by Derek Haines
‘The guest room is made up ready for you,’ Tina said quietly without moving her head from Tony’s shoulder.
‘I don’t plan to be a guest Tina. I want to be a husband.’
‘Oh Tony,’ Tina said as she cuddled up as close as she could to Tony. ‘I love you.’
The children were surprised to see their father at breakfast, but all were delighted. He received a good morning kiss from them, one by one as they rose at different times of the morning. Tony and Tina had planned to go to the eleven o’clock mass at their local church. Neither of them had ever forced their children to a regimented church routine, but this morning there was unanimous and voluntary acceptance of idea. Tony was very pleased. It would be a special service for the family. A small start to what would be a difficult task. To rebuild a strong and united family.
After a late lunch, Tony went to the flat to collect his belongings. David wasn’t at home, so Tony left a note for him explaining he’d moved back home to his family. He’d see him at work on Monday.
Driving back to the house, Tony hoped, and felt he’d made the right decision. He hadn’t rushed into it. He’d taken everything that he could think of into consideration. For Tony, the single most important factor was his family. His responsibility as a father, the head of the family. His faith, from a strict Roman Catholic upbringing was still strong. In his heart, he knew he had not yet forgiven Tina for what she’d done, but he hoped he was strong enough to accept what had happened. There was also a selfish consideration within Tony. If he had decided not to return, what was the future for Tony Pilletto? Would it have been a future guided by court decisions? Would he have had any role in his family? Was the last six months just a taste of what was to come? His answer to himself was that at least he knew what he faced in his decision to rebuild his marriage. There would be problems and difficulties. But none seemed to compare to a future alone. He thought of David and his misery and depression and anger, and wondered if in some perverse way he should be thankful that Tina had given him the opportunity. Was this the final irony? That he should be grateful that Tina had given him his life back? Was he in fact a lucky man? One man the Family Court didn’t get. Had he been saved by Tina’s mercy?
Nearing the house, he cleared his mind of these thoughts. They were now to be banished to history. Now, he and Tina had to put the past behind themselves, and move forward together. The thought of a fresh start in Fremantle was appealing, but that was a comfort from the past that only Tina and Tony knew. Would it be fair on the children to burden them with such upheaval? For now, the single most important matter was to secure his marriage. When he returned to the house, he drove to the back to unload his few possessions from the ute. It bought a big smile to his face when Tina ran from the back door, and flung her arms around him, and said, ‘Welcome home my wonderful Tony,’ just before she kissed him, with her arms firmly around his neck, and her feet inches off the ground.
He held her tightly, and said, ‘It’s wonderful to be home.’
Arriving back at the flat after a walk, David found Tony’s short note. It wasn’t a surprise, but the note sank David into a depressive mood. His mind raced with thoughts that Tony was lucky. Then he thought he was selfish. Then stupid. Then gutless.
‘The bastard just used me for convenience,’ he thought to himself. ‘He didn’t even have the guts to find a place of his own. He was just waiting to go home to his slut wife. Waiting for her to call him home like a fucking pet dog.’
An anger rose in David. Anger at both Tony and Steve. They’d both used him in his mind.
‘Neither’d been friends. Just fucking users.’
From a life of a happy settled husband with an attractive and loving wife, a picturesque seaside property, money, business, comfort, he was now David Holdsworth, broke, friendless, single, lonely, alone, angry, depressed and morose. Over the months he’d spent hours, days and weeks trying to find answers in his mind as to why this had all happened. Finding who was to blame. Trying to find any sense in what had been a period of total nonsense and bewilderment. The one driving force behind his fixation was trying to understand, that no matter how he looked at the last year, and especially the last six months, he couldn’t determine that he’d done anything himself to generate all the events. No matter how he looked at it, his wife had lied, cheated, deceived and deserted him, but to her had gone the winner’s spoils. He had developed a hatred, not only for her, but for a system, a law, a justice, a society that allowed this to happen. His bitterness for life was becoming complete, as he had now classified Steven as a degenerate, who’d use anyone for his own end. Tony’s decision to forgive his adulterous wife, and go running back to her left David with a feeling of contempt for Tony. The thought that he was jealous of Tony’s good fortune, or happiness did not enter the depressed, bitter and insular mind of David.
Thoughts of his children and family, far away in Perth were becoming rare thoughts for David as he fell deeper into depression. It had been three weeks since he’d spoken to his children, and even then it had been only a short conversation, as David found little to talk to them about. The news a month before that the children’s mother wouldn’t be proceeding with her new maintenance claim did nothing to reduce his feeling of enmity. David was now a man whose only interest was for the black side of life.
By six in the evening, he was mildly drunk, watching television. During the news, there was a short story about an argument that had developed between the Attorney General and the Chief Justice of the Family Court, over Legal Aid funding cuts. The graphic of the two men behind the newsreader incensed David.
‘You fucking bastards. This is all your fault. Cunts!’ he screamed at the top of his voice as he picked up the large overflowing ashtray in front of him and launched it at the image of the two men. The television exploded in a bursting shower of shattered glass, smoke and sparks. The contents of the full ashtray scattered the room. He stood to his feet and screamed, ‘Bastards! You fucking bastards!’
His anger now fully ablaze, David picked up the closest thing to him and smashed it across the remains of the television. A small piece of his treasured violin and one string where left in his hand. The sight of his smashed violin further enraged him. The explosion of his anger, pent up for months within himself, now vented itself on anything he could pick up and throw. Within seconds the coffee table was given the gift of flight for a few moments as it smashed into the glass door to the balcony. In one instant of adrenalin induced strength he hurled the sofa across the room, demolishing his computer. His rage now insatiable, he ran the few steps into the kitchen and hurled glasses, plates, food, anything that he could pick up and throw, at the growing assemblage of destruction that littered his living room. With the contents of every cupboard and the refrigerator now decorating the carnage he vented his anger on the small dining table and four chairs, launching them in procession to their resting place atop the small mountain of wrath he’d created. David sat on his haunches and admired his work. He was panting furiously from his exertion. For nearly fifteen minutes, he sat, motionless, except for his mouth.
‘Bastards! Bastards! Bastards! Bastards!’ he repeated over and over like a religious chant. His eyes were glazed as his anger still welled within him. Then, in a sudden movement, he almost jumped from his crouched position in the middle of the kitchen floor, and bound purposefully into his bedroom. He grabbed a suitcase, and threw some clothes and a few possessions into it. Then he darted to the bathroom and selected a few essentials and threw them into the suitcase. He took a few deep breaths, to calm himself, then walked slowly with his suitcase in hand to the front door. He scanned the chaos of the flat, smiled, and walked out the door. He didn’t bother closing it. Slowly and calmly he walked down the stairs to his car, deposited the suitcase in the boot, and drove away.
Queanbeyan had been a surprise for Steve. After completing his interviews with the police in Sydney, he was expecting to be transferred to Bega, or Kiama or at least somewhe
re on the coast near the scent of the ocean. In his few days of what he perceived to be his importance being recognised by the police, he’d thought they’d look after their star witness. Queanbeyan was a prison like any other. He was back to being a nobody. An unimportant inmate in a remand facility. Being in protective custody sounded fine when he was feeling important, but now it felt like he was in solitary confinement. He’d appeared in court on his possession charge, and had been sentenced to two years imprisonment. He was to face his charges relating to his escape in a little over two months. He was wondering now if he had made a wise decision in cooperating with the police. With no further contact from the police who had interviewed him, he had no idea of whether they had started their pursuit of Vince. He hoped they had. Shortly, when he would be advised that he would no longer be held in protective custody, he would realise Vince had been cleared of suspicion.
Monday morning at nine sharp, Detective Superintendent Frank Williams commenced his meeting with the three detectives who had been working on the Vince Walsh investigation.
‘So, where are we at with this?’
‘It’s not looking good sir,’ D.S. Martin replied.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘There’s very little hard evidence in this lot. Walsh has very little connection to what has occurred. It’s not to say he didn’t, but there’s very little to link him to anything. There isn’t a single link to the stolen cars. Steven Sharp, yes, his signature is on cheques, authorisations and requisitions. Anything that has Walsh’s mark on it is all above board. We’ve checked the suppliers of parts to As New Spares, and where Walsh has been involved the stock was purchased from legitimate sources. The death of Murphy looks like suicide. We’ve checked and double checked the Camden investigation and forensic and path’ reports. There’s certainly nothing that can link Walsh. There’s no trace of a drug laboratory where Sharp told us there was. We checked it out. It’s a house owned by Walsh, but he rents it out through a local real estate agent. The tenants have been there for over three years. The tenants have no records, they’ve been ideal tenants the agent says, and they’ve never met Walsh,’ Martin explained.
‘And the brothel connection?’
‘Nothing sir. We couldn’t find any connection there.’
‘So, do you think Sharp’s been leading us a merry dance? Trying to pin Walsh for a pay back of some sort?’ Williams asked.
‘Possibly. I can only say, that after nearly four weeks, we don’t have enough to connect Walsh to anything. There’s certainly not enough to contemplate obtaining a search warrant of Walsh’s records, and judging by what we’ve seen so far, I don’t think we’d find much anyway. Sharp’s information is very much circumstantial and suspicion,’ Martin said.
‘I might just go and see if I can have a quiet chat with Mr Walsh myself before we go any further. We’ll see where we go after that,’ Williams said as he rose from the table. He took with him the file that D.S. Martin and his two assistants had prepared.
After perusing the file, he picked up the phone and called Vince Walsh. After being put through to Vince’s secretary, he waited for Vince to answer the phone.
‘Hello Vince Walsh.’
‘Good morning Mr Walsh, I’m Detective Superintendent Frank Williams. I was hoping I might be able to make a time to have a short chat with you.’
‘Sure,’ Vince said cooperatively. ‘May I ask what it’s concerning?’
‘Of course. Just some background information on a couple of your employees,’ Williams said. Vince assumed Williams was referring to Murphy and Sharp. He could see an opportunity to possibly find out where Steve Sharp had disappeared to.
‘Ok, fine. When would suit you?’ he asked Williams.
‘Tomorrow afternoon, say two o’clock,’ Williams suggested.
‘Two thirty would suit me better,’ Vince said without looking at his diary.
‘Very well. See you then Mr Walsh.’
Vince had been expecting another visit from the police for some time. He had wondered why it had taken so long. But, it gave him the time to make sure everything was in order. He felt confident that he would find out more from his appointment tomorrow than the police would from him.
‘Is David around?’ Tony asked Colin as he returned from his first delivery of the morning.
‘No. I haven’t seen him,’ Colin answered, and then craned his head over an office partition and asked two clerks if they had seen David. They both said no.
‘Oh well, just tell him I was looking for him if you see him,’ Tony asked.
‘Sure, no probs,’ Colin cheerfully replied.
Tony checked again when he returned from his afternoon delivery run. No one had seen David all day. Tony thought nothing of it. He knew David was a bit depressed, and probably got himself a bit pissed the night before. ‘Probably enjoying a hangover,’ he thought, and went back to work. On time, at five o’clock he knocked off work and went home to his wife and children. Tonight he knew for sure he would not find his dinner cremating in the oven.
The next morning, Tony completed his morning deliveries by eleven. There was no sign of David. No one had heard from him.
‘It’s unusual Tony. He normally calls in even if he is just running late,’ Colin said.
‘I’ll drop by his place on my run this afternoon and check on him. He’s probably just dying of the flu,’ Tony joked.
At just after one, Tony climbed the stairs to David’s flat. He was surprised to find the door open and a man in his sixties just inside the door, with a vacuum cleaner running. The man caught sight of Tony and turned the cleaner off.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes, I was looking for David.’
‘Are you a friend of his?’ the man asked snappily.
‘Yes. Why. What’s wrong?’
‘Have a look for yourself,’ the man said and made a gesture for Tony to enter the flat. Tony saw the mess.
‘What the hell happened?’ Tony asked in disbelief.
‘I’ve got no idea. I’m the landlord. I received a call from the people in the flat opposite to say that the door had been left open all yesterday. I came here this morning to find this.’
‘An no sign of David?’
‘No. His car’s gone. The neighbours say they heard a bit of commotion on Sunday evening.’
‘Have you called the police?’ Tony asked.
‘They came this morning. I needed to report it for my insurance claim.’
‘Did they think it was a fight or something suspicious,’ Tony asked, now very concerned.
‘No, there’s no blood or signs of a fight. It looks like Mr Holdsworth just trashed the place and left. Most of his clothes are gone.’
‘Shit,’ was all Tony could say.
Tony left wondering what was going on in David’s mind.
Vince welcomed Detective Superintendent Frank Williams and D.S. Martin and asked his secretary to make coffee for them. As the coffee was being prepared Williams and Vince exchanged pleasantries and Vince offered a little history of his business. Meeting Vince Walsh and observing his relaxed and open manner started Williams wondering whether this was the same man they had been investigating for four weeks. Once the coffee was served, and the office door closed, Williams started on his objective of the meeting. To decide if he was to pursue the investigation of Vince Walsh.
‘Mr Walsh, Steven Sharp. What do you know about him?’ Williams asked and looked closely for a change in Walsh’s expression or attitude. There was none.
‘More now that when I hired him, that’s for sure. I think it may’ve been the worst hiring I’ve ever made,’ Vince said with a hint of levity. ‘He cost me a great deal of money,’ he added in a more serious tone.
‘How did you come to hire him?’ Williams asked.
‘I met him at a business function here in Camden. A Chamber of Commerce dinner from memory, and in a conversation with him, I found out he’d been working for three years with John Peters, a
local accounting firm. From there, I heard his name mentioned by a few associates I know in the Chamber who had business contact with Steven, and they said he was a very conscientious, talented and bright young man. I had been running As New Spares myself, and was looking for someone to take over the day to day management. A couple of weeks later, I heard he’d left John Peters and I contacted him to see what he was doing,’ Vince explained.
‘Did you do any checks on him?’ Williams asked.
‘Yes, as much as I thought necessary. I didn’t consider doing a police check, as I sometimes do with a used car salesman, so I had no idea he’d been in prison. I have found out since that John Peters and his partners knew when they initially hired him. At the time, I didn’t think it proper to contact Peters for a reference, being that they’d had a falling out,’ Vince answered.
‘When did you suspect something was amiss?’ Martin asked.
‘With hindsight, I must admit I should’ve probably been looking more closely at Steven sooner. I’d been told by a staff member that they believed Steven was taking drugs. I ignored the rumour believing it was just a little staff jealousy at Steven being in such a senior position. But, really I didn’t know there was a problem until I was told that the police had been to visit As New Spares and had interviewed Ted Murphy. Up until then all the reports I received told me that Steve was handling the position well.’
‘Did you speak to Ted Murphy after the police interview?’ Williams asked, knowing that Murphy had called Vince’s office late on that afternoon.