these sites was vested solely in court officials. If a personal appearance was required at the hearing court, it was easily arranged. The threat to witness security was extreme and everybody fully understood the gravity of the simple dictum: no witness, no case.

  Pescaro’s committal attracted national media interest. It was a case that had vacuumed up politicians, members of the judiciary, highly respected Melbourne families, government and local government officials, police, lawyers, accountants and many ordinary people too. The clean-up had filled a dirt bag with malfeasance, depravity, corruption, greed, politics and power. The promise of explosive headlines, stories of inside deals, intrigue and falls from grace was straining at the leash of fulfilment.

  Yet, for a day so auspicious in Victoria’s criminal history, it began with the mundane process of determining legal proprieties. Counsel representing the army of maligned and interested introduced themselves, named their clients, listed their interests then paid attention to the charges levelled against Pescaro. The remainder of the day was consumed by legal argument over whether he would remain on bail or suffer its revocation. Bail had not been a problem to date: Pescaro was a model defendant and reported graciously every two days to Prahran police station.

  On the weekend prior to committal hearings however, federal police presented Tavistock with evidence of three confirmed accounts in overseas banks which, painstakingly, had been traced back to Pescaro. They totalled $130 million. The Prosecution argued that as this information was previously unknown, and certainly not disclosed, the probability of Pescaro’s flight had significantly increased. An embarrassing precedent for this lay in the form of drug lord, Tony Mokbel. Unresolved by day’s end, Pescaro found himself whisked off to the Remand Centre for a night in custody. Strike one against his legal team, thought Tavistock who had come to sit quietly at the back of the court for the session that afternoon. He watched Pescaro, stony-faced and flint-eyed, marched off between two prison guards.