‘So all our ill gotten booty is safe and secure in one of the bank’s own safe deposit boxes?’ said Noel as he plied his bread roll with butter.
‘Well, if it’s not we’re in big trouble,’ replied Sue with a grin. ‘The police didn’t even ask me any questions, not that I could’ve helped, of course. Anyway, after I was told to leave, I just wandered down George Street, cut through Wynyard and went up to Menzies. I sat in the lounge just off the reception area and had a scotch and dry, purely for medicinal purposes, and that’s when Georgie came down from the room she’d taken. I suppose you boys were up there getting changed and cleaned up. And how did your getaway work out, Noel?’
‘No problems, all went according to plan,’ said Noel. ‘After I bumped into you, and I’m sorry, Georgie, if I was a bit more robust than needed, I took off after Simon down the steps and out into George Street. He turned left, and I turned right for a few paces and then we both joined the rabble. Simon soon caught up with me and we strolled along together discarding our disguises and using curb-side garbage bins to dump the newspapers from the cash bags as we went. Regardless of the earlier debacle inside the bank, the timing turned out perfectly with the demonstration just passing the bank as we left. I saw the old security guard standing at the top of the steps having a look at what was going on outside and he looked totally preoccupied. I don’t think he would have been distracted even if the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre had been going on inside.’
‘Did you really need to dress as you did?’ asked Georgie, with some embarrassment. I’m just glad I wasn’t seen with either of you. You both looked like, like… Georgie gave up on a suitable simile and shrugged her shoulders.
‘I reckon they looked like two little Irish elves or pixies, something you might see at the bottom of your garden,’ said Sue with a giggle.
‘Okay, okay. But I felt right at home once we had joined the demo,’ responded Simon with indignation. ‘No-one turned a head or even gave us a second glance. If they did give a thought to us they probably had the idea we came from Nimbin. It was easy to get rid of the disguises and clothing as we moved along George Street. By the time we got to the Queen Victoria Building we were down to the normal clothing we were wearing under the colourful stuff. After that, it was easy to leave the demonstration and hop a train from Town Hall to Wynyard, and you know the rest.’
‘And next time we rob a bank,’ said Noel pushing a potato chip around his plate to get the last of the gravy, ‘I choose the bloody teller. What an absolute debacle. And if I hear the word “hypothetical” again, I’ll scream.’
‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ said Simon raising his hands in resignation and adopting a feigned pout on his face. ‘How was I to know the teller was an academic with an IQ of Mensa proportions wanting to analyse every word I said? Hells bells, give us a break.’
Georgie leant over and kissed Simon on the cheek. ‘It’s okay, sweetie, I still love you.’
‘Gee thanks,’ responded Simon. ‘One thing I do know and that is I would love to be a fly on the wall when whoever interviews the teller. Let’s hope to heaven it’s Rosey because if it is, he’ll never be able to understand the little bugger.’
‘So what now?’ asked Noel raising his eyebrows inquiringly.
‘That’s easy,’ responded Georgie. Simon and I are off to the Menzies for a night of lecherous debauchery, aren’t we sweetie?’ Simon gave a coy smirk and said nothing.
‘That’s okay,’ replied Sue. ‘We took your advice, Georgie, as it sounded like a really good idea. We’re booked into the Travelodge just across the road. How about we meet in Wynyard Park tomorrow morning around nine-thirty? Is that too late?
‘No, but I’m hoping I’ll find it a little too early,’ replied Georgie.
CHAPTER 15
By the middle of the week Chief Rose had collated all the reports from notes taken by the police in attendance at the robbery, along with all the written statements provided. These were now contained in a file held firmly under the Chief’s arm as he proceeded to Superintendent Fisher’s office, where he stopped and knocked on the door.
‘Come in, Rose,’ called the voice from within. As he entered the office, he couldn’t help but notice the disparity between the office occupied by Mr. Pigeon and the one occupied by Superintendent Fisher. If this is a superintendent’s office, I don’t suppose I have much to grumble at, thought Chief Rose. Instead of the mahogany table was a pine desk, the leather chairs now vinyl, the lush paintings replaced by framed certificates of achievement and various police plaques. Gone were the window curtains, now replaced with venetian blinds, the plush carpet now linoleum, and the clean fresh ambience replaced with the smell of stale tobacco, Fisher currently in the process of contributing to the unpleasant smell by stubbing out another cigarette in an ashtray already filled with burnt out butts.
Chief Rose handed the file to the Superintendent, sat down and watched his boss skim through the file before throwing it on the table in front of him. ‘I’ve already received a copy of your report and, needless to say, I’m not overly impressed. I thought there were only two robbers?’
‘Yes, sir, that’s right, only two.’
‘Well, I’m not a mathematician, but if I count up the number of different descriptions given by various people who claim they were witness to the event, the whole Kelly gang could have done the job. Rent-a-Mob could have been involved.’
‘Yes, sir. We’re following up a few leads, but we haven’t got much to go on at the moment. It seems the robbers may have used the cover of an anti war demonstration to make their getaway so no-one took any notice of anybody once they left the bank. In fact, it appears no-one took much notice of them while they were in the bank, apart from their weird clothing. We did come across what is believed to be a jacket worn by one of the robbers, a lime green jacket found on the corner of George and Market Streets. We sent it to forensics but it seems everyone in the demonstration used it for a door mat. As I said, sir, we have very little to go on but every bit helps,’ said the Chief, sweat now dripping from his face onto his shirt.
‘I would hope it does. I would hate to think for one minute that any evidence, irrespective of how trivial it may seem, would not be helpful. Now listen, Rose, I’ve got the Chief Superintendent on my back right now and he’s not at all happy that the head office of a major bank in the middle of Sydney can be robbed in broad daylight by two yobbos dressed as clowns. But what is getting right up his nose, and mine too, is the fact that these two clowns appear to have been successful. And one last thing. We both know promotion is not an easy thing to come by, too many people for too few positions. Your failures are also my failures and right at the moment Chief Superintendent Paxton believes we are achieving a brilliant success in failing to get this case sorted. As it is abundantly clear you’re lacking in competence and intelligence to bring this case to a satisfactory conclusion, I want you to hand everything you have over to Inspector Hanson and we’ll see if he can do any better. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Chief Rose, wiping the sweat from his face with a handkerchief. He suddenly became conscious of the fact that he had responded to each of the superintendent’s questions with a “yes sir”. He was a dispirited and unhappy chief inspector as he left the Superintendent’s office. Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full sir. Yes, you cretin, don’t you mean my failures are my failures and my successes are your successes. He made his way back to his office and dropped disconsolately down into his chair. Something had gone wrong with the amicable relationship the two men had previously shared, but for some strange reason, Chief Rose didn’t really care. Okay, you repugnant smart aleck, you do better.
****
‘Hanson, my office, now,’ bellowed Detective Chief Inspector Rose down the corridor. Inspector Hanson was a CIB detective employed on matters relating to corporate crime, or white collar crime, as it was euphemistically known. Apart from conducting criminal investigations, he had been involved in criminal
profiling in his earlier days before doing a stint in Police Intelligence. As a result of his broad experience he was considered one of the most senior and knowledgeable detectives in the CIB, but for some unknown reason had not progressed passed the rank of inspector. Daryl Hanson was approaching sixty and had made up his mind to take things easy until his imminent retirement. He was a short, slight man, bald as a badger, and was never seen without a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.
‘You called, Chief?’ as he stuck his head through the open door.
‘Yes. Here’s the file on the bank job. See what you can make of it and get back to me. The Superintendent’s on my back and Paxton’s on his back, and I’ll be on your back if you don’t come up with some answers.’
‘Sure thing, Chief. Timeframe?’
‘ASAP.’
****
Detective Inspector Simon Webster sat in the coffee shop on the corner of Bathurst and George Streets and gazed out the window. He still had a few days leave left and had taken the opportunity to take the bus into town to meet Sergeant Elliott. His attention was quickly drawn to a man in the centre of George Street, along with the sound of an urgent car horn. The man, Simon quickly identified as his friend Noel Elliott, was in the process of playing a game of Russian roulette with the traffic, and to Simon, it looked like the odds were firmly in favor of the traffic. Noel eventually negotiated the traffic and entered the coffee shop where, after spotting Simon, he removed his cap and collapsed into the chair opposite.
‘Christ, it’s bloody dangerous out there, a man could get himself killed,’ he said, still breathing heavily from both the physical and mental exertion of crossing the street.
‘Yes, but that’s why we have traffic lights, you moron,’ said Simon without any sympathy. A young waitress dressed in a black skirt and white blouse soon approached the table, the four top buttons of the blouse inadvertently left undone. Notwithstanding a mouth full of chewing gum, the waitress asked for orders. Simon, his eyes riveted on the girl’s eyes replied, ‘one cappuccino and one flat black, thanks.’
‘One cappuccino and one flat black, she repeated in an extraordinary display of mental recall. Having failed to illicit any further response from either of the two men, she quickly wrote the order down on her note pad, turned and made her way back to the counter.
‘My God, the younger generation. Girls never looked like that when I was at that age. What, she’d be no more than sixteen?’ said Simon shaking his head.
‘Well, when I was at that age it seemed girls weren’t allowed out without a chaperone,’ quipped Noel with a grin. ‘But getting right off the subject, I suppose you’d like to know what’s going on?’
‘Yes, sure would. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since I went on leave and I bet something’s going on in Day Street,’ replied Simon.
Noel took a deep breath and pursed his lips before answering. ‘It seems the Chief has called in Daryl Hanson to look at the file on the bank job. He’s a good detective, as you well know, but I have an idea the basic intelligence already collated is very light on. You were absolutely right about the clothing the robbers wore. It seems every witness saw something different and I doubt if anyone, including the teller, could give an exact description. As for Sue and Georgie, the police consider them a non-event as they have ignored them completely. No-one paid any attention to the girls, except when the robber ran into Georgie and there’s nothing on the file to suggest any female involvement at all. The money is safe in the bank’s own safe deposit box, and no-one but the four of us know where it is. Hanson has some lackeys going through the records trying to find a similar modus operandi, which they won’t find, of course. He’s also doing a check on known bank robbers which is a bit of a waste of time, but he has to go through the usual routine.’
‘More to the point, how are things with Fisher? Thanks, mines the cappuccino,’ said Simon as he tried in vain not to ogle the waitress, now leaning over the table to set the coffees down.
‘How on earth you can perve on girls when we have the two best looking women on the coast is beyond me, you dirty old man. Now cut it out,’ said Noel, as he watched the sugar cube sink slowly into his coffee. ‘It seems we’re winning on that score. Fisher had the Chief up to his office recently. Naturally I haven’t a clue as to what happened, but the Chief was not happy after the visit, and it was just after that meeting that Rosey hauled Hanson in and gave him the file. By the same token, Paxton had Fisher to his office and the betting is that they didn’t talk about the weather. Rumour is Paxton is livid that anyone could pull off such an audacious robbery and appear to have been successful with it, so now he’s putting pressure on Fisher.’
Simon drew of the frothy top of the cappuccino with a spoon then licked the froth from the spoon before continuing. ‘That’s good. If Fisher is getting up Rosey, it means someone is getting up Fisher, and that would have to be Paxton. I know Paxton is well thought of in the commercial field and I wouldn’t be surprised if his golfing buddy in the bank hasn’t already been on to him. If nothing else, Paxton will demand results, which is good for us, provided they don’t catch us, of course. Anything else?’
‘Yes, there are a couple of things. First. I took the time to read the police report on the death of Doris. The autopsy showed she did have a wonky heart and her doctor’s records confirmed this. The coroner’s report stated she did die of a massive cardio infarction. There was nothing to suggest she had been bitten by a spider, and I dare say it couldn’t be confirmed if she died of fright, so it seems Georgie’s in the clear. The second thing is odd. I was approached by Sergeant Mathieson who quizzed me about Chief Rose. Nothing specific mind you, just general stuff; what was he like to work for, did he drink or gamble. Well, we all drink and gambol to some extent, a question like that is very subjective. I got the idea he was searching for something more specific but didn’t want to come straight out and ask. Just struck me as odd,’ said Noel with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘Anyway, I have to get back to work. I’ll give you a ring if I hear anything. See ya.’ Simon ordered another cappuccino and watched the world go by.
CHAPTER 16
Simon edged his way past the bookmakers’ umbrellas, looking at the odds of each of the horses running in the next event. It wasn’t a day for the favorites, three of them going down in the first four races. But then again, Simon thought, it can only be expected with weather like this, which was not good; a strong cold easterly wind bringing blustery showers scurrying across the racecourse making it highly uncomfortable for the meager crowd of punters in attendance. He paused to refer to his race book and, after reading the form guide, took his pencil and put a circle around a horse said to be a proven wet track specialist.
‘No, mate, I wouldn’t back him with your money. He likes it wet but it’s only his second run back from a spell. He needs about four races before he remembers what he’s s’posed to do.’
‘Oh, hi Ron. I was hoping to see you here.’
‘Yeah, likewise. I’ve got a bit of info you might be interested in.’
‘Right,’ said Simon. ‘Look, here’s twenty quid. Go put a brick on for me and one for yourself. I’ll go with whatever you back then we’ll have a beer and you can tell me what’s going on.’ Simon handed over two ten pound notes and watched as Ron spoke to a bookie before receiving two betting cards. He kissed one of the cards, for luck Simon surmised, and placed it in his pocket before handing the other to Simon.
‘Thanks mate. That was real kind of you. Now, let’s go and have that beer, I’m as dry as a Temperance Party piss up,’ said Ron.
Simon left Ron sitting on a bar stool while he went for the beers. He smiled at Helen who, on recognising him, raised her eyebrows questioningly and gestured with two fingers in the victory salute. Simon nodded and within a minute two beers had been placed on the bar in front of him. ‘Thanks luv.’ Simon dropped a ten shilling note on the bar, picked up the beers and returned to Ron. ‘Okay Ron, what have we got?�
�
‘Your boss’s back with a pocket full of money. Word is he’s going to lay it all on Tara Lad in the sixth.’
‘So, our slush fund is pretty empty at the moment?’ suggested Simon.
‘Bone dry, I’d say. But then you’d have a better idea of how much should be in it and how much cash our Chief Inspector Rose has on him.’
‘No, not really. I’ve taken a couple of weeks leave before starting down at Cronulla, but I dare say he’s got a few bob.’ Simon hadn’t realised just how thirsty he had been and his beer was soon empty. ‘Anotherie, Ron?’
‘Thanks, ta.’ Ron gulped the last of his beer and handed his empty glass to Simon.
On Simon’s return with the beers, Ron said, ‘Look, as soon as I finish this beer how about I go and confirm what horse your boss intends to back and we’ll stick around and see how it runs?’
‘Good thinkin’ Ron. But right now I’m a bit more interested in the next race. Hey, by the way, what horse are we on?’ Simon could never understand the bookies scrawl on a betting ticket.
‘Trevors. It’s being ridden by Jack Thomson so I give it a good chance. Got fives so if it comes in that’s fifty quid each, and that’s more money earned legally for a long time. Well, for me, anyway.’
‘Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know,’ replied Simon with a grin.
****
Ron disappeared into the crowd, probably in search of the rails bookie who had been furnishing the Chief with the names of horses that always seem to win, Simon presumed. He nodded to Helen, raised one finger and was acknowledged with a sweet smile. ‘Quiet day? Must be the weather,’ said Simon as Helen placed the beer on the bar and moved a bowl of peanuts closer to Simon.
‘Yes, terribly quiet, but I suppose it’s to be expected with weather like this. Even so, there are punters who are just as crazy as golfers; they still get out in it even if it’s raining cats and dogs, and no, I’m not casting aspersions on your sanity,’ Helen said with a smile. ‘It’ll be fine by Saturday so there’ll be a big crowd at Randwick to make up for today. Apart from that, it’s hard to pick a winner with the track condition as it is.’ Simon handed Helen a couple of bob for the beer and sat back up on the stool and looked at the TV screen above the bar.
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