by Robert Blain
The tram slowed to a stop on Collins Street outside Sofitel Tower. Not only was it the headquarters of Land Lease Corp, the company owned the building outright. Schlakier alighted, entering the building’s swish lobby and caught an elevator up to the forty-fourth floor – which delivered him so smoothly and rapidly that his ears popped.
Upon arrival, Schlakier was taken through the plush entrance of Land Lease Corp by an efficient, well-groomed secretary and asked to wait in what appeared to be the boardroom. While he waited, Schlakier took in a stunning view of Melbourne in one broad sweep – starting at the Melbourne Cricket Ground at one end and following the line of the Yarra River as far as the West Gate Bridge.
The lawyer entered quickly and took a seat. No handshake. He was slender, attired in an immaculate dark blue suit, matching tie and white shirt, with savagely cropped fair hair. His head was as prickly as his demeanour. He looked about forty. No smile.
‘Mr David Fried?’
‘It’s pronounced Freed.’
‘My apologies.’
‘Russell Hohl couldn’t join us today,’ said Schlakier. A statement, not a question.
‘He’s much too busy,’ said Fried. ‘I will be acting on his behalf. Let’s get down to business. I don’t have much time.’
As if to drive home the point, Fried took a quick glance at his watch.
‘OK. With regards to your client, Christopher Hohl…’
‘Actually, he’s no longer our client.’
It appeared Schlakier had gotten off on the wrong foot with the in-house counsel.
‘I thought you would have known that,’ continued Fried. ‘Being a private investigator.’
Fried allowed himself a thin smile.
‘Let’s be clear. The only reason I agreed to see you this morning,’ he continued, ‘is to set the record on some threats that have been made to our company CEO. Something you can report back to your employers – whatever incompetent branch of the State Government that happens to be.’
Schlakier was surprised that he Fried knew this. He clearly had good connections.
‘I’m only doing my job, Mister Fried. Much like you, I’m just a gun for hire.’ Schlakier was determined to take back the initiative.
‘Would you happen to know the current whereabouts of Christopher Hohl?’
‘I was hoping you could tell us,’ said the lawyer.
‘Do you mind if I record this?’ said Schlakier taking a Dictaphone out of his pocket.
‘You can’t record this,’ said Fried flatly. ‘You can take notes if you like but no recording.’
Schlakier slipped the device back in his pocket and pulled out a small spiral-bound notepad and pencil.
‘You mentioned a threat made against your CEO. I assume that would be Russell Hohl.’
Fried gave a curt nod.
‘With regard to this threat,’ said Schlakier. ‘Who made it?’
‘Threats. It occurred on more than one occasion. His brother, Christopher.’
Schlakier shifted in his seat and endeavoured to keep his voice natural.
‘What was the nature of these threats?’
‘Just a few months ago, his brother began loitering outside Russell’s apartment. He appeared to be stalking him. One morning, he went as far as to walk up the front steps to his entrance and stole his newspaper.’
‘Stole his newspaper?’
‘Yes. Mister Hohl gets the Australian Financial Review delivered every day.’
‘Why would he do that? The theft I mean.’
‘I have no idea. Perhaps if you see him, you can ask him. But it’s all part of a pattern of threatening behaviour against my client.’
‘And you have proof of this stalking?’
‘Yes. It’s all on camera. The surveillance system outside my client’s home is state of the art. It’s part of the new apartment complex in South Yarra. Perhaps you’ve seen it?’
Schlakier nodded. It was hard to miss. He’d driven past it a few times. One Toorak Place it was called. A very exclusive affair – looking like it belonged in London’s Mayfair rather than down-to-earth Melbourne. Each residence had embossed gold-plate numbering on securely locked letterboxes and fronted with wrought iron fencing. Christopher Hohl must have surely known that he would be filmed loitering in the vicinity. He clearly wanted to be seen.
‘Then about a month ago, he stopped coming,’ continued Fried. ‘Simply disappeared. This is not the first time my client has been the victim of threatening behaviour by his brother. It’s been happening on-and-off since Christopher Hohl was stripped of his executive powers at Land Lease Corp.’
‘Why was he removed as an executive?’
‘It was determined that he was not a fit and proper person to hold the position. God knows the family tried. Russell, especially. For three years he had his own office here. But his behaviour became increasingly erratic. Then there was all the terrible business with Justina’s disappearance. All the bad press. In the end, the family decided to relieve Christopher of his business duties. To cut him loose.’
‘How did he take that?’ said Schlakier, as he furiously continued to take notes.
‘Not well. There’s been bad blood between he and Russell ever since. He left his office here one day and never returned. The last time the brothers were together at a family gathering – a couple of years ago now – Christopher Hohl threatened to kill my client.’
Schlakier looked up from his notepad. Fried’s stare was intense.
‘Did you hear him say this?’ said Schlakier.
‘No. There were no witnesses. Christopher’s too smart for that. Just the two of them. But from what I’ve heard and observed in recent years, I have no reason to doubt the veracity of the threat. Quite frankly, my client fears for his life. Christopher Hohl, as I’m sure you’re aware, is a dangerous man.’
Both men thought of the violent death of Sarah Chisholm but neither mentioned it.
‘Is it true,’ said Schlakier, ‘that Russell Hohl had a bodyguard?’
‘After his life was threatened by his brother, yes.’
‘But not now.’
‘We’re assessing the situation.’
Fried’s mobile phone pinged. He pulled it out his pocket and looked at his screen.
He said: ‘We’re going to have to wind this up.’
‘Just a couple of more questions.’
Fried let out a long sigh. ‘Make it quick.’
‘I will. You say that Christopher Hohl is no longer your client but as I understood things, you manage all the legal affairs of the Hohl family.’
‘That’s correct. But Christopher Hohl withdrew as my client of his own accord. He formed the opinion that the Hohl family was out to diddle him out of his share of the estate by declaring him mentally incompetent. Which I can assure you is not the case.’
Given the poisonous atmosphere that existed between Hohl and his brother, this seemed to be a plausible conclusion to draw.
But Schlakier simply said: ‘And why would he have thought that?’
‘Someone whispering in his ear. His new woman, Marie Lombardo.’
This was news to Schlakier. He didn’t know of another woman – new or otherwise. He wrote the name down in his notepad and underlined it.
‘As if Christopher wasn’t paranoid enough on his own, this Lombardo woman convinced him that the family was out to get his money. She’s a piece of work, I can tell you.’
‘His lover?’
‘More than that, they’re married. She wouldn’t be the first woman to try and get her talons into his money.’
‘That doesn’t seem to be a particularly professional opinion,’ said Schlakier.
‘You haven’t had to deal with the woman,’ said Fried. ‘But let me make one thing clear. Christopher Hohl is very well taken financially by his family. He receives an extremely generous annual stipend. Extremely generous.’
No doubt a stipulation in his dead father’s will, thought Schlakier.
Fried let this last comment hang for a while.
‘Just one more thing. If you do happen to catch up with him, give him this,’ said Fried, sliding a white envelope across the table.
‘What’s this?’
‘A cease and desist letter. Making Christopher Hohl aware of the legal consequences he faces if he keeps harassing my client.’
Fried stood, signalling to Schlakier their meeting was at an end.
On the way back down in the elevator, Schlakier had plenty to mull over. The first priority was to track down Marie Lombardo. And there was also just the slightest twinge of glee, that Christopher Hohl had been able to put the wind up his family and its uppity lawyer.
13
=====
SECOND DATE
‘Wanna come with me?’
‘To Hanoi?’
‘Yeah.’
Schlakier was driving along the Nepean Highway in early-evening darkness with Vicky in the passenger seat beside him. They were returning from a semi-romantic supper of Oysters Kilpatrick on the balcony of a bar-cum-restaurant overlooking the sea at Black Rock. Vicky’s idea. They had devoured freshly shucked oysters while the sun dipped into the water amid a sunset of fiery red clouds. Then followed it up with a leisurely stroll along the beach, along with the usual joggers and dog-walkers. Schlakier was determined not to bring the mood down by talking about his days in the force. Or Zoe.
‘You remember,’ continued Vicky. ‘I said I was going to go back and visit my extended family. I haven’t seen them since I left Vietnam as a little girl.’
She gave him a sidelong glance. The ghost of a grin on her face.
‘Well?’ she teased.
Schlakier applied the brakes as they approached a set of traffic lights.
‘When are you planning on going?’ said Schlakier.
‘After my exams.’
Schlakier looked across at her. She was fetching in her peach-coloured blouse and navy-blue shorts.
‘I’m only kidding Andy. I don’t really expect you to go.’
‘No, I’d like to seriously. It’s just that I’m really tied up with that big case at the moment.’
Vicky gave a little shiver. Blazing sunshine had given way to a cloudless, cool spring night.
‘Want to wear my jacket?’ said Schlakier. ‘I can get it for you. It’s just in the back seat.’
‘Nah, I’m good. Maybe you can keep me warm.’
She leant toward him. Schlakier felt the light pressure of her skin as she put her cheek on the nape of his neck. He put a hand around her shoulder and continued to steer with the other.
After her nervousness on their first date, she seemed a lot more comfortable second time around.
‘How goes the big case, anyway?’ she said.
‘You really want to know?’
‘Sure.’
‘Well, it’s just got a whole lot more serious. Did you read about that woman who was shot dead in her house?’
He felt her nodding on his shoulder.
‘She was a friend of Christopher Hohl.’
She lifted her head and looked intensely into his face.
‘You’re kidding. Has he been arrested?’
Schlakier shook his head. ‘This nothing to connect him with the murder.’
‘But he knew her.’
‘That doesn’t prove anything. You know the guy saw his mother jump out of a window when he was eight years old. That’s enough to fuck anyone up.’
‘What? You mean like he saw her commit suicide?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s awful,’ said Vicky.
‘I just think he deserves to get a fair shake.’
Something Schlakier didn’t feel life had given him. Not after a trashed career in the police force. Not after the way things ended with Zoe.
‘But don’t let it cloud your judgement, Andy. He could still be a murderer.’
‘Anyway, he’s gone to ground. Nobody knows where he is. That’s what I’m doing – trying to locate him.’
‘Shit Andy, be careful. What are you going to do if you find him?’
‘Talk to him. See what he knows. Try to get some fresh information.’
‘It sounds dangerous.’
‘I know what I’m doing Vicky. Don’t worry.’
Vicky quizzed Schlakier for a while on what he knew about Hohl and what sort of precautions he would take. After Schlakier became fed up reassuring her, he turned on the radio to lighten the mood. It was an old-school radio station. It did the trick. A song came on that Vicky knew and she sang along – almost, but not quite, in tune.
Finally they pulled up at her place in Coburg. Schlakier had been sorely tempted to invite her back to his place. Her tanned legs beckoned. But in the end, he decided it wasn’t a complication he was quite ready for. He killed the engine but left the radio playing.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the oysters. Next time it’s my shout.’
Vicky fussed about as if she was about to leave but stayed put. Her small black handbag in her lap. A new song came – “Eagle Rock” by Daddy Cool. As Ross Hannaford picked out the iconic opening riff, Vicky tapped her hand on her thigh to the beat. The clasp of her handbag jingled in time with each of her small slaps.
‘I didn’t know you liked old school,’ said Schlakier. ‘Well old school for me is the seventies. Old school for the kids is probably a song that came out three years ago.’
‘Sure. I love all this old stuff.’
‘You know, this song used to be banned.’
‘How come?’
‘Back in the late seventies, it was censored by the Australian Defence Force because there was a tradition of soon-to-be graduates dropping their pants at parties when it came on.’
Vicky laughed at the absurd story.
’It’s true,’ said Schlakier.
He looked into her eyes. She held his gaze. Then held it a little longer.
He leaned over and kissed her. He meant it as a goodnight kiss, but it soon went beyond that. As he moved his body closer to hers, he felt the pitter-patter of her heart. It was racing. They went deeper into each other. Schlakier lost himself. And then something was wrong. Panic was rising in his throat. He drew away from her.
‘What’s wrong?’ Vicky whispered.
The music. The song had changed. Schlakier recognised it as James Blunt’s “You’re Beautiful”. It had been one of Zoe’s favourite songs. From the CD they had listened to repeatedly through the early days of their dating.
Schlakier shut off the radio.
Vicky stared at him. A puzzled, hurt look on her face.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Bad memories.’
‘If you want to talk about it…’
‘No.’
He looked numbly out of the windscreen. She picked up her handbag from where it had fallen at her feet, gathered herself and got out the car. She said something as she left but Schlakier didn’t catch it. He was reliving his final scene together with Zoe. The time she had told him about Frederiqué. Her lover. By the time he had snapped out of his reverie, Vicky had disappeared into her house.
Schlakier wondered what had become of him. The big, tough former cop couldn’t even go out on a date without falling to pieces.
14
=====
THE CADAVER LETTER
‘Marie Lombardo, please.’
‘She’s not here.’
The voice sounded young, female. It could have been Marie Lombardo’s flatmate, or possibly her daughter.
‘Do you know when she’ll be back?’
‘No. She’s in Europe on holiday.’
‘Do you know where I can reach her?’
‘No.’
‘No forwarding address?’
‘No. Who is this?’
‘Andrew Schlakier. I’m a private detective with Smith Street Investigat
ors.’
‘Is she in some kind of trouble?’
“Not at all. But I want to speak with her about a matter of some urgency. Can you ask her to get in touch with me?’
“I’ll let her know.’
He passed on his contact details and hung up.
Schlakier turned the business card over in his fingers. It felt strange handling something given to him by a dead person. Sarah Chisholm’s last significant act before she had been brutally murdered. Schlakier again tried the phone number on the business card but it remained disconnected. He memorised the email address on the business card and then carefully typed into his computer. It was his last chance to find Christopher Hohl. He had exhausted all other avenues – at least until Hohl’s partner returned from Europe.
Schlakier was alone in the office. Outside, he could hear someone yelling abuse into the public phone on the footpath. Presumably some enraged looney was phoning Centrelink demanding to know why their dole money had been cut off. Just another typical day with the Smith Street crazies.
Schlakier scratched the stubble on his chin – he had forgotten to shave that morning – and tried to focus his attention on the matter at hand. He would require a high degree of tact to lure his target. Slowly and deliberately he composed the email. He spent the best part of half an hour cutting bits, adding bits, moving bits around until he was satisfied with the result. Schlakier frowned as he read over the correspondence one final time.
Dear Mister Hohl,
I was given your details by a mutual acquaintance. I hope that you don’t mind that I have taken the liberty of contacting you. I have been hired by State Corporate Affairs to endeavour to find out more about you. As you may be aware by now through your family connection with Russell Hohl, or possibly other channels, there is an active interest in your whereabouts and certain events that occurred in your past.
Please note that while I have been privately employed, I am acting under my own discretion and am under no obligation to reveal anything you might tell me in confidence. As a matter of fact, I believe that you have been treated very unfairly by the press in this country and would like the opportunity to set the record straight by telling your side of the story.