by Brian Smith
‘No, thank you.’
The room to which Janine led them was the same one in which Mike and Vern had met with the union people last week. The commission men sat on one side of the table and indicated that Mike should sit opposite them.
‘As you heard, we are Building Commission investigators,’ the elder man said and pushed a business card across the table. His colleague took a similar card from his pocket and slid that towards Mike. Now he knew the senior man was Clive Johnston and his offsider was Brett Funston. Funston took a pad from his briefcase and began to write on it.
‘The commission has received a report that you have been engaged in attempting to bribe a union official. This is a preliminary interview as part of our investigation of this matter. You are free to leave at any time you wish, but we would be obliged if you would agree to answer a few questions and make available to us some material we would like to review.’
‘Of course. You heard what I said in the MD’s office.’
He stopped as the words Ben had used in his office, now repeated by Johnston, suddenly resonated in his head, ‘ … attempting to bribe a union official.’ Was the whistleblower who dobbed him in to the commission the union official he was alleged to have attempted to bribe? Was this Alan Reardon? He felt his head begin to throb again.
‘This has come as a shock to me.’
‘Has it?’ Johnston said with a light in his eye that Mike did not like.
‘Who am I supposed to have tried to bribe?’
‘I thought you might tell us that.’
‘I can’t think. I haven’t had much union contact. The union delegate on the site has only just arrived. The previous one moved to another site.’
‘Mr Georgiou,’ Johnston said with a bored intake of breath. ‘Unless we obtain an admission, this investigation is likely to drag on and none of us, you particularly I would say, really want that. It will go much better for you if you are able to give us any information that might assist us in bringing our investigation to a swift conclusion. You understand me?’
‘I do. I wish I could help.’
‘There are no other union officials with whom you have been dealing?’ The question came from Funston, who had a precise and rather high-pitched voice.
‘Union negotiations are usually led by one of our directors, Vern McKenzie. I sat in this room last Wednesday with Vern, the state secretary of the union, his deputy and the man who was the union delegate to our site at that time.’
‘What was discussed at the meeting?’ Johnston had taken over again.
‘If it is in any way relevant to your enquiries, I think it best you ask Mr McKenzie.’ Mike noted the quick glance his words brought from his inquisitors.
‘And you’re sure that is the extent of your recent contact with union officials?’
‘I have had a couple of conversations with the deputy secretary, Alan Reardon.’
Mike could see Johnston’s interest quicken. ‘And what did you discuss?’
Conscious of the promise Alan had insisted on extracting from him, Mike tried to bluff his way through. ‘We had an industrial accident on site last Monday involving a damaged sling from a crane. He wanted to know what progress WorkSafe had made in their investigation.’
‘Are you sure that was all you discussed?’
Mike nodded without speaking. Johnston sat back, his face a portrait of disbelief, and his colleague took over again. ‘We would like to examine your phone logs – your mobile, office and home phones – e-mails and any accounts you operate for the company.’
‘You’re welcome to all of these. While I initiate orders for the company and authorise payments, I do not operate any accounts.’
‘Thank you. That will be all for now. We will want to speak again,’ Johnston said and rose to his feet.
As Mike stood uncertainly watching the investigators return to Ben’s office he saw Freda Bradshaw waving to him.
‘Michael,’ she called. ‘Michael, Vern would like a word.’
Mike was hardly inside the door of Vern’s office when he came from behind his desk like a charging bull.
‘What the hell have you been up to?’ he shouted. Mike was conscious of Freda closing the door behind him as though cutting off his escape. ‘When I suggested you try to get close to Reardon, I didn’t mean you should bribe him. I told you to be careful. I also told you he was likely trying it on with Rubicon for a kickback to keep him quiet. When the bastard put the hard word on you, why did you agree, you stupid fool?’
‘You’ve got it all wrong. I haven’t paid him anything.’
Vern turned back to take some sheets from his desk. ‘So how do you explain these?’ He waved the sheets in Mike’s face.
‘What are they?’ Mike asked, taking a step back to avoid the sheets flicking him.
‘These are your credit card records that I called up when I heard the commission guys were calling – your credit card Ben insisted I make available to you as project manager. You’ve almost never used it until last week. The two debits for five hundred dollars each, what were they for? You haven’t put in any paperwork.’
Mike gaped at him.
‘Think carefully what you say. Those guys from the commission will soon be asking you the same question.’
‘Vern, this is a stitch up. Someone is stitching me up.’
‘Why should anyone do that?’
All the jumbled thoughts about Vern and Alan that had entered Mike’s mind in the past few days swirled together blocking him from replying. Vern scoffed. ‘You’ve played right into Ben’s hands, given him a great opportunity to get rid of you. Now, I suppose, you’ll want me to find a way out for you. You certainly aren’t capable of looking after yourself.’
He turned away from Mike as if dismissing him. ‘I can’t keep this from the commission guys, and finding an alternative explanation is going to take some doing.’
There was a soft tap on the door and Freda put her head into the room. ‘The managing director wishes to speak with Michael,’ she said.
‘A moment,’ Vern replied and she closed the door behind her. ‘I won’t be able to save you from Ben straight off. I’m sure he’ll use this as his excuse to boot you out. But, trust me, I reckon I’ll be able to fix it so you get back, if not soon, then eventually. Go now and, remember, not a word to anyone about what I’ve just said, and I mean anyone.’
Another demand to remain silent.
As Mike walked past Freda she whispered, ‘You’re looking very smart today, Michael.’
He nodded and touched his eyebrow. Perhaps the damage to his face wasn’t that obvious. Usually Freda didn’t miss a thing.
Ben was standing by his glass table when Mike entered his office. ‘I’ll make this brief,’ he said. ‘This latest escapade of yours leaves me with no choice.’
‘I’ve done nothing wrong,’ Mike interjected.
It was as though he had not spoken. ‘You will continue to make yourself available to the investigators from the commission, but otherwise you are to stand down and not appear at CityView or any other Findlay site. I will take over your role forthwith.
You are suspended.’
The embarrassment Ben had shown when the men from the commission were present had gone and the disdainful smile was back in full width. He was enjoying this. ‘You still think I ran you down last week.’
‘Did you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I see you’ve been in another fight. Who was the victim this time?’
‘You can’t do this.’
‘I just have. Now get out.’
Vern sat at his desk with his chair swivelled to allow him the view of rooftops he sometimes called on for solace or inspiration. Today, though, he was guardedly content. As he sat contemplating the events of the morning, he told himself things were working out very nicely. No, that was too comfortable a thought. It was more like he had been dealt good cards and taken some early tricks but needed to be vigilant and skilful in
the way he played the remainder of his hand. With this in mind Vern called George Fowler.
‘G’day, George, it’s Vern here. How are you?’
‘You don’t make social calls, Vern. What is it?’
‘I gather the young fools, Alan Reardon and Mike Georgiou, have some explaining to do to the commission.’
‘How do you know that, Vern?’
‘Two of their investigators have just been to have a preliminary chat with Mike. Someone has told them he bribed a union official.’
‘We’ll have to see what they say. There are two commission investigators due to arrive here in about half an hour. They didn’t say what they wanted but asked me to make sure Reardon would be available. I s’pose it’s the same ones who’ve been to you.’
‘Perhaps we need to compare notes afterwards, George. I also think it’s time you and I had a quiet chat about another matter.’
‘You want a favour?’
‘You owe me one.’
‘Another one? Yeah, I s’pose I do,’ George conceded.
‘Usual place, tonight about seven. OK?’
‘I’ll see you then, Vern. You can tell me what’s really going on at Findlay’s.’
‘’Bye.’
Vern put down his phone and sat back in his chair. It was good that he could now give Sarac news of the strife he had created for Mike and for Reardon. Ivan hadn’t called him yet – he’d had a day or two to set up the meeting.
It wasn’t until later in the day that Vern had the call he was awaiting.
‘Sarac here,’ Ivan said in a voice that lacked its previous smarmy warmth. Obviously he was not happy with the way things had turned out last Sunday. Good.
‘I said Georgiou shouldn’t be harmed.’
‘Just a touch up. Couldn’t have been Bruno. How are you going with Georgiou and Reardon?
‘The commission investigators were here this morning to interview Mike and he has been stood down by my MD. They are about to visit the BCU head office’
‘Good.’ There was a silence before Ivan added, ‘Next Sunday at Flinders. Lunch again.’
‘Your boss will be present for sure?’
‘We’re not going down to enjoy the view.’
‘I’ll be there.’
Vern rung off without any form of farewell. Hopefully he would play better golf this Saturday than he had before his first visit to Flinders. Paul Jones would be after his money again, but the stakes on Sunday would be much higher.
It was one of those days on which early fog had cleared to a fine day and when Mike sat in his car outside head office the heat was oppressive. He wound down the window but there was no breeze to cool him. He did not start the engine but sat thinking about the meetings he had just been through. Only then did it occur to him to wonder how Vern had known Alan Reardon was involved. The commission people had been careful not to tell him which union official he was supposed to have attempted to bribe. Did Vern know because he had set the whole thing up? Surely it would need inside information to access his credit card, although he hadn’t been very secure with it, leaving it in his desk drawer. He wouldn’t be able to check whether it was still there – Ben had made it clear the CityView site was off limits and one of the first things Ben would have done was to make sure his suspension was well known. He needed to check whether Alan had been contacted by the commission. How should he play it with Alan, though? Mike took out his phone and placed the call.
‘Hi, Alan. Mike Georgiou here.’
‘G’day, Mike. How’s it going?’
Was it his imagination or did Alan sound cautious?
‘Been a bit busy since we parted last night. First of all, I was beaten up by Bruno on my way back to the car.’
‘Shit!’ If Alan was faking surprise he was good at it. ‘I’m sorry. Were you badly hurt?’
‘I got off better than I feared when he started on me. A passing police car and his mate telling him they were late getting to somewhere else they had to be saved me.’ Mike thought again of the urine spray and cringed. ‘What I wonder is how did he know I’d be there?’
‘Perhaps they were following you. I did warn you. You hadn’t seen any sign of him or one of the others earlier in the day?’
‘Or perhaps they were tipped off.’
‘You’re not suggesting …’
‘I’ve just been interviewed by two investigators from the commission who say I’ve been accused of attempting to bribe a union official.’
‘You? I thought … I didn’t think they’d involve you.’
‘You knew about this?’
‘I was expecting something like it, but not involving you.’
‘There’s a lot you need to explain.’ Mike glanced at his watch. ‘God, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you after lunch.’ He cut the call and started his engine. He had only fifteen minutes to make it to his lunch with Carla. He’d lost track of the time.
11
Mike parked under the casino and went up the escalator to find himself midway along the corridor he had walked with Lissa and his father last Friday. It was here the surroundings became more opulent, where his bad mood had begun to lift, and his father’s confidence had begun to fade, just as Mike’s did now. With his cut eyebrow and shiner he looked like the uncouth chippie he really was. His best suit and fashionable tie made him a joke.
Entering the restaurant he was again captured by the music: this time a superbly voiced trumpet solo. He did not recognise the player or the tune, and would very much like to know who and what they were.
‘Mr. Georgiou?’ Mike was surprised to hear the waiter ask. ‘This way, please.’
He led Mike across the restaurant, where a number of couples and two larger groups were already at lunch, and brought him to the door through which Mancini and his party had disappeared last Friday. He opened the door with a flourish and gestured for Mike to mount the short stairway.
Carla stood waiting for him at the head of the stairs. She wore a white silk dress with a white jacket embossed with small pink and gold flowers. The mandarin collar of the jacket framed a pearl necklace that matched her pearl earrings. She looked cool and elegant; Mike felt sweaty and awkward.
‘Michael,’ she said with a restrained but welcoming smile. ‘I’m so pleased you were able to join me at such short notice.’ She held out her right hand and, when he took it, brought her other hand to enclose his in a form of embrace. ‘You’ve been hurt,’ she exclaimed, releasing his hand and examining his face with concern.
‘Careless of me. I should know by now how dangerous a building site can be.’ He tried for a reassuring smile. ‘Fortunately no great damage done. It looks worse than it is.’ He hoped this wasn’t really true.
‘Come and sit,’ Carla said, indicating a square wooden table set with two places. She made it sound like he needed to be nursed. ‘I hope you don’t mind being cloistered in here with me. When I sit in the main room, too often I find others intruding on me and my guests. I don’t run the restaurant on a day-today basis, too busy for that, and Guido does a superb job for me, but a lot of people still want to speak with me if they see me sitting out there.’
He glanced around the room. Platters of food and a bottle of wine in a cooler sat on the top of a dresser, which ran down one side of the room. At the end two other tables, matching the one at which they were sitting, had been pushed against the wall. There were no windows but the soft lighting, the deceptively simple abstract paintings and the roses in a tall, silver vase echoed the elegance of the main restaurant. One thing was missing. ‘I do like the music you play downstairs.’
‘You do?’ Carla mixed surprise and delight in the two words. She rose from the table with the effortless grace that had entranced him last Friday and walked to the dresser. She opened one of the drawers to reveal a console, and after a moment the trumpeter he had heard came to join them. The quality of the reproduction and the acoustic of the room were even better than below.
‘Who is he?’
<
br /> ‘You enjoy jazz?
‘Miles Davis is my favourite trumpeter. That’s the era I prefer, but this is great,’ Mike said.
‘Kit Ronson. You probably won’t have heard of him. Much of the music he plays is his own. Not all of his work is as good as this – he’s just getting started, but I think he will eventually outdo James Morrison. I’m trying to promote him.’
‘He’s local?’
‘Oh yes. I’ll let you know when he’s next performing at the Paris. You go to the Paris Cat?’
‘Not lately,’ Mike confessed. ‘Jazz clubs don’t fit in well with family life – at least not mine.’
Carla nodded understandingly. ‘You have children?’
‘Yes, a boy and two girls.’
‘Ah, fortunate for you. I’m afraid I’ve left it to my sisters to provide my father with the grandchildren he so dotes on. Still, as you heard the other night, I’m looking after some of the business side for him.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘Here we are chatting away and I haven’t offered you a drink. I hope you like white wine. I prefer it at lunch and I have to confess I want to try out a particular wine on you.’ She brought the bottle in its cooler to the table and poured a glass for each of them.
‘I’m no wine connoisseur.’
‘All the better. They can be so stuffy and hidebound. The commercial reality is that it’s what appeals to the public that matters, not what the connoisseurs say. She sipped her wine and looked over her glass at him. ‘What do you think?’
Mike did his best to appear experienced as he took a sip and swirled it around his mouth before swallowing. ‘Very good. But remember what I said.’
‘It’s from a start-up winery, which I’ve recently bought into in the Yarra Valley – Casablanca. The vigneron is Chilean and is adapting his traditional methods for Australian conditions. I think it shows great promise.’
Mike began to wonder when Carla would speak about their fathers. It was supposed to be the reason for having lunch together. Not that he minded. She was every bit as charming as she looked and they seemed to be getting on really well. This enclosed room with Carla was a haven from the real world with all its problems and uncertainties. Why would he want to hurry back?