Crucifixion Creek

by Barry Maitland

  Jenny tries to comfort her. ‘Of course Harry will help with that sort of thing.’ She knows this side of her younger sister, how it will blow over. She hears the clink of the bottle and the glug of Nicole refilling her glass. ‘Better watch if you’re driving,’ she says.

  ‘Oh, I got a bus into town and a cab out here. I was rather hoping Harry might give me a lift home. Honestly, you don’t know how lucky you are having a good man like that.’

  There is a wistful tone in Nicole’s voice that sets off an alarm in Jenny’s mind. There was a pattern—well, it happened twice, before they were both married—where Nicole would take a sudden fancy to her sister’s latest boyfriend. Nicole was the pretty, vivacious one, Jenny more serious and cautious, and these two boys found Nicole’s flirtatiousness irresistible. It just happened, Nicole would say, as if she’d had nothing at all to do with it. She had sexy eyes, one of them later told Jenny, who knew what he meant. She had watched the way her sister used her eyes, her wide-eyed gaze. It worries her that she can no longer see the way Nicole looks at Harry.

  No, she stops herself. Of course Nicole would never do that to her. How could she think it? It’s just a symptom of her own insecurity that she can imagine such a thing. All the same, she’s relieved that Harry doesn’t come home for lunch, and that eventually Nicole calls a cab to take her to Central to get a train home.

  When Harry gets home that evening he finds Jenny watching television, which is to say that she is sitting facing the set, listening to Singin’ in the Rain and watching Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds dancing in her head.

  He kisses her on the cheek and tells her to go on, but it’s a DVD and she says she’ll finish it later. They sit down for the meal she’s prepared and she tells him about a new player she’s found, called Curly. It seems that Curly has been providing some form of service for Kristich for several years, receiving irregular payments of a few hundred dollars at a time, cash in hand, no GST.

  ‘Drugs?’

  ‘Maybe. Could be.’

  ‘Curly…’ Harry tries to think of someone with distinctive hair, or else completely bald. ‘How about Chloe Anastos, his girlfriend? She has big hair.’

  ‘Ah yes, I suppose it could be her.’ She hesitates, then says, ‘What is it, darling? What’s wrong?’

  ‘What? Nothing.’

  ‘There is, I can hear it, feel it. You’re worried about something, or bottling something up.’

  He laughs, ‘Doctor Inspector Jenny,’ but it sounds off-key.

  She doesn’t smile, looking grave. ‘I’ve been thinking that you were right.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About us going away. I would like to go to France. We could rent a house somewhere in the south, just us, and we can go to the market in the town square in the morning and smell the cheeses and the fruit, and make love in the afternoon or any time we feel like it.’

  Oh, he thinks, that’s it. ‘I’m sorry, Jen. I haven’t been feeling—’

  ‘It isn’t just that. Here we’re trapped in the past, and it’s destroying us. We can’t put it right, Harry. We can’t put the bits together again. It’ll burn us up, kill us if we don’t escape.’

  She’s right of course, and he doesn’t know how to answer her. He knows he couldn’t escape so easily. In his dreams Bebchuk would always be climbing down that hill with his baseball bat, or holding a torch to Rowdy’s back. ‘Maybe…maybe in a little while. September perhaps, or October, when the tourists have gone, we could take a trip.’ But he knows that isn’t what she means.

  30

  It isn’t long before Kelly is feeling overwhelmed by her new environment—the new names she has to learn, the acronyms, the procedures, the equipment, the office habits, where to get a decent cup of coffee. She is helped by Hannah, a young journalism graduate from UTS, who has been assigned to her. Kelly hardly knows where to ask her to begin, but they sit down together and draw up a list of possible tasks.

  Following her talk with Catherine, Kelly’s priority is to gather background on the Jakarta photograph, and she asks Hannah to get details of the paper’s contacts in Indonesia. ‘And while you’re at it, make that Vanuatu too,’ she adds.

  Meanwhile Kelly has a list of people who have been contacting her with offers of information on Kristich, Oldfield, Potgeiter and especially Mansur. They are angry residents, outraged ratepayers, cranks, serial letter-writers and people with too much time on their hands, and she has to sift the gold from the dross. It seems Mansur’s company Ozdevco has been involved in a number of development projects that have upset local residents, conservationists and community groups. If the complainants are to be believed, its methods in getting projects approved have ranged from the mysterious to the brutal. Several of these projects have been within Councillor Potgeiter’s ward, and it appears that Kristich has acted as Ozdevco’s agent in a number of them. The complaints against Oldfield, on the other hand, tend to be on law and order issues. People seem to think he was soft on criminals and resisted attempts to strengthen anti-bikie legislation.

  When Hannah comes back with the contact details she asked for, Kelly gives her the letters and emails and asks her to make brief summaries and a priority list for further contact. She then picks up the phone and gets straight through to Anton, their stringer in Jakarta. She introduces herself and they discuss what she’s after. While they’re talking, Kelly gets Hannah to send him the photograph in the Le Meridien bar. When he’s got it in front of him she describes the people it shows.

  Anton listens carefully, then says, ‘There is one other man there I recognise, do you see on the left? Almost out of the picture, in profile, turned towards the bar lady.’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘His name is Gunardi, and he is a member of the Polri, the national police.’

  ‘Well, that makes sense. Oldfield said that his trip to Indonesia was to liaise with your police.’

  ‘Yes, but as a government minister Mr Oldfield would surely meet with senior officers, police generals. Gunardi is only of middle rank, a kompol, a police commissioner.’

  ‘Perhaps he was assigned to look after the visitors outside of the official meetings?’

  ‘Maybe, but this Gunardi has a reputation, Kelly. That’s why I recognise him.’

  ‘What kind of reputation?’

  ‘Shady. Nothing bad enough to get him into trouble, so far. Rumours of bribes, leaning on crooks for protection. Okay, let me follow it up. Is it mainly Oldfield you are interested in?’

  ‘I suppose so. I’d like to know if they met up there just that one time or if they went elsewhere together. Potgeiter is the odd one out.’

  ‘The ugly little man on the right?’

  ‘That’s him. He’s a small-time local councillor, and Kristich paid for his airfare and hotel bill at Le Meridien for six nights. I’d like to know why.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  She goes through a similar process with their contact in Vanuatu, sending him the three kings photo and asking him to find out what he can about Kristich, Oldfield and Mansur during their period there.

  She is beginning to feel more confident, energised by the sense of common industry. She phon
es her insurance company to get an assessment made of the damage to her flat, something she should have done days ago. She also phones the hospital to check on Wendy, and is relieved by the news that she has come out of her coma and is out of danger. She goes over there during the lunchbreak, and though her friend is still pitifully weak, and the doctor warns of a long road ahead, Kelly maintains her new feeling of optimism and purpose.

  When she returns she sits down with Hannah and they work through the whistleblowers and complainants. ‘This one’s a bit different,’ Hannah says, referring to a record of a phone call taken at the Chronicle reception when Kelly was out. ‘All he would say was that he used to work at the Department of Immigration, Multicultural and Indigenous Affairs.’

  ‘Is that what it’s called?’

  ‘Not anymore. They called it that between 2001 and 2006. Out of date, maybe?’

  ‘Well, give it a try.’

  ‘He also said he would only speak to you.’

  ‘Okay.’ Kelly takes the note, a Sydney phone number. There is an answering machine and she leaves a message, then gets onto the next person on Hannah’s list.

  By late afternoon she has spoken to sixteen unhappy people who have been overshadowed, built out, bullied and threatened by Ozdevco, and a further desperate three who were almost ruined by taking loans on extortionate terms from Kristich. She’s feeling wrung out when Anton rings from Jakarta.

  ‘I’ve made a start, Kelly. I’ve established that they all stayed at Le Meridien for those six days, and that they had several meals together there. The concierge says they were picked up each day in a minibus with a local driver, and accompanied by another Indonesian, probably Gunardi. I’m afraid I don’t know where they went.’

  ‘Okay. Is it possible to find out more, do you think?’

  ‘Do you want me to approach Gunardi?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I would assume that he was either escorting them on police orders, or they were paying him well. Either way he won’t talk to me.’

  ‘Yes, and it would tip them off. What else?’

  ‘I could try to find the driver, find out where they went?’

  ‘That would be good.’

  ‘It would mean bribing him. You okay with that?’

  Kelly has no idea what the paper’s policy might be. ‘I’ll check and call you back. Many thanks, Anton.’

  She rings Catherine.

  ‘No bribes, absolutely not. However, Anton might hire him for a day, at a generous rate.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Kelly rings Anton back and tells him.

  She is about to leave to keep her appointment with the insurance assessor when her phone rings again, the number of the former immigration staffer.

  ‘You left a message on my phone.’ The voice sounds hesitant, as if on the point of hanging up.

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get back to you. Was there something you wanted to pass on to me?’

  ‘Not on the phone. In person.’

  ‘I see. I don’t usually do that unless I have some indication…’

  There is a silence on the line. Then, ‘Oldfield overrode his department’s advice that Potgeiter’s visa application ought to be rejected.’

  ‘I see. All right, where would you like to meet?’

  ‘The Domain, Mrs Macquarie’s Chair. In an hour.’

  ‘I can’t do that. Make it two hours.’

  ‘Okay.’ Reluctant.

  ‘Give me your mobile number,’ Kelly says, but the line is dead.

  She hurries home just in time for her appointment, filled again with a sense of violation and despair at the chaos, but also now with anger. The assessor raises a pained eyebrow as they pick through the debris, and makes notes. ‘Have you got sales dockets for any of this?’ he asks. Kelly shakes her head. ‘So…’ he shows her a list, ‘these items of furniture and equipment?’

  She agrees, and they talk figures. She really has no idea what things cost now. He’s patient. ‘Any jewellery taken? Cash?’

  She says not. He seems surprised that she doesn’t want to claim for more.

  As soon as he’s gone she heads back into the city to keep her other appointment. She finds a parking spot for her car on the loop road around the Domain and walks through the trees to the convict-carved bench in the sandstone outcrop. There’s a dark figure sitting in the shadows. This was a bad idea, meeting in such a place after dusk. There appears to be no one else around. She hesitates and almost turns back, but then decides to draw on her new sense of purpose and go on. She stops about ten metres away. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Ms Pool?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  He gets off the bench and comes towards her. ‘Sorry, this is a bit spooky, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is a bit.’

  ‘Most appropriate,’ and he gives a high-pitched laugh, almost a giggle. He lurches towards her, sticking out his hand. ‘Not quite sure of the etiquette.’

  She shakes it, realising that he’s even more nervous than she is. ‘What can you tell me?’

  ‘I was encouraged to contact you when you mentioned Joost Potgeiter in connection with Derryn Oldfield. Ten years ago I was working in the office that vets applications for permanent residency in Australia. I got an instruction from the departmental head to approve Potgeiter’s application, although we had previously recommended refusal. When I queried it, I was told that further information had come to hand. Well, normally that would have been that, but this time I persisted, and my supervisor told me, off the record, that a senior diplomat had used influence. His name was Oldfield.’

  Kelly can see that the man has become agitated, rocking from foot to foot, gripping and ungripping his hands. ‘I see. Why did you persist in this case?’

  ‘Well, because of what we had learned about him. The reason for refusing the visa…I was abused too as a boy.’

  ‘He had abused a child?’

  ‘A maid in a cheap hotel in Johannesburg found him in bed with two little Indian boys, aged six and eight. She reported him to the authorities but he’d registered under a false name and there was some confusion. By the time the police had positively identified him he’d left the country and come here.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I went to see the departmental head. I told him it wasn’t right, and that I would make a formal complaint if something wasn’t done. He told me I didn’t know all the facts, that there had been a mix-up over identity and the maid had withdrawn her statement. He also said that if I made a formal complaint to the appeals tribunal and they found against me, it would probably end my career in the service. So I did nothing.’ He’s scratching the back of his hand, agitated. ‘I became sick. I had a breakdown, and I took a separation package a year later.’

  And you’re still a mess, Kelly thinks. ‘Is there any documentary evidence you can give me about this?’

  ‘No. And I won’t go on the record. I simply can’t go through it all again. Will you act?’

  ‘It’s difficult. I don’t really know who you are. If I
take this to my editor she’ll need more.’

  ‘Then it’s up to you to get it. I’ve done what I can.’ He spins away and hurries off into the darkness. Kelly remains for a moment, thinking of Phoebe’s words, Little faces at the windows, like ghosts.

  She shakes her head. After the business with the underground rail route she is more cautious. This may be just another red herring. But later that sense of optimism returns. Wendy is out of danger and at the weekend Kelly will arrange for the rubbish to be removed from their place and she will start again. Maybe things will work out.

  31

  On Friday Anton rings from Jakarta.

  ‘I found the driver,’ he says. ‘Nice chap, short of money, wife sick. The first two days he took them out to Bogor, sixty kilometres inland from here. They call Bogor Rain City, because it’s always raining, even in the dry season. It’s very crowded, the second highest population density in the world, and bad slums. That’s where they went.’

  ‘To the slums?’

  ‘Yes, on the north side of the city. The driver stayed on the highway outside, and Gunardi took them in on foot. Each time they were gone for several hours. He doesn’t know what they were doing. They had cameras.

  ‘On the other days he took them to townships on the edge of Jakarta—Bekasi and Depok—more slums, very crowded, poor people coming to the city from the countryside.