by J. M. Green
‘Can I see you later?’ I asked.
‘Today. Soon.’
Brophy tooted as he drove away in his clapped-out van.
Mrs Chol opened the door, wearing an apron over her dress. ‘Come, come.’
I followed her to the kitchen. The gas stove was busy: a stockpot was on the front burner while another frying pan sizzled with chopped onions and parsley. A coffee pot steamed at the back.
‘Excuse me while I finish here.’ I watched with some unease as Mrs Chol slammed some lamb bones to pieces with a meat cleaver and slid them off the chopping board into the pot.
‘What’re you making?’ I inhaled spicy aromas.
‘Shorba. For my neighbour. Yesterday she was at home with her children and someone threw a bucket of petrol at her front door and threw a match on it. And the fire came right inside her flat. Did you ever hear of such a thing?’
Bored, destructive delinquents who attack their neighbours for fun? Yes. That particular act of arson? No.
Mrs Chol washed her hands and took out a tray. ‘She is so upset, she can’t leave the flat. Can’t go outside.’ She carried the tray to the lounge. ‘Come. Sit down and have coffee. Have you eaten?’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’ The smell of meat made me woozy. I sat on the couch and watched her pour coffee into two small cups. ‘What was it you wanted to tell me?
‘Stella, you are my friend.’
‘Yes, of course. Is it about Mabor?’
She adjusted her scarf. ‘My brother from Shepparton — he came to take Mabor.’
‘Did he go with him?’ I sipped the coffee, bitter and sweet in extremes.
‘Yes. But before he left, I was helping him pack his bag, and he suddenly held my hands. He had tears in his eyes. He said to me, “I must tell you something.”’
‘What something?’
‘That Adut had been selling drugs for a man. Cesare …’
‘Cesarelli.’ I put down my cup, waiting for her to say that Mabor killed him.
‘This man, he makes the drugs. He has some men and they cook this thing up in a laboratory.’
‘A meth lab.’
Mrs Chol stood. ‘You know what it is?’
I gave her a grim affirmation.
She went to the kitchen and took a long metal spoon, started moving the stew around. ‘I love both my sons. Adut was a difficult boy — in trouble at school, drinking, running away. But Mabor, he is quiet. He does his homework. Up very late, reading.’
She looked at me, and I was nodding emphatically. It was true — at one time, Mabor had been studious.
‘Adut introduced him to some bad people and he changed.’
‘He’s still …’ I tried to think of something helpful to say. ‘Mabor.’
Mrs Chol shook her head. ‘Adut is gone, and I don’t want to say bad things about him, but I am …’ her voice dropped ‘… very angry with him.’
‘It’s understandable.’
She waved the spoon at me. ‘I think Mabor wants me to tell you.’ She looked at me with that direct, clear expression of hers. Her face had an ageless quality. Like most refugees, Nyahol Chol did not know her date of birth. She put the first of January on her documentation. Even the year was a guess. She bore five children — was maybe sixteen when Adut was born.
‘To tell me? Why?’
She turned down the gas and wiped her hands on her apron. ‘He said to me, someone must know this things. Someone must be told. He won’t go to the police. I’m sure he meant you.’
I was confused. Mabor wouldn’t want me to know he murdered Cesarelli. ‘And is that it? Adut worked for Cesarelli.’
‘No. Mabor said that after he heard that Mister Cesar was killed, he went to this laboratory.’
‘How did he know where it was?’
‘Adut told him.’
‘And why did he go there?’
‘I don’t know.’
A door slammed in the flat next door. I jumped. Then there was a knock on Mrs Chol’s door. She opened it to a tall African man with one milky eye. He shook her hand, said something in soft Arabic. She thanked him and came back to the sofa.
‘My neighbour. Some of the people here are kind. But, in this place, also there are many bad people.’
‘I know.’ I hoped it was better in Shepparton.
‘Now listen, Stella. This is important. Mabor said that a bad thing happen there.’
‘At the meth lab? What bad thing?’
She shook her head. ‘He won’t tell me. He was very upset and said that I must tell someone. He said someone must go to the house to see.’
I realised that my hands were clenched. I made myself breathe more slowly. ‘Mabor — where is he now?’
She closed her eyes. ‘Shepparton, with his uncle.’
‘Mrs Chol, what did Mabor find?’
‘I don’t know what he found. Mabor wouldn’t say. I think he was too afraid to say, even to me. But what can I do? I don’t want Mabor to get into trouble.’
‘Where is this place? Is it in a house?’
She grabbed my hand. ‘Promise me, Stella. Promise you won’t tell the police.’
If I had a dollar for every time a client said that to me. Most times, I would say, ‘sorry, mandatory for the profession, I can’t withhold information from the authorities,’ but with Mrs Chol holding my hand, I heard myself saying, ‘Trust me. I’d never do that.’
She stood up. ‘He wrote it down for me.’ From a drawer under the family photos on the sideboard, she took a writing pad.
Adut’s murder was only the tip of an iceberg — literally, a mountain of ice. The police, going on what I’d heard at Darren Pickering’s trial, were clueless about a resurgent drug market in this area. A meth lab was not in the memo either.
She tore off a piece of paper. ‘Here, it is in a Diggers Rest. You know this place?’
‘I’m afraid so. For now, it would be best if Mabor stayed where he is,’ I said.
As soon as the door was shut, I heard the lock turn and a chain go across.
I looked at the scrawled directions on the paper in my hand. Of course something was amiss at Cesarelli’s meth lab. It was a meth lab. Obviously, I should now go immediately to the nearest police station with this information. On the other hand, there was client confidentiality, a professional requirement for discretion, and my burning need to know what exactly the bad thing going down at Diggers Rest was. I stood on the walkway on the thirty-sixth floor, where an icy squall messed with my hair. Mrs Chol had said nothing about the actual murder of Gaetano Cesarelli. I remembered Mabor in the café — his nervousness and Gaetano’s cool indifference. I wondered if Cesarelli had underestimated the quiet, scholarly younger brother.
Cesarelli was dead, but what of his crew? At least, in Shepparton, Mabor was safe for now.
It was after eleven; the morning was disappearing. I put the directions in my wallet and sent a text to Phuong — Call me — and headed home. Almost at once, Amanda Palmer was singing in my handbag.
Boss: ‘Where are you?’
‘Um, I’m back in Melbourne.’
‘That’s terrific, Stella, but why aren’t you here?’
‘Oh, I was doing a client visit, seeing Mrs Chol …’ This time, my excuse was true.
‘You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? Bloody Pukus will be here in one hour.’
The big announcement — the partnership thingy between justice and community services — I had completely forgotten. ‘Relax, will you? I remembered, I was about to buy some biscuits and orange juice, or would you prefer more posh refreshments? Cocktail onions? Cheese sticks?’
‘I’ve already organised catering, got a large packet of Family Assorted. So get your arse here pronto.’
I en
ded the call and started to jog up Racecourse Road, towards Wellington Street and WORMS.
25
‘AND NOW the minister will say a few words.’
There was a smattering of applause, and The Right Honourable Marcus Pugh smiled benignly at his audience. His sizable entourage of staff and advisers and PR people made up most of the numbers — then there was Boss, Shaninder, and me. A Burmese refugee with her three children, who happened to be in the waiting room, were ushered inside as a hasty rent-a-crowd. One commercial station had sent a crew of one underage journalist, currently mesmerised by her phone, and one camera operator. Pukus glanced inquiringly at the camera to see if everything was ready and received a thumbs up.
‘It is with great pleasure and personal satisfaction that I announce today the launch of the new partnership between justice and community services, a program we call Justice Uniting Neighbourhood Knowledge with Inter-agency Expertise — or JUNKIE.’
The minister frowned and paused to make a closer study of his notes. He glanced at one of his advisers but she only shrugged and made a keep going gesture.
‘Yes. Er … um … I …’ Pukus stammered, looking into the camera lens.
A thin PR woman in a lavender pantsuit was taking photos. The flashing lights delighted the Burmese children.
‘I believe JUNKIE will make a significant contribution to the lives of people living in Flemington.’
‘Yay!’ said the children.
‘It is my hope that the people of Flemington will embrace JUNKIE, that they will trust JUNKIE, and that they will turn to JUNKIE for aid. I want the people of Flemington to understand that JUNKIE is here to help.’
‘Yay!’ they called, and clapped their hands.
One of the advisers was sent to quieten them down.
At that moment, my phone started to wail. I fished in my handbag, but it was right at the bottom. The song was getting louder and louder and still I couldn’t find the damn thing. At last I had it — but now I couldn’t turn it off. Pukus had stopped speaking and was glaring at me.
I went outside. It was Phuong. ‘You rang?’
‘Got a good one for you. One percenter.’
‘Go on.’
‘We have to break into a house,’ I said.
If this request surprised her, Phuong didn’t show it. I heard only a chortle. ‘I’m busy all day. Can it wait until after work?’
‘That would be best — under cover of dark,’ I said. If Cesarelli’s place had already been taken over, we’d need to be careful. ‘Okey dokey, I’ll meet you at the Station Hotel.’
I went back inside just as things were wrapping up. The Pukus retinue was packing up. Boss was schmoozing the shit out of Pukus, so I went and started inhaling the biscuits before the kids finished them all. When I looked up, Boss was back in his office, looking greatly dejected — some further loss of WORMS funding, I imagined. I stuffed a couple more Anzacs in my mouth and turned to go to my desk, but Pukus was beside me, grinning weirdly. ‘Hi,’ I said.
‘You were at Brodtmann’s apartment in Crown the other day,’ he said, as though he could hardly believe it himself. ‘You two seemed rather chummy.’
Chummy? ‘Not really.’
‘It’s just that he seemed taken by you.’
I thought of the night before — my assault on Ben, Brodtmann fleeing. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Listen, I’d appreciate a good word, if you can manage it.’
‘A good word about what?’
His smile was as real as a botoxed android. ‘A long-time, faithful servant of the community.’
‘You?’
He appeared crestfallen. ‘Donors expect certain favours. Sometimes these favours are not in my power to give. This makes them unhappy.’
‘You mean the police have failed to find Nina,’ I said.
‘Failed is a strong word. Every effort is being made. But …’ He glanced around the office, ‘it’s another matter I’m talking about. Party colleagues in WA have taken a decision that is against our mutual friend’s interests.’
‘Shine Point?’
I thought Pukus might actually puke. ‘How did you … I mean, it’s hush-hush. But you’re his friend, so he must have told you. Yes, I see that.’
The poor man was completely delusional. ‘Mr Pugh —’
‘Marcus.’
‘Marcus, listen, the only concern Clayton Brodtmann has right now is for the welfare of his daughter.’
‘I’m looking for a win-win here. Give and take, eh? Let’s sweeten this arrangement, shall we?’
Yep, delusional and pretty far gone, too. I looked over my shoulder at Boss. ‘Tell you what, WORMS is rather fiscally challenged right now. Things being different, a girl could pile on the praise about a certain faithful servant to a certain mutual friend.’
Pukus’s eyes shone with evil comprehension. ‘Right. Impecuniousness readjustment. I’ll see what I can do, Hardy.’
It was a huge relief when he gathered his followers into the government car and left; I was exhausted.
I figured this conversation qualified as work, and decided to call it a day. I went home to the empty flat, did some washing in the empty laundry, hung it out on the communal clothesline. I was about to have a shower, but thoughts of Brophy made me pause and look longingly at the phone. An age had passed since this morning, when we’d shared tea and Vegemite toast and each other. It wasn’t healthy to spend too much time alone — this was legitimate grounds for a phone call. Not some flimsy pretext.
‘Hello?’ He sounded sleepy.
‘Busy?’
‘Nope.’ He sounded happy.
‘Meet you somewhere?’
‘You want to come here?’
Did I? I’d teleport there in an instant if I could, but a shower first was essential. ‘See you in an hour.’
Though the drawbacks of my humble flat were many — the low ceilings, the cramped space — the water pressure was first class, and the hot water unfailing. I stood under its soothing force for a long while, as I considered Mabor’s information. When things settled down a bit, I would arrange some decent legal advice for him. As I patted myself with a towel, the landline trilled. Thinking it might be Peter, I ran, dripping, to the lounge room. ‘Hello?’
A long delay, distant static. ‘Hello Mrs Hardy? I am John, and I am calling from the Computer Watchdog Violation Centre, how is your computer doing today?’
I slammed down the phone, went to my room and started to dress; it rang again. I hopped over to the phone, one leg in my jeans. ‘Hey,’ I yelled. ‘Why don’t you just fuck off?’
‘Stella? Vince McKechnie.’
‘Vince. Sorry. Caught me at a bad time. I was just —’
‘Some tourists, a German family, went off-road near Laverton. Got a bit lost.’
‘Lost in Hoppers Crossing?’
‘No, sweetheart — Laverton, Western Australia. Pronounced Lay-ver-ton, as in Rod Laver. Back of nowhere.’
I didn’t like where this was going. ‘Germans got lost, you say? That can’t be right.’
‘Well, it happens. Gits drove the Winnebago the wrong way for hours. They come across a little billabong, an unreliable water source that they call a ‘soak’ around there.’
‘Vince, I’m in a hurry.’ Steam rose from my still-damp skin.
‘The wife goes to fill the billy, finds a car up to its axles in the mud, with a body inside.’
‘Who was it?’
‘Don’t know yet.’
‘Male or female?’
‘Male. That’s all I know. The area is restricted, off-limits except to mining company personal.’
‘What company?’
‘CC Prospecting. The area is known as Mount Percy Sutton.’
My blood turned anaesthetic-cold in my veins. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because this is serious shit — a woman is missing, people are dying. Isn’t it time you told me what you know?’
‘I have to go.’
‘Give us your mobile.’
I recited the number and hung up. In a daze, I finished dressing and ran a comb through my hair. My mobile rang.
Vince. ‘I know it’s a shock, but we need to talk. It concerns Tania.’
‘How does this have anything to do with her?’
Vince’s breath was a wet crackle. ‘What are you hearing at your end — anything concrete?’
‘Nothing. You want information, why don’t you ask your mate in the force?’ I could hear him tapping on what sounded like a typewriter.
‘Don’t want to push my luck,’ he said pointedly.
‘Well, I’m sorry, but the media are not supposed to know anything right now.’
‘You must have something.’
Was it time to tell him about the report? The one Tania gave to me to keep safe? The one that was password protected from copying, printing, or attaching?
No. I couldn’t trust him. Brodtmann was right. It was all part of the profession; journalists were duplicitous bastards. But I did have one thing I could tell him. And maybe McKechnie could be of use to me.
‘Tania has a friend called Jimmy. That’s all I know. No last name. He worked for Faurtinaux Bath apparently, and he might still live in Perth.’
‘Jimmy? Never heard of him. But thanks, Hardy. I’ll do a bit of digging at my end.’
I ended the call and thought about his request for a progress report. Even with Phuong as my BFF, I was told nothing. I desperately wanted to believe that Mucous Pukus and Deputy Commissioner Conway, and every cop in the state, were busy following leads, combing the state for Tania.
I put my mobile in my bag and took the tram to Footscray. When I reached the steps of the Narcissistic Slacker, I paused to remind myself that this was a short visit. I was meeting with Phuong later and planned to go to Cesarelli’s hideout after dark.
There was the usual music coming from inside. Before I reached the studio’s top step, Brophy slid the metal door open. He pulled me inside and pashed me senseless.