by Robert Blain
If you have time to meet in person at a time and place of your convenience, I believe it could be to our mutual benefit. I can be contacted during office hours on 9965____ or any time on 0410______.
Please know that I am on your side.
Andrew Schlakier
‘Oh well, here goes,’ he muttered to himself, before clicking send. He sat back in his chair and pondered what to do next. The street outside the office was silent. Possibly the crazy in the public phone booth had demolished the handset or got fed up with being on hold with Centrelink and left. Schlakier briefly considered phoning Vicky to apologise for his behaviour the previous evening but thought better of it. Better to leave her alone, he decided.
Schlakier’s office phone rang. Surely it couldn’t be Hohl ringing him so soon? He hesitated for a few moments – trying to compose himself before picking up.
‘Andrew Schlakier.’
‘Andy. It’s Peter Michael. Any progress with the case?’
‘Not much so far.’
‘What about the lead you got from Sarah Chisholm before she snuffed it? That business card for Hohl?’
‘I’ve drawn a blank with the phone number – it’s still disconnected. But I just sent Hohl a message on the email on the card.’
‘Fingers crossed you hear something back.’
‘Yeah.’
But why would Hohl reply, thought Schlakier. What could he possibly gain from it?
‘I had an interesting chat with the in-house counsel for the Hohl’s estate. He told me about Christopher Hohl’s current wife,’ said Schlakier.
‘His wife. Since when?’
‘A couple of years apparently. A Marie Lombardo. I tried to get in touch with her but unfortunately she’s disappeared too. On a European holiday, it seems. Incommunicado.’
‘Keep following up. Make sure you get hold of her when she comes back to Melbourne.’
‘That’s the plan.’
‘Good man. There’s been a development,’ continued Michael. ‘You’re old mates at Russell Street Police Station were sent a cadaver letter.’
‘A what?’
‘A cadaver letter. They received it the Monday after Sarah Chisholm was shot. And inside, was a single piece of paper with her address and just the word “cadaver” underneath it. In capitals.’
‘Jesus.’
‘That’s how they found her body so quickly. Whoever killed her was sufficiently concerned about her that they didn’t want her bloody corpse rotting away in her house. The cops want to run a comparison between the cadaver letter and Hohl’s handwriting. But guess what?’
‘They don’t have a copy of his handwriting.’
‘Too right. I’ve got a scanned copy of the letter. I’ll shoot it across to you by email. So if you do manage to track down our Mister Hohl, make sure you get a sample of his handwriting or nick something he’s written, or whatever.’
‘I’ll have to find him first.’
‘Yeah well keep soldiering on. There’s people here in high places want a conviction or it’s my arse in a sling.’
Michael paused to let the importance of this sink in.
‘Anyway, I’ve got to shoot through. Keep me posted.’
Within a minute of Michael hanging up, a new message popped into Schlakier’s email box. As promised, it contained the scanned document of a plain A4 sheet in a simple, always child-like handwriting:
15 CAINE STREET
BRIGHTON
VICTORIA, 3187
CADAVER_
Schlakier puzzled over the strange correspondence. Why would someone murder Sarah Chisholm and then go out of their way to notify the police about the body? Killer’s remorse? And why the peculiar choice of word. Cadaver? Surely “dead body” or simply “body” would have been the more logical choice. Something played uneasily in Schlakier’s mind but he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. Like when he was a child and had tried to grasp the concept of infinity. Sometimes he felt he almost had it, before it just eluded his grasp.
16
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THE CONVERSATION
Friday night. Schlakier was in the kitchen of his Hawthorn apartment making pasta. A pot of farfalle was bubbling away on the stove. It was a decent apartment. Part of a new complex that had been built for the influx of cashed-up Chinese immigrants. Zoe had persuaded him to buy it. Funny. He was still in the apartment but Zoe was gone.
He finished slicing the cherry tomatoes and took a sip from his glass of red. A three-year-old bottle of Tarrawarra Estate pinot noir. A pretty respectable drop from the Yarra Valley. Another of Zoe’s little influences on his life – teaching him good wine from bad. It had been three days since he’d emailed Hohl. But he’d heard nothing. And now he’d run out of options. It looked like he was going to disappoint Peter Michael after all.
Music blared out from the living room. More old school Aussie rock. This time Midnight Oil. The band’s music reminded Schlakier of a time when he was young and strong. Indestructible, even. They were playing his favourite Oils track, “Read About it”. This and the fact that he’d already downed two Crown Lagers had put him in a good mood. In a burst of optimism, he texted Vicky to see if she wanted to go for pizza at Topolino’s that Saturday. Then he set about chopping the onions.
Schlakier’s smartphone pinged. He dried his hands with a tea towel and checked for messages. One from Vicky popped up.
Hey Andy, I’ve done my ACL playing tennis.
My knee is in a monstrous leg brace.
Can we take a rain cheque?
So she’d done her anterior cruciate ligament. The football player’s injury curse. But as he thought about it, Schlakier wondered if it was genuine. Doing an ACL just playing tennis? It seemed unlikely. Perhaps she was just inventing an excuse to break off with him. He wasn’t really surprised. Not after the way he’d behaved during their last date.
He was about to resume chopping the onions when his mobile rang. Great, he thought, she’s changed her mind.
‘Hey there,’ said Schlakier.
‘Hello.’
‘Yes.’
‘This is Chris Hohl.’
Schlakier’s blood froze.
‘Yes.’
‘Christopher Hohl. You emailed me.’
‘This is Andrew Schlakier.’
Well duh, thought Schlakier. He knows that. He just phoned me.
‘Hi Mister Schlakier, how are you?’
The voice was gravelly but Schlakier was surprised how cordial Hohl sounded. Affable even.
‘I haven’t caught you at a bad time, have I?’ continued Hohl.
‘No, not at all. I just wasn’t expecting… let me turn the music down.
He ran into the living room and shut off the CD player. ‘Please call me Andrew by the way.’
‘OK. I found your proposition interesting.’
Schlakier wondered what “proposition” he was talking about but let it slide.
‘In your email,’ continued Hohl, ‘you said you wanted to hear my side of the story.’
‘That’s correct.’
‘I assume you’re aware that the authorities in Victoria want to find me and interview me. Possibly arrest me even.’
That’s a pretty fair bet, thought Schlakier. Hohl sounded aggrieved, hurt even. Instinctively, Schlakier remained silent.
‘I would imagine these so-called authorities want to interrogate me about the disappearance of my wife, Justina, all over again.’
‘I’d say that’s about right,’ conceded Schlakier.
‘And now after Sarah has just been murdered, they want to interrogate me about her too.’
‘I’d say so,’ said Schlakier. ‘So what do you think happened to her?’
Schlakier held his breath.
‘Well, she was mixed up with the wrong crowd,’ said Hohl after a barely perceptible pause. ‘Back in her days in the legal profession, she was a lawyer for the mob. My guess is that she had information that someone wanted kept secret. But
I doubt the police will see it that way.’
‘Mister Hohl. As I mentioned, I want to tell your side of the story. But I’d like to meet you in person for that.’
‘I think we should,’ said Hohl. ‘The only problem is, I’m on the other side of the country at the moment. In Fremantle, actually.’
‘That might work out OK. I’m going to be in Perth for a conference next week,’ said Schlakier. ‘I could meet you then.’
Schlakier winced as he trotted out the feeble lie. But incredibly, Hohl seemed to buy it.
‘Sound good. When do you arrive in Perth?’
‘Monday.’
‘Well all right then. I’ll call you again next week, Andrew. Bye-bye.’
With that, Hohl abruptly hung up.
Schlakier put down the phone and fist-pumped. Yes! he thought, I’m finally going to meet the fucker. He suddenly remembered he had pasta on the stove but when he went to the kitchen to rescue it, it was way past al dente. It was, in fact, a soggy mass. But that didn’t concern Schlakier one bit. He was finally going to meet Christopher Hohl.
17
=====
AT THE FOOTY
‘Ball!’
The crowd roared as one as a St Kilda player brought a Hawthorn defender to the ground in a crunching tackle, the football trapped underneath him. The umpire trotted up to the pair melodramatically, blew his whistle and signalled with his arm that it was a St Kilda free kick. Another roar of approval from the Saints fans.
Schlakier and Birtles were at the footy – the last home-and-away game before the finals. It was a modest crowd at the MCG. A Hawthorn home game. Hawthorn was in the finals and in contention for a genuine tilt at the premiership. The Saints – Schlakier’s team – didn’t make the finals. This was their last game of the year. But so far, they were putting up a brave fight against the highly fancied Hawks, down by just three goals midway through the last quarter.
Birtles had just rejoined Schlakier at their seats behind the St Kilda goal. He was carrying two plastic cups of mid-strength beer. Schlakier yearned for the days at the footy when you used to be able to get full-strength beer in a can.
‘What did I miss?’ said Birtles, handing Schlakier one of the plastic cups.
‘Free kick against one of your boys for holding the ball.’
‘Bloody umpires.’
‘Don’t whinge too much – he was caught red-handed.’
A hush descended as the St Kida forward lined up the goals from 20 metres out, the bright red Sherrin spinning in his nervous hands. The Hawthorn player on the mark jumped around and waved his arms to put off the kicker. After a few stuttering steps, the St Kilda player kicked the ball towards goal. It wobbled off course and banged into the right goal post – leading to ironic cheers of delight from the Hawks fans and groans from the Saints fans.
The Hawthorn defender kicked the ball back into play. A team-mate marked the ball uncontested on the flank in the last remaining patch of late afternoon sunshine. The MCG was being slowly engulfed in shadow as the sun set behind the Southern Stand.
‘Man up Saints,’ shouted out Schlakier.
‘So how was your hot date with Vicky?’ asked Birtles.
He had been away in Tasmania and so hadn’t heard the latest. He had taken a case for a sawmill owner who suspected one of his employees was faking a bad back to get off work. Birtles tailed him on a week-long stake-out and although he had his suspicions, he was unable to prove anything. Strike one up for the little guy.
They both took a sip of watered-down beer from their plastic cups.
‘Not so good mate. I think it’s a bit too soon after Zoe,’ said Schlakier.
‘C’mon mate. It’s been almost a year.’
‘Anyway, I think I might have blown it the other night,’ conceded Schlakier.
‘What happened?’
The Hawthorn players continued to crisscross the ball into their attacking half with series of pinpoint passes – something they had become very adept at under master coach Alistair Clarkson – culminating with a mark to one of their key forwards thirty metres out from goal, dead in front.
‘It was going well at first. Then I think I spooked her a little bit by telling her the more negative aspects of the police force. The pressure of the job. That sort of stuff.
‘Don’t tell her about the post-traumatic stress crap. Tell her about the more glamorous things you did – like making high-profile arrests. Chicks really dig that sort of stuff.’
Another roar went up as the Hawthorn player calmly slotted the ball through the big sticks and the goal umpire raise two fingers, signalling a four-goal lead to the Hawks and the end of St Kilda’s chances.
‘Jesus. A two-goal turnaround,’ said Schlakier.
‘Carn the Hawks!’ shouted Birtles. He nudged his business partner in the ribs.
‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ continued Birtles with a smirk. ‘You’ve got better taste in women than you do in football teams. This’ll be five straight losses for the Saints now.’
Two more sips of mid-strength beer.
‘Seriously though, stick with her. She obviously likes you if she went out on a second date.’
‘Yeah well, I’m not so sure about that. Anyway, I dropped her off at her place and sort of gave her a goodnight kiss, which sort of went on for a while. Then for a while longer.’
‘So you snogged her. There you go – told you she liked you.’
Schlakier then recounted how had gone into a cold sweat when Zoe’s song came on the radio and how he broke out of their embrace.
‘That was a few days ago now,’ said Schlakier with a shrug. ‘I haven’t talked to her since.’
‘Jesus mate, you have had a bad week.’
The umpire bounced the ball in the centre of the ground with an ‘oomph’ and the rucks jostled for position. The ball spilled out and a pack of players dived on it, forcing another ball up.
‘It hasn’t all been bad,’ said Schlakier. ‘I managed to track down Christopher Hohl.’
Birtles eyed his business partner.
‘How’d you manage that?’
‘From the business card Sarah Chisholm gave me. Before she was shot dead.’
‘Jesus.’
‘I emailed him. Not expecting to hear anything back. And then he phoned me. I was fucking staggered.’
‘I’ll bet. What’s he like?’
‘He was actually very cordial. He doesn’t sound like the kinda guy who’d murder his wife. Or his friend.’
‘Did he tell you anything important?’
The football had been kicked out to the wing, where another scrum of players piled on the man with the ball. Stalemate. The umpire blew his whistle and moved in for a ball up.
‘Nah. Just introduced himself really. He wants to meet me. The only catch is it’ll have to be in Perth. Well, Fremantle actually.’
‘That seems strange. What’s he got to gain by meeting you? Sounds a bit suss to me.’
‘He wants me to tell his side of the story to the authorities. He seems to think I can get them off his back.’
‘So are you going to meet this guy or what?’
‘Bloody oath. I fly to Fremantle next week.’
‘Be careful,’ said Birtles.
‘That’s what Vicky said.’
‘I assume you’re taking a gun with you.’
Schlakier shrugged. ‘I’ll think about it. I can’t take a firearm on the plane. Anyway. We’ll be meeting in public place.’
‘Fuck mate. If he really did kill his missus and his lawyer friend, he’d probably think nothing of bumping off a nosey investigator. I can get a firearm sorted out for you in Perth.’
‘I can take care of it.’
‘Seriously mate. Be careful.’
The football finally spilled free. A St Kilda player dished out a handball to a team-mate who thumped it into the forward line. Incredibly, the ball cleared the pack and fell into the arms of a St Kilda forward who ran into an open goal
. He sprayed the shot wide of the mark, prompting another groan from Saints fans.
‘Unlucky in footy, lucky in love,’ joked Birtles. ‘Or in your case, it looks like you’re unlucky in both. Let’s hope you’re luckier in Western Australia.’
18
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THE HEIR APPARENT
I never expected that I would run the family business automatically, like it was some sort of inalienable birthright. But I suppose there was the assumption that I, as the eldest brother, would at least be an essential part of the company.
But it was not to be.
As I have alluded to before, my younger brother Russell now runs the family business. Sure, after Justina disappeared I was involved at Land Lease Corp for about five years, given various important-sounding titles and even my office had a nice view overlooking the city. But it was all a façade. Then when my father anointed Russell to run the business, I became even more on the edge of things. So eventually I just stopped coming into the office. But all along there were forces at work to diddle me out of any meaningful involvement with the business and I know Russell was involved in that. No wonder he goes out of his way to avoid me now.
But I know that after Justina disappeared, all the bad press that was directed at me made me a liability in the family’s eyes. I know that. I suppose that I must have come across as strange and unstable at times and I guess that’s why my father ultimately deemed me unsuitable to run the family business. But who wouldn’t after what occurred?
And now after what happened to Sarah, I need to disappear for a while. Naturally I will get blamed for her death, the same as I was blamed for Justina’s disappearance. I know that people will be coming for me, asking questions, looking for motives. I don’t want to go through all that again over Sarah so I have simply decided to slip away to the other side of the country for a while. Go incognito. At least until things cool off a bit.