‘The last time we met was in Mortimer Street, when you were moving out. I was wondering how you are, how things are going with your sister.’
‘Oh…yes. And you came all the way out here to ask me that?’
‘Well, not only that. Let’s sit down.’
They make their way to a table in a quiet corner.
‘I come here a lot,’ Phoebe confides. ‘To get out of Delia’s way. We’re going through a period of readjustment. It didn’t take us long to fall back into our old ways—she bossing me around and me answering back. I’ve had to stand up to her, but it’s so exhausting. I do miss my own home.’
‘Oh dear. Do you keep in touch with any of the other people in Mortimer Street?’
‘Well, there aren’t any of them left, apart from the bikies. That dreadful man who was so rude to you—Roman, they call him. The others all left over the years. I like to think of Mortimer Street when it was a friendly place with young families, children playing in the street.’
‘Ah,’ Kelly is disappointed. ‘So there isn’t anybody else I could talk to about what’s been going on in the Creek?’
But Phoebe is gazing into the distance, lost in her memories. ‘I thought I must be going gaga, seeing the children again. I mean, I knew they were all grown up now. Little faces at the windows, peering through the blinds like ghosts.’
‘What?’
‘I thought it must be the Italian children, Rico and Bella, but that couldn’t be right, because they came back when they were grown up, to see their parents before they passed away.’
Kelly pulls the strap of her bag over her shoulder and prepares to make a move.
‘One of them waved to me, but then the motorbikes came down the street and they vanished.’
‘You saw children in the houses—recently?’
‘Oh yes, several times. At least I thought I did.’ There is something rather unnerving about Phoebe’s dreamy words. ‘Someone else to talk to, did you say? Well, there’s Mrs Fenning, of course—Donna. She’s still there. I forgot about her.’
By now Kelly hardly knows what to believe. Mrs Fenning probably died twenty years ago.
‘Where does she live, Phoebe?’
‘Donna? Oh, at number eleven, on the other side of the street, a little further down. Cacti.’
‘Sorry?’
‘She has a cactus garden in the front of the house. All rocks and gravel and, ah, cacti. Quite clever I suppose, but not my idea of a garden. I do miss my plants.’
Kelly does vaguely remember seeing cacti in the street. ‘And she’s still there?’
‘Well, as far as I know.’
24
Harry calls in at work but they tell him politely to go away. After trying without success to get information on progress, he decides he’ll have to wait until Toby Wagstaff comes back on duty to get some answers. There is a message from the psychologist, which he ignores.
As he drives back out of the basement car park the rain turns heavy, lashing the windscreen and running in a rippling sheet down the concrete ramp. His phone chimes and he sees a message from the accountant Sam Peck asking him to ring.
‘Hey, Harry, how are you? I’ve got Peter Rizzo here with me now, and we’re wondering if you can spare a moment sometime soon to talk about options.’
‘How about now?’
‘Perfect.’
Harry heads in that direction, taking a detour past the offices of the Bankstown Chronicle to drop off a package.
They are sitting side by side at the table in Sam’s office, flanked by piles of documents. Harry gets the impression they’ve been at it for some time, sleeves rolled up, ties loosened, empty coffee mugs and a half-eaten bun with pink icing pushed to one side. Sam welcomes him, Peter hanging back a little awkwardly until it’s his turn to step forward and shake hands.
‘Let’s sit,’ Sam says, indicating chairs around his desk. ‘Coffee, Harry?’
‘No thanks, Sam. What’s up?’
‘Okay. Peter and I have been having a few discussions about how we can handle the building business.’
‘Doesn’t that belong to Bluereef now?’
‘Well,’ Sam holds up his hands, a sly smile on his face, ‘that’s the point at issue. As you know, we had a letter from Bluereef’s lawyer, Horn, immediately after Greg’s death, giving notice that Greg had defaulted on his loan and that Bluereef would act to take possession of his assets as set out in their agreement. This was challenged by Nicole’s lawyer, requesting further documentary evidence, but since then Kristich has died, and Bluereef, of which we understand he was the sole proprietor, has been incommunicado. So…’ more hand gestures, cunning winks, ‘this may provide us with an opportunity to take care of a few problems.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Yes. Problem number one,’ a finger goes up, ‘what do we do about Greg’s clients, with their half-constructed buildings? Problem number two,’ a second finger, ‘what do we do about Greg’s workforce, who need to be paid? Problem number three,’ third finger, ‘what do we do with the building company assets—trucks, premises, equipment—which all need money for maintenance, fuel, taxes, etcetera, etcetera? These are all major headaches for us, and in particular for Nicole, who simply doesn’t need any of these problems, agreed?’
‘Okay. So what do you suggest?’
‘Well,’ a sideways nod to Peter, ‘Peter has come up with a plan that, after due consideration, I believe might suit Greg’s estate and Nicole’s interests very well indeed. In short, Peter is proposing to form his own company to which Greg’s executors will sell the assets and liabilities of Greg March Builder Limited.’
‘Can we do that, if Bluereef has already given notice that they believe the company belongs to them?’
‘Well, it depends how it’s done. Let’s say Peter approaches client A, and explains that Greg March Builder is no longer able to continue with the project. The client will then be faced with months of delays, arguments with subcontractors and additional costs. However, if the client will write to Greg March Builder and terminate their contract because of various breaches, he can then appoint Rizzo Construction who will continue the project without interruption, with the same personnel, and at minimal additional cost. How can Bluereef object to that?’
Harry shrugs.
‘Then let’s say Rizzo Construction approaches Greg’s executors and offers to buy the assets of Greg March Builder for a sum which the parties agree, and the executors place that sum in a special account which can be preserved intact until the question of legal ownership of the assets is resolved. Who can object to that?’
‘I see.’ And Harry does see—the carefully contained eagerness of the two men, their air of collusion, their confidence that without working capital Harry and Nicole will have no choice. ‘And this sum will be comparatively modest, I imagine?’
A serious, businesslike look comes over Sam’s face. ‘We’ve been going carefully over the figures, Harry. The premises are a tangle of burnt-out debris, the trucks are ancient, the equipment worthless to anyone else, and there are unpaid bills; so yes, their value is modest. Nominal, in fact.’
>
‘And the additional costs that Peter agrees with the clients, to continue their projects?’
‘That’s entirely for him to negotiate.’
‘In other words, Peter is getting Greg’s business for nothing.’
‘Not for nothing, Harry. For a reasonable negotiated sum which can be justified with detailed financial assessments. But that’s not the point. Peter is agreeing to take these problems off our hands, at his risk. If Bluereef later object, they’ll have to argue it out with him.’
All this time they’ve been talking about Peter as if he isn’t there. Now Harry turns to him. ‘Are you confident about this, Peter? You’ll have to raise a bit of money, won’t you?’
‘I’ve done the sums, Harry, and I’ve spoken to the bank. I’m confident, yes.’ And he does sound confident, self-possessed, almost a different man. Harry wonders what sort of a deal he’s done with Sam.
‘Okay. What’s the next step?’
Sam says, ‘I suggest that we get Peter to draw up a formal offer, with details of what’s involved, and then the executors, assisted by myself, can assess it, and then negotiate or approve it as they see fit.’
They agree on this. The change in the other two men is so striking that Harry can’t shake the idea that he and Nicole are being screwed. But perhaps that is ungenerous. He certainly has no better idea how to deal with the situation.
25
Kelly picks up her car from outside her home. She doesn’t go into the flat, unable to face it. Instead she drives to the Creek. She parks on the main road at the end of Mortimer Street and runs through the rain down to number eleven, where the cacti are getting a soaking. She huddles close to the door and rings the bell. Across the street she sees a man standing outside Phoebe’s house, watching her.
She steps back and puts a smile on her face as the door opens. ‘Mrs Fenning?’
‘Yes?’
It’s a relief to see a plump middle-aged woman with nice clothes and hair, who looks alert and friendly. ‘Hello, my name is Kelly Pool. I’ve just come from speaking to Phoebe Bulwer-Knight, who used to live across the street.’
‘Yes, I know Phoebe. How can I help you?’
‘I’m with the Bankstown Chronicle, Mrs Fenning, and I’m researching an article on life in Mortimer Street, and I wondered if I could have a few minutes of your time?’
‘Well, you’re getting soaked out there. You’d better come in.’
‘Thank you. Oh dear, I’ll probably drip on your carpet.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Take your coat off and come through.’
She hangs Kelly’s coat on a hook behind the door and leads the way into a pleasant room, lighter than Phoebe’s and comfortably furnished.
‘Please sit down. I’ve been reading your articles, Kelly. Very exciting. I seem to be living in a crime hotspot.’
There is a sceptical look on her face as she says this, and Kelly wonders if she’s going to be accused of talking down real estate values.
‘Well, I’d be glad to hear your impressions of living here, Mrs Fenning.’
‘Donna, call me Donna. Well, we like it. It’s a street with a lot of character. I know people might be put off living with a bikie clubhouse at the end, but really, that’s the last place you’d expect trouble, isn’t it?’
‘There was the police raid.’
‘Oh yes, that was exciting, but it was an overreaction, wasn’t it? At least as far as we can tell. I mean they didn’t actually arrest anyone, did they? We get on fine with the bikies. So did Phoebe.’
‘So your husband isn’t one?’
‘A bikie? Oh no. He works at the hospital. That was one of the attractions of living here, within walking distance.’
‘And now you must be the last non-bikie residents in the street, aren’t you?’
‘I suppose we are. We’ve only been here a year, so we’re not one of the long-term residents like Phoebe. They all grew old and moved away, and their houses were bought up by Crows members. Very communal, really.’
‘Do you have any children?’
Donna looks surprised by the question, and Kelly adds quickly, ‘I just wondered if there are any children left in the street.’
‘Well, yes. We don’t have any, but a couple of the Crow families do. I mean, they’re just ordinary people really, with ordinary jobs and ordinary families.’
They talk on for a while. Donna is pleasantly straightforward, and when she says, ‘Are you sure you’re not going a bit overboard with your great Creek conspiracy?’ Kelly finds it hard to argue.
She returns to her car, feeling dispirited, and drives to the Chronicle offices. It’s a quarter to twelve when she gets there, and she still hasn’t phoned Catherine Meiklejohn.
The offices are quiet. Bernie is away somewhere, but there is a package waiting on her desk for her. She opens it and finds a mobile phone inside. When she switches it on she finds one number in its memory. She hesitates for a moment, thinking, then leaves the office again and goes out to the car park behind the building. She dials the number and hears a familiar voice.
‘Hi Kelly.’
‘Harry! You still want to talk to me?’
‘I’m not sure, Kelly. Where are you going with this?’
‘To be honest I don’t know. Everyone’s saying my idea about the south-west underground rail is wrong. Maybe it is.’
‘Yes, maybe. I know nothing about that. But that doesn’t mean something isn’t going on. I’m going to send you another photo. Tell me if you recognise the people.’
Kelly waits for the picture to come through, a cluster of men in a bar. She gives a little gasp of excitement. ‘Harry, that’s Derryn Oldfield, isn’t it? With Maram Mansur again. And the one next to them is Councillor Potgeiter.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘It was taken in a hotel bar in Jakarta, last April.’
‘And that’s…Kristich, is it? On the other side?’
‘He paid Potgeiter’s expenses for the trip—airfare and hotel.’
‘Brilliant.’
‘I can get you a copy of the hotel bill.’
‘Yes, I’ll need that.’
‘I don’t know what it means, Kelly. Maybe there’s a perfectly innocent explanation.’
‘Okay, I’ll be careful. I’ll do some checks. Thanks.’
‘Don’t try to contact me any other way, Kelly. And watch your back.’
The line goes dead. She stands for a moment, biting her lip, then phones Catherine Meiklejohn, who invites her to come to the Times office the following morning. As she hangs up Bernie comes into the office, puffing from the stairs, struggling out of his wet coat, grumbling to himself. She waits until he’s settled at his desk, then goes over to him and tells him about the offer.
He nods. ‘Not surprising, Kelly. You’re a good reporter. Bit wild in your theories sometimes, but they’ll knock you into shape.’
She reaches across his desk and gives him a big hug. She doesn’t mention the new photograph.
26
Harry goes in to headquarters early to catch Toby Wagstaff at the end of his shift. The inspector is tired, wanting to get home, and with nothing good to report. ‘They were all out of town, Harry, in Bathurst. The whole gang. They rode out there on their bikes the night before, stayed at a hotel they’d booked, and didn’t get back till yesterday afternoon. We were monitoring their phones, and the local boys and the hotel staff check it out.’
‘Bebchuk? You’re sure?’
‘Yeah. He’s a distinctive figure, big man, beard. He was there.’
Harry shakes his head. ‘They’re fooling you, Toby. They did it. Bebchuk did it.’
Wagstaff sighs. ‘Or someone else wants them in the frame. They say O’Brian was supposed to go on the ride, but never showed up. The thing is, whoever killed him made a pretty good job of fingering the Crows. His upper left arm was badly burnt, remember? That’s where he had a tatt of the club colours. They burned it off. Pretty obvious pointer, yeah? Might as well stick a note on him, “The Crows did it”.’
‘What about the post-mortem?’
‘Cause of death was cardiac arrest, probably while they were barbecuing him. He’d been tortured, fingers, toes broken before that.’
‘But when did this happen?’
‘They’re still working on that. Roberts reckons it could have been up to forty-eight hours before he was dumped.’
‘Before they all headed off to Bathurst.’
‘He’s not sure. We’ve got CCTV footage of the car that brought him to your place—green Holden reported stolen twenty-four hours earlier, found torched yesterday out at Hurstville. The cameras show two, maybe three, occupants.’
‘That should narrow it down.’
‘Piss off, Harry.’
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