by Brian Smith
‘Yes, you did. Why did you show me those photographs? A bit of a risk for someone who’s so careful.’
‘You’re still having trouble believing Vern is working with Sarac. What chance would I have had of persuading you without those shots?’ When Mike didn’t reply, Alan said, ‘By the way, I let the commission boys know as soon as I found two unexplained amounts of five hundred dollars in my account, but I didn’t suggest it was you who had put them there. I thought it would have been Sarac. They must be after you as well. Apart from getting up Bruno’s nose, what have you done?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘You need to give them time for this investigation to be carried through and widen as I get more material.’
‘Thanks very much.’
‘Look, I’m playing for high stakes here. I had to spin the commission a story I was bothered about endemic corruption here in Melbourne before they’d take me seriously. The cosy deal McKenzie did with George Fowler was a gift.’
‘You told them Vern was bribing George?’
‘Perhaps he is. They’re certainly close.’
‘But when the commission guys came to Findlay’s, why did they home in on me and not on Vern?’
‘Because whoever tipped off the commission is after both of us.’
Mike had felt his confidence in Alan grow as their conversation went on. He did seem genuinely committed to uncover all the problems at Rubicon and now, potentially, at Findlay’s. His story hung together well, except for one thing. ‘You’ve said a lot about Sarac and his hoods. What about Angelo Rossi?’
‘I reckon he’d like to be shot of Sarac now.’
Mike thought of Carla. She had spoken of her father having prospered in some very tough businesses in very tough times and being able to help Angelo.
‘Surely if Angelo wanted to get rid of Sarac he would. He has the right connections for dealing with anyone like Sarac.’
‘You mean his father-in-law?’ Alan asked.
‘For a start,’ Mike replied
‘The Saracs of this world are like lice. Once you let them get a hold they’re very hard to get rid of.’
‘But that’s what you’re working on?’ Mike said.
‘That and other things.’ Alan Reardon stood up. ‘Other things I need to follow up now. Keep in touch.’
12
Lissa accepted the news of Mike’s standing down surprisingly calmly, assuring him it was a dreadful mistake that would be rectified when the full investigation was complete. Mike was relieved she took it so well but disappointed she was not more outraged such a charge had been made against him.
‘While you’re at home, you can take over some of my jobs and I can work on getting this catering business of mine up and running,’ she told him cheerfully. ‘We might need it soon to support us. I went to see my friend Claire about publicity. She said she’d be happy to help and told me I should get a website. You can take the children to school for a start.’
Having returned from that duty and found Lissa already gone, he made himself a coffee and sat considering what he should do next. It was a good opportunity to visit his father.
He parked his car in Graham Street and walked around the corner into Bay Street, noticing the number of new, high-rise developments running down to the beach. The section that housed Georgiou’s looked tired and defeated. Perhaps his father was the only one who had not accepted the inevitability of the change sweeping up the street towards him. When he entered the shop, Gail was the only person visible, the shop empty of customers.
‘Out the back,’ she said smiling at Mike.
His father was surprised to see Mike coming through the plastic strips and gazed at him anxiously. ‘You have news of Shane?’
‘No. He’s still missing, I’m afraid. I thought we might have a coffee at … What’s the name of the place?’
‘They call it “Seven a.m.” these days.’
‘Yeah, that’s it. There’s something I want to discuss with you.’
As soon as they were settled Mike began. ‘Dad, I have a problem at work. I’ve been accused of bribing a union official and have been stood down while the investigation goes ahead.’
Demetri’s face flushed and his voice rose, drawing the attention of the couple sitting at the next table. ‘How could anyone accuse you of such a thing? Nonsense.’ This was more the kind of family support Mike was looking for.
‘I think I’ve been set up, but I’m not sure who has done it. There are several possibilities.’
‘These are the men causing trouble for you at the site?’
‘Probably.’
‘Never give in to them. If you allow bad men to prosper you will regret it.’ Mike wondered whether his father was again thinking of Mancini. Not a good start.
‘What will happen?’ Demetri asked.
‘The commission’s investigators are on the job now. I don’t know what they will do with me.’
Again Demetri became strident. ‘You must fight such dishonesty.’ He sat back to sip his coffee, and his face displayed a sequence of emotions: first his brow was wrinkled in thought, then his eyes were lit as if by a bright idea, and finally he said in a gentle voice, ‘If, God forbid, things go badly for you, you could come into the business. There is always a place for you.’
‘Ah, the business I’m so involved in. Why haven’t you told me about the offer from Mancini?’
‘Him! What have I just been telling you? A man who stopped at nothing to make his money and now pretends to be an honest businessman. I told you about him. Now he wants to stamp on our family name, wipe out our history. He has no respect and I will not speak to him.’
‘How long do you think the family business can survive?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You want me involved but you tell me nothing. I have to find out for myself the shops are losing custom and you no longer have the energy to drive the business forward but cling on like a ghost from the past in the shop where it all began. You won’t save the family name that way. You’ll see it decay and die.’
Demetri glared at him. ‘If you know so much, tell me what I should do.’
‘For a start you should give Peter Roberts his head, let him take over the running of the shops.’
‘So it is Peter who has been talking with you.’
‘Actually I’ve been talking with Carla Mancini. She told me about her plans, not her father’s plans, her plans for the development of Bay Street. She also told me your business is not going well. Why should I have to find these things from someone I have only just met?’
It was rubbish he was speaking, but arguments with his father often brought out this histrionic strain in him.
‘What are you doing with this woman? She is the daughter of her father; she will use you for her own ends. I know the family.’
Mike thought, when it came to histrionics, his father could still give as well as he got. ‘What is it you want? Is there nothing Carla can do to persuade you?’
‘Is is not her, it is you. What can you do to ensure the Georgiou name, the name of your grandfather and father, remains in Bay Street? Have you been so ensnared by this woman you come here, not as a Georgiou, but as a Mancini stooge?’
Mike was saved the need to reply when his phone sounded. ‘Mary?’
‘The police have come. A body has been found in the Yarra down near the Westgate Bridge. Some people on a ferry saw it. The police don’t know if it’s Shane but want me to go with them to see. Can you come with me?’
It took very little time for Mike to reach the flat where Mary and Shane lived. He had expected to see a patrol car parked in the street but there was none. Mary, pale and hollow-eyed, answered the doorbell and introduced him to two plain clothes policemen: Detective Sergeant Phil Ryan, a man of Mike’s age with close-clipped, curly red hair and intense blue eyes, and Detective Senior Constable Matt Clarke, a younger man, whose plump cheeks and shaven head made Mike think of Humpty Dumpty.
‘Thank you for getting here so quickly,’ the sergeant said and immediately led them down the stairs to an undistinguished blue Ford Falcon. He held open the rear passenger door for Mary while Clarke went straight to the driver’s seat, leaving Mike to clamber in beside his sister.
They had gone only a short distance when Ryan turned to look back at Mike and said, ‘I believe you were in touch with Mr Francis last Monday afternoon at Doherty’s Gym.’
‘Yes.’
‘Working out with him?’
‘No. I went to chat with Shane about a family matter.’
Mike felt Mary move next to him and resisted the urge to glance at her. What had she already told the policemen? He certainly wasn’t going to speak about Shane’s mistreatment of her. ‘Have you found his car yet?’
Ryan gave a rueful grin. ‘Yeah, in the car park at the Riverside site. No one noticed it until late this morning. Mostly it’s for management and supervisory staff but he had parking rights or took them, anyway, and it wasn’t unusual for him to leave it there overnight.’
Mike nodded understandingly. These would be the nights Shane went to the pub directly from work or the gym and was too drunk to drive home, the nights Mary was at risk.
The car braked sharply, and Clarke swore before saying, ‘Pity we’re not in the traffic branch.’
Sergeant Ryan turned back to look out of the windscreen and the rest of their short trip to Kavanagh Street was spent in silence. The grey panelled building was set back from the road in a paved courtyard, which carried the sign,
CORONIAL SERVICES CENTRE OF VICTORIA,
STATE CORONER’S OFFICE
It was dwarfed by the high-rise apartments across the street but retained a certain dignity. When the car continued through the barrier to the car park at the back of the block, Mike saw another low building, this time faced with blue panels, in front of which was a sign with the single word:
IDENTIFICATION
As they walked towards the glass door of the building, Mary took Mike’s hand. She hadn’t done that since her early days at school, when he had become her reluctant companion, responsible for seeing she made it safely to and from the school. There were two busy roads that had to be crossed and she was required to hold his hand during those crossings – an intimacy neither of them enjoyed.
It was clear they were expected. Sergeant Ryan nodded to the man at the reception desk and ushered them into an austere room just off the foyer, where they stood awkwardly for a few moments before a man dressed in the loose gown of a medical orderly wheeled in a tubular framed trolley with a white sheet hiding the body that lay upon it. He stopped beside Mike and Mary and with practiced solemnity folded back the sheet to reveal Shane’s head and shoulders. Mary gave a strangled sob and looked away as she gripped Mike’s hand with greater intensity. It was apparent the mortuary people had worked on Shane to enhance his appearance but they could not hide the scars of the severe beating he had suffered or repair the texture his skin had lost during his time in the river.
‘Is this man Shane Francis?’ the orderly asked Mary.
When she nodded, he looked into her eyes sympathetically and said ‘Yes?’ as if apologising for pressing her to voice her identification of Shane.
‘Yes,’ she said and turned away, brushing her free hand across her eyes, as he replaced the sheet.
The sergeant led them back into the foyer and said to Mary, ‘I’m sorry we had to put you through this.’
‘Was he murdered?’
‘He had been attacked. The intention may not have been to kill him. We’re still not sure how he died but will know more when the pathologist has finished his examination. Rest assured we will pursue whoever it was that attacked him.’ He looked across to Clarke and nodded to him. ‘Senior Constable Clarke has some forms we would like you to sign and then he will drive you home. We will be in touch with you again tomorrow.’ He turned to Mike and said, ‘Thank you for accompanying your sister Mr Georgiou.’
‘Did he go in from the Westgate?’ Mike asked.
‘It could have been anywhere along the river. Forensics will give us a better idea.’ The sergeant began to turn away, but stopped. ‘Nasty whack you have there. How did that happen?’
‘I was mugged.’
‘You reported it?’
‘No, I didn’t bother.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘On Monday night outside the Lord Nelson in Fitzroy.’
‘Not good.’
Mike wasn’t sure whether Ryan meant the mugging or his failure to report it.
‘Goodbye,’ he said.
Lissa had taken special care over the coffee and baked a few pastries she thought might tempt Mary to eat without appearing to make their morning tea into some kind of celebration, but they were an awkward foursome who sat across from one another in Mike and Lissa’s family room. Mary had refused their offer of a bed the night before, insisting on returning to her flat, but as she sat slumped in their armchair, her unkempt hair and red-rimmed eyes made it clear she had slept little, if at all. She had already rebuffed Mike’s attempts to console her.
‘You never liked Shane,’ she said accusingly, ‘so don’t try to pretend with me now.’
‘You’re right. Shane was no friend of mine, but I am concerned for you. It’s horrible that he’s died the way he has, and you shouldn’t have to bear it on your own. I want to help you if I can.’
‘That’s what families are for,’ Lissa interjected lamely. She looked across to Demetri for support but he merely nodded and said nothing.
This was so different from what she had envisaged yesterday when she returned from her session with Claire, enthused by her ideas for setting up and publicising her catering business. ‘Lissa Georgiou – Gourmet Catering’ had a nice ring to it and the designs Claire had sketched for her business cards and flyers looked great. Claire insisted she needed a website and offered to prepare one for her. Perhaps best of all, she suggested that in lieu of paying her fees, Lissa could cater for several client lunches Claire was planning – she had her first booking!
She had thought she could tell Mike and Mary when they returned from identifying Shane. Mary was keen to help and planned to leave her job as a dentist’s receptionist and become fully involved when the business was securely established. It would be good for her to hear some good news and be distracted from her grief over Shane. It took only the sight of the pair of them as they came through the door to know her news would have to wait. When Demetri came in later, the gloom intensified as he sat mutely, shooting dark looks at Mike. Lissa wondered if the two of them had fallen out again over Mike’s refusal to come into the business.
After they had gone, Mike’s reaction was so disappointing; he showed no enthusiasm at her news and remaining preoccupied with his own thoughts. The problems at Findlay’s, his suspension in particular, were weighing heavily on him. Surely, though, he could see how important her embryonic business was to her? She had spent a sleepless night but not from mourning Shane – after all, if the circumstances had not been so horrible, she would have been pleased Mary was free of him. No, she had been thinking of ways she could enhance the lunches she had been contracted to provide, making them more distinctive and appealing. Claire had suggested some of the guests might be interested in using her as well.
‘I just wish I knew where Shane was going when he was killed,’ Mary said. ‘It was a funny time of night for him to get the call, though they did expect him to be on call and work odd hours at times.’
‘Do you know what he did?’ Mike asked.
‘I think he was like a special assistant to one of the managers at Riverside, and last Friday you saw Angelo Rossi, the boss of Rubicon, knew him well.’
‘Was the manager called Ivan Sarac?’
‘Yeah, I think he might be the one. Why do you ask?’
Mike sighed and Lissa, who had been watching Mike’s face and wondering where he was going with his questions, could see his uneas
e.
‘His name has come up recently. Apparently there have been some dodgy things going on at the Riverside site that Sarac has been involved in. He has a few heavies who he uses as his enforcers.’
‘There you go again,’ Mary flared. ‘Always trying to do Shane down, even now he’s dead.’
‘No. I’m just trying to tell you Shane has been around some pretty violent types. It was one of them who beat me up the other night.’
‘I didn’t think you knew who it was,’ Lissa interjected.
‘I just didn’t want to talk about it,’ Mike replied.
‘You can say that again.’
She had never seen him in the state he was in when he arrived home from the mugging. Still groggy from the bang on the head, he had refused her offer to patch him up as best she could and insisted on washing all his clothes before he did anything else. Why would he do that? It wasn’t as if they were covered in blood – or not that she could see. Getting him some treatment was much more important than washing some smelly clothes. And he wouldn’t go to the police. There was more to all this than he was telling her.
Mike looked up again at Mary. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything but I wondered if Shane had some kind of falling out with Sarac or one of his men and had been killed in a fight or something like that. I know how violent at least one of them can be.’
‘What I want to know … ,’ Mary said with her eyes directly on Mike, ‘what I want to know is why the last thing Shane said to me before he went out was that you were a pest. What had you done and why did that mean he needed to go to the site? I’ve asked you before. Are you sure it wasn’t you he was going to see?’
‘I was a pest to Bruno Kordic. That’s why he mugged me on Monday. I hit him with a crowbar last week when he was trying to steal electrical fittings from the CityView site and he wanted revenge. I was lucky to get off as lightly as I did. I’m not saying Shane was involved in any of that, but he might have known about it.’
Mary was breathing deeply as though her hostility to Mike had physically exhausted her and she continued to stare at him with dark eyes but said nothing. The silence was broken by the sound of Mike’s phone.