The runners in the fifth race had made their way to the starting gates for the nine furlong event as Ron sidled up to Simon, water dripping from him. ‘Bloody wet out there. Much better to watch the race on the telly in here,’ Ron said as he tried to shake the water off like a shaggy dog. ‘And yep, our Rosey has plonked his bet on Tara Lad at seven to two with a rails bookie, and not the one who gives him the tips. All the same, for Rosey to back a horse with a rails bookmaker is certainly a first for him. He must have bet a lot of money because those rails bookies don’t bet with chicken feed.’
****
‘Bloody beauty, mate. Here’s your fifty, and thanks,’ said Ron after taking the winning tickets back to the bookie he had placed the bets with to collect the winnings. Simon couldn’t quite figure out just how Ron knew Trevors would win. After the race, Simon had taken the time to look at the form guide in the race book to see if there was anything to suggest the horse would win. There wasn’t, so Simon just accepted the fact and decided not to ask Ron the secret of his success.
As the two men watched the rain tumble down and drank their beers, Ron finally said, ‘You know, Simon, there are some good coppers and there are some bad coppers and it seems like you’ve become known as one of the good coppers, irrespective of what Rosey and Fisher may think of you. It’s easy to be considered a good copper by coppers, but when the bad guys regard you as being a good cop, you know you must have something goin’ for you. There are some coppers who want to punch your lights out first, and then ask the questions, or arrest you for jaywalking, or for just being wherever they think you shouldn’t. And some coppers must be morally bankrupt. Like, we know Rosey and Fisher are as corrupt as two politicians, not that there’s any collusion between the two. That makes it worse because they’re both independently corrupt individuals working on their Pat Malone. It’s hard to accept that a bloke like Fisher is earning more money from a casino than what he’s being paid. But then again, Rosey gets himself caught in the gambling net and can’t get out, while Fisher has a wife who spends money like the Labor Party at election time.’
Having been alluded to as one of the good coppers, Simon felt a chill run down his spine and his stomach muscles contract. Yeah, I’m a real good copper who’s just robbed the Bank of New South Wales, he thought. ‘Thanks for the kind words, Ron, but I just try to do my job. Anyway, I don’t expect you to answer this question, breach of confidentiality and all that, but how do you know about Rosey and the slush fund, and I suppose about Fisher, as well?’
‘Sorry, mate, but you’re absolutely right and you know the rules. These things aren’t going to go on forever so when it’s over we’ll all get together, have a few beers and have a good laugh.’ The words Ron had used impacted on Simon who tried to recall exactly what Ron had said. Maybe I’m paranoiac, but he did say “we’ll all get together.” He wouldn’t have used “all” unless there were other people involved. How very strange, Simon thought.
With more than twenty minutes to the next race, race six, and with probably nothing more exciting to talk about, Simon casually asked, ‘Ron, have you heard anything about the recent bank job in town?’
‘Strange you should ask,’ said Ron with a shake of the head, ‘cause the answer is no, not a whisper. And that’s the strange part of it. Two clowns walk into the bank, rob the place, walk out and just disappear without anyone knowing a thing about it. Usually someone knows something, but not this time, not a murmur. It’s really quite refreshing to see a couple of pillocks put it up the police like they have.’
‘Yeah, I was just wondering because Fisher initially gave the case to Rosey. Seems Rosey wasn’t going anywhere fast with it so Fisher directed him to hand it over to Daryl Hanson, who isn’t doing any better.’
‘Well, I’m not surprised,’ said Ron. ‘The Chief really hasn’t enough sense to come on in out of the rain so I think whoever did the job should send Fisher a Thank You card.’ Simon just smiled.
By the sixth race the rain had become even heavier and if it hadn’t been bucketing down earlier, it certainly was now. There had been talk of the race program being abandoned but the stewards, after doing an inspection of the track, had decided to make a further assessment after the sixth event. There were very few spectators taking the opportunity to view the horses as they paraded in the mounting yard, and even fewer taking up spots on the running rails to view the event. The majority had probably arrived at the same conclusion reached by Simon and Ron and were now crowded into the various bars throughout the course eager to view the event in a warm and dry environment.
Tara Lad looked fit and well as he made his way with the other runners onto the track and headed for the starting gates. Simon looked around, half expecting to see Chief Inspector Rose who was obviously somewhere waiting in excited anticipation of another winner and the bundle of winnings he would soon collect. The view of the horses was much clearer for those watching on TV than for those who opted to watch from the rails or the grandstand. Although the stand was covered, it provided little respite from the driving rain for the few unfortunate spectators who had chosen the stand to view the race.
‘Rather be here than outside,’ commented Ron as he gazed at the TV screen. ‘Hey look, isn’t that Rosey?’ The TV camera, scanning the meager number of people huddled under umbrellas against the running rails, settled on one particular spectator caught in a losing battle to control his umbrella which had been turned inside out by the howling wind.
‘Cripes, it’s either Rosey or Mary Poppins and from the size of the bloke, I’d bet it ain’t Poppins,’ said Simon, feeling vaguely sorry for his boss. Ron tried to suppress a smile, gave up and broke into side splitting laughter.
‘See, I told you. He hasn’t got the sense to come in out of the rain. Sorry, Simon, but it couldn’t happen to a nicer bloke,’ Ron lied after he gained control of his fit of laughter. ‘Hey, they’re ready to jump,’ he said, drawing Simon’s attention back to the race. The horses were plowing through the heavy going along the back of the course with Tara Lad well positioned tucked away in third place. As they turned into the straight, Tara Lad found firmer ground towards the centre of the track and made his dash for the wining post.
‘Looks like Rosey’s on another winner here,’ said Simon.
‘Not yet. Look at Sir Miles, he’s finishing off stronger than Tara Lad.’ As they passed the furlong post, Tara Lad was half a length in front, his stride shortening. Ron was right. Sir Miles was finishing over the top of Tara Lad but the winning post looked like it was close enough for Tara Lad to just make it. Head to head, Tara Lad and Sir Miles were involved in a classic racing duel, neither horse willing to concede defeat, both jockeys striving to get as much out of his mount as possible.
The crowd in the bar was shouting encouragement as the horses crossed the finishing line locked together. Photo finish. ‘Tara Lad has held on,’ said Simon, surprised at just how excited he had become watching the spectacle.
Ron broke into laughter again. ‘I wonder how Rosey’s feeling right now. He’s probably having palpitations. Serves him right’. Clearly, Ron had no compassion for Detective Chief Inspector Damien Rose.
****
‘They’re a long time with the photo, aren’t they?’ asked Simon, unaware of the mechanics involved in a photo finish.
‘No, when it’s as close as this race, the judge will usually call for a second print, just to make sure he’s made the right decision. The numbers should go up in the frame shortly.’ Correct to his word, the numbers were soon in the frame and the course announcer gave the judge’s decision declaring Sir Miles the winner by a short half head.
‘Holy hell. I bet Rosey’s feeling a trifle ill right at the moment, poor bugger. Apart from falling off the planet, I wonder what he’ll do now.’ Simon asked, more to himself than anyone in particular. Just at that moment, an ambulance maneuvered through the crowd outside the bar and headed for the rails, where a body lay prostrate on the ground, a small group of spectat
ors gathering to see what was happening.
‘Hello, hello. What have we here?’ Isn’t that pretty close to where Rosey was standing,’ Simon asked as he shouldered his way through the bar patrons to get a better view.
‘Yes, maybe we should get over and have a closer look, just in case,’ replied Ron as he felt a twinge of apprehension. The rain had eased from the bucketing down to become a steady downpour as the two men made their way across the lawn to the scene unfolding by the running rail. Two ambulance men were kneeling over the unfortunate sole, one with an oxygen mask in his hand, the other pounding on the chest of the prostrate racegoer.
‘Crikey, it is Rosey, and he doesn’t look really well at the moment,’ exclaimed Simon as he drew his warrant card from his coat pocket and pushed his way through the small crowd of onlookers. He showed the card to the ambulance men, who nodded and continued to work on Chief Inspector Rose. The feeling Simon was beginning to experience was a combination of both shame and pity, shame in that he was quite prepared to do everything possible to make the Chief look bad in his boss’s eyes, and pity because the sight of someone fighting for their life is extraordinarily distressing. But hell, thought Simon, Rosey got himself into this, and Rosey can bloody well get himself out of it.
‘You’ll excuse me sir, we just need a little space,’ said one of the ambulance men to Simon as he opened the back doors of the ambulance and withdrew a stretcher and a blanket.
Simon felt a cold shiver down his spine. ‘He’s going to be all right?’ he asked as they placed Rosey into the back of the ambulance.
‘’You know him?’ asked one of the medics, slamming the back doors of the ambulance shut.
‘Yes, he’s Detective Chief Inspector Damien Rose from the Day Street Police Headquarters.’ Simon was going to add that Rose was his boss, but thought better of it.
‘I’m sorry then, officer,’ the ambulance man said, in no particular hurry to get their patient to hospital. ‘Looks like a massive heart attack. I’d say he didn’t stand a chance and was probably dead before he hit the ground.’ Simon and Ron stood there in the rain and stared at each other, appalled at what they had just witnessed.
‘Well, I’ll be buggered,’ said Ron, gazing after the ambulance as it drove slowly off into the crowd, its blue light flashing. ‘Like, I mightn’t have liked the bloke, but this is a bit stiff, if you’ll excuse the pun. Sorry Simon, but God works in mysterious ways.’
‘Yes, he does, Ron. He certainly does,’ Simon replied, his mind in turmoil.
CHAPTER 17
‘Now let’s get this straight. You’re telling me we go to all the trouble of knocking off the Bank of New South Wales in the middle of Sydney for the sole purpose of making Chief Inspector Rose look bad, and he goes and has a fatal heart attack. Simon, you’ve got to be joking?’ said Noel, trying to come to terms with the enormity of the event.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Simon with a shrug. ‘But what can I say. It wasn’t a pretty sight seeing Rosey lying there with two medicos trying to resuscitate him by beating the life out of him.’
Noel frowned. ‘Well, I think it’s bloody inconsiderate. He could’ve died before we pulled the bank job. As it is, we went to a lot of trouble for nothing, let alone putting our lives in jeopardy of a ten year stint in Long Bay.’
The three others sitting around the small round garden table in the Webster’s back yard on a sunny Saturday could empathize with Noel’s irritation and share in his frustration. Simon took a cold beer from the Esky, cracked the lid and took a long draught. ‘God, what a mess. Look, Rosey gave the investigation over to Hanson because Rosey wasn’t going anywhere with it. From what you tell me, Noel, Hanson isn’t doing much better. The current thought is that it had to be an interstate job, probably because they haven’t got anything better to go on. Let’s not get panicky just yet. However, we still have a problem with Fisher who is, after all, just as responsible as Rose was for stuffing up our careers. We know Fisher is on the take and is an out and out sleaze, not that that matters, but he’s still a crook and needs to be brought down. I think we have him offside with Paxton who is demanding results on the bank job, and somehow I don’t think Hanson will retrieve the situation for Fisher.’
Noel crunched an empty beer can in his hand then threw it into a nearby garbage can specifically placed for such purpose. ‘I reckon you should have been at work yesterday, Simon. The shit really hit the fan when they carried out an audit of the slush fund and found no cash in the tin and the vouchers for payment looking very suss. It’s odd, they rarely do an audit and as soon as Rosey pegs out, they do one. And guess who did the audit?’ said Noel, working on the cork of a bottle of Ben Ean for the girls.
‘Let me guess,’ replied Simon, shutting his eyes tightly and feigning deep concentration. ‘Ah, yes. It had to be Sergeant Mathieson.’
‘Right in one,’ replied Noel.
Sue frowned as she poured two glasses of wine. ‘You know, I’ve got a bone to pick with you two. Georgie and I sit here in complete ignorance as you two men chat away as if there’s no tomorrow. We’re in this thing just as much as you, so how about telling us what the hell is going on.’
‘Totally agree,’ said Georgie, taking her wine and sitting back on her chair.
‘Okay, okay, keep your knickers on. We don’t know much more than what you’ve already heard from Noel and myself,’ Simon replied, holding his hands up in surrender to the girls’ verbal tirade. ‘This friend of mine at the races told me that both Rosey and Fisher were playing both ends of the stick. Rosey had a gambling problem which he funded from a police slush fund. Fisher, on the other hand, is more corrupt in that he’s being paid-off, I suppose you can call it protection money, for want of a better word, by the owner of at least one casino. The pay-off is to guarantee the police refrain from shutting the place down. And that’s about it. God knows if Chief Superintendent Paxton knows what’s going on, but this bloke at the races seems to know everything. I could be wrong, but I think it would be safe to assume Paxton at least knows something about it, surely.’
‘And you think Fisher may have trashed your report on illegal gambling for that very reason?’ asked Georgie.
‘Yes, well at least on the recommendation of Rosey although Rosey had his own motive for having the report trashed. He’s always known what I think of him, sorry, thought of him, both as a person and a police officer, and that goes back to the beginning of my career at The Rocks station. I’ve no doubt he’d always been on the lookout for the opportunity to plant the dirk and the report gave him a helping hand. You see, any report that isn’t endorsed by the next person in the chain gets trashed.’
‘So where does that leave us?’ asked Sue as she poured herself another glass of wine.
‘Well, there’s not much we can do to make Rosey look any worse than what he looks like right now,’ said Simon. ‘The whole idea of trying to make Rosey look incompetent to his superiors appears to have been nullified by two events. First, the fact Rosey’s and Fisher’s illegal enterprises have both been compromised, and second, and probably more significantly, Rosey’s dead. In view of what’s happened and the upheaval Rosey’s death will cause at the station, I think it might be a good time to give the bank its money back. What do you think, Georgie?’
Georgie rested her elbow on the arm of the chair and studied the wine in her glass. After a moment’s contemplation, she replied, ‘Yes, I would feel far more comfortable knowing the money’s where it should be.’
‘And you, Sue?’ Simon asked.
‘Yes, I agree with that. While it was a lot of fun, I’m really not a bank robber. And to tell the truth, I’m worried we could still get caught.’ Simon then turned to Noel with an enquiring look.
‘I’ll go with the consensus, but I think we have definite potential here. The job we did was contrary to all good robbers’ code of conduct. I’ve always liked the idea of giving the money back to the bank, but in the process we’ve demonstrated a huge weakness in the ba
nk’s security, irrespective of the actions of the security guard. Even if he had been alert, he wouldn’t have spotted anything untoward until it was too late. The establishment just isn’t prepared for the unusual, and we have that commodity in abundance. We could always hire out those attributes where people want to improve security.’
‘Sort of crime awareness scheme. Show a company, or business just where it may be vulnerable to criminal attack,’ said Simon, his interest aroused.
‘Yes, that sort of thing. Could be a lot of fun.’
‘Okay, okay, let’s not get carried away. We haven’t finished this job yet,’ said Simon coming back to the problem at hand. ‘And how do we get the money back to the bank? Take the money out of the safe deposit box and go make a deposit?’
‘Oh, shut up, you goose,’ came the caustic response from Georgie. ‘All we have to do is write a letter to the bank, tell them where the money is and, at the same time, apologise for the inconvenience we may have inadvertently caused. We enclose the key to the safe deposit box with the letter, and that’s the end of the story. Too easy,’ said Georgie who had clearly given the mater some thought beforehand. ‘And if you’re going to organise that, Simon, I suggest you refrain from signing the letter,’ Georgie added sarcastically.
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Noel as he pulled the top off a can of beer and accidently spraying Sue who just happened to be sitting in the wrong place. ‘Bugger, sorry sweetheart,’ he said and offered her a dirty handkerchief from his Stubby shorts pocket. Sue ignored him with a frown.
A BLIND EYE Page 11