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Perverse Consequences

Page 8

by Robert Blain


  But don’t forget that I was acquitted of Justina’s murder. I know that people say that I only got off because I had a good lawyer. But bear in mind I was found not guilty. I also know that my family’s wealth can only protect me for so long and that on occasion you have to take matters into your own hands. And sometimes it’s simply easier to slip away for a while.

  19

  =====

  ANCHORED DOWN IN FREMANTLE

  Schlakier touched down at Perth airport on Monday morning after a three-and-a-half flight from Melbourne. It was surprising that after such a long flight that he was still Australia. It seemed like he should be in some far-off exotic land like Bali. Or possibly Timbuktu. It might have been the same country but the season sure felt different. Schlakier had left Melbourne on a cold, blustery spring day and was greeted in Western Australia by a brilliant blue-dome sky, windless heat and buzzing insects. Summer, it seemed, had arrived early.

  He caught the airport bus into downtown Perth. As he checked into his hotel, he stood behind a fair-haired South African family of four at reception. They looked and dressed like Aussies but sure as hell didn’t sound like Aussies with their clipped, rounded vowels. Schlakier had heard about this exodus of white South Africans to Australia in the post-Apartheid era after the African National Congress Party took over. Many of these émigrés chose to live in Western Australia due to the similarity to their homeland.

  After Schlakier had checked into his hotel room, he considered phoning Hohl but decided it was better to wait for Hohl to phone him – he didn’t want to scare his prey away by appearing too eager. So he spent the day wandering around Perth half-heartedly sightseeing. Hohl phoned just after 5pm, while Schlakier was sitting at a café overlooking the Swan River. They agreed to meet the next day at a Starbucks in Fremantle. Schlakier had been weighing up whether to take Birtle’s advice about getting a gun before meeting Hohl. After both Vicky’s and Birtle’s dire warnings about the danger, he was feeling a little spooked. But as they were meeting in a public place, he decided against it. But as he sipped on his cappuccino and watched seagulls wheeling over the river, he wondered anew if Hohl was going to turn up. Why should he? What could he possibly gain by it?

  20

  =====

  SETTING THE RECORD STRAIGHT

  A woman sat down in the chair opposite Schlakier. An odd-looking woman, with dead straight platinum blonde hair, metal-rimmed John Lennon glasses and a garish floral-patterned dress that looked like it should be worn by an older aunt. A plain brown leather handbag with a gold clasp completed the ensemble.

  ‘I’m sorry, you can’t sit here.’ said Schlakier. ‘I’m waiting for someone.’

  ‘Don’t be alarmed. It’s me.’

  Schlakier stared blankly at the unbalanced-looking woman. And then the penny dropped.

  Christopher Hohl!

  ‘Hello Andrew. How are you?’

  None of Hohl’s cross-dressing tendencies was mentioned in any of the copious hours of research Schlakier had done on him. But the deadpan, deliberate voice from the phone call was unmistakable.

  ‘I’m… shocked is what I am. I didn’t know you were a transvestite.’

  ‘I’m not. It’s just easier to avoid detection if I’m disguised as a woman.’

  Easier to avoid detection, thought Schlakier, but not attention.

  But what he said was, ‘How’s that working out for you?’

  ‘All right so far. Although I think my neighbour is beginning to suspect.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Schlakier, regaining his composure and holding out his hand across the table, ‘it’s good to finally meet you.’

  Hohl kept his hands by his side. ‘We better not shake. It might look a bit suspicious – given how I’m dressed and all.’

  On closer inspection, Schlakier could now see that the platinum blonde hair was actually a wig. A bad one.

  ‘What do you want to drink?’ said Schlakier. ‘My shout.’

  ‘Just water will be fine.’

  Schlakier returned from the counter with drinks – a bottle of Evian and a glass for Hohl and a caffé latte for himself. He was pleased he’d been able to find a quiet corner table away from other customers. And on a sleepy mid-week afternoon, the place was almost deserted. It would give them a chance to talk candidly.

  Hohl sat calmly with the unopened bottle and glass in front of him but didn’t touch either – looking utterly incongruous in the attire of a middle-aged woman. Schlakier asked if he could record the conversation and his subject agreed. Given that he was expected to present a good account of Hohl to people back in Melbourne, Schlakier chose his first question carefully.

  ‘So what is it you want to achieve with this interview?’

  ‘I hope I can get my message across.’ The voice was low, unhurried. ‘Otherwise it’s never going to be disputed.’

  ‘You mean the events relating to your wife – Justina’s – disappearance.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘How would you describe your relationship with Justina?’

  ‘I was the dominant one. I made all the decisions.’

  Hohl leant forward and screwed open the bottle of Evian, which released a short hiss of gas, and poured himself a glassful.

  ‘Would you say you got along well?’

  ‘At first, yes. Like most relationships I suppose. We had our ups and downs. But then when she told me she was pregnant, that’s when our troubles really began. She wanted to have the baby and I didn’t. I knew I wasn’t going to be a good father, so I said no. Eventually she had the abortion. And things went downhill from there.’

  Hohl leant forward and took a drink from his glass. Schlakier could hear him swallow.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘The arguments became more frequent. The fighting became worse.’

  ‘Just verbal?’

  ‘No, actual violence. Actual fighting. And there was slapping and hitting. And then Justina decided she wanted to study in Melbourne and I didn’t want her too. And that was another source of tension. But in the end, I agreed to let her study.’

  ‘But you weren’t happy about it?’

  ‘No. I didn’t see the point. We had everything we needed in Castlebrook.’

  ‘With the bookshop.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  Schlakier took a sip of his coffee and Hohl a swallow of his water.

  ‘How did you feel about Justina’s disappearance?’

  ‘I felt terrible,’ said Hohl. ‘I am complicit in her not being here’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘If I’d treated her better she might still be around.’

  ‘You know her family still harbour a belief that you were involved in her death.’

  ‘We don’t know that for sure. Her body’s never been found. As far as I know it’s still listed as a missing persons case. But I’m aware of what her family thinks. And other people too. That’s why I’m here talking to you – to set the record straight.’

  ‘The night you last saw Justina. The night she disappeared. Can you take me through what you remember happening?’

  Hohl took another swallow of his Evian and then began. ‘It was Australia Day. A hot afternoon. She wanted to take the car and drive to Melbourne for a barbecue with her friends from university. But I refused to give her the key. She kept asking for it but I refused. So we had a heated argument about it. Eventually she capitulated and decided to take the train. And that was the last I saw of her.’

  Schlakier marvelled and the matter-of-factness of Hohl’s voice – as if he was describing a trip to the supermarket.

  ‘The next morning I called her. There was no answer but I wasn’t worried because I thought she’d stayed over with one of her friends. I thought that she’d come back once she cooled off. But I kept calling her and there was still no answer. After three days, I rang the police and reported a missing person. And then I went to the police station and they interviewed me about it.’ />
  ‘The night Justina disappeared,’ said Schlakier. ‘What did you do after she left?’

  ‘I took the dog for a walk. It was night time by this stage and I took the dog for a walk and tried to phone Justina from a pay phone but there was no answer. And then I went home.’

  Schlakier made a show of looking at something in his notebook. ‘According to the police report, you said you visited your next door neighbour – John Olsen – for a glass of wine. But he denies that this ever took place. Why did you say that?’

  ‘It was just something to tell the police. I thought the whole thing would go away and then that little lie wouldn’t matter. I didn’t think I’d have to worry about it. But then, of course, things blew up. Justina didn’t come back and now I’m stuck with it.’

  ‘I’d like to change the topic if I could,’ said Schlakier. ‘When you were younger. About the time you lost your mother. Would that be OK?’

  Strictly speaking, Schlakier knew this had nothing to do with the case but his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

  Hohl nodded. ‘Of course. If you think it will help.’

  ‘Why do you think your mother was on the roof that night?’

  ‘I couldn’t really say.’

  Schlakier wanted to ask if she jumped or fell, but couldn’t bring himself to be so callous.

  ‘I know that whatever I saw that night never left me.’

  Hohl blinked hard.

  ‘And then after she was gone I started to develop bad behaviour.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘There was trouble at school. I became unsociable. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to be with anyone. I would lash out if someone got too close. And then I started running away from home. But in the end I always came back. There was nowhere to go.’

  Schlakier remained silent. For once, he was stumped for something to say.

  ‘It’s funny,’ continued Hohl ‘All my life I’ve had more money than I can spend and it never made me happy.’

  Hohl took a look at the lady’s watch on his wrist. ‘Time for me go to. It’s not good for me to be out for too long dressed like this.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Schlakier caught off guard. ‘We still have more ground to cover.’

  Specifically, he wanted to question Hohl about Sarah Chisholm’s murder. A much fresher incident. He kicked himself for getting sidetracked.

  But Hohl had made up his mind. He was getting up to leave. ‘Thank you for your time, Andrew.’

  ‘Can we meet again later this week? Before I leave Perth?’

  Hohl thought it over.

  ‘OK. Call me and we’ll see.’

  As Hohl tottered away on heels, the handbag swinging by his side, it struck Schlakier as one of the most bizarre sights he had ever seen. Quite something for someone who had spent five years in the Victorian police force.

  21

  =====

  SECOND ENCOUNTER

  Schlakier has an anxious few days in Fremantle, half heartedly taking in the sights of the pretty port town. He called Hohl several times but got no response. The weather turned windy, what Schlakier supposed was the “Fremantle doctor” – so called for the relief it gave during the intense heat of the West Australian summer. With so much free time, Schlakier drank too much. He spent nights holed up in his three-star hotel with a six-pack of Swan Lager – the local brew – and a chilled bottle of Margaret River Chardonnay (when in Rome, and all that) while watching trashy Hollywood blockbusters. He even began stalking Zoe on Facebook again.

  On one of the nights, something odd happened. While Schlakier was watching television in his hotel, his mobile phone sprang to life. He heard chaffing and scraping sounds.

  Then, ‘Can I trust him?’.

  It was unmistakably Hohl’s voice. Schlakier picked up his phone.

  ‘Mister Hohl? Are you there.’

  There was no reply. Just more chaffing. Hohl must have knocked his phone and accidentally dialled him. Schlakier knew he should just hang up but couldn’t resist listening for just a little longer. Occasionally there were incoherent mumblings, then clearer bits. Hohl seemed to be debating with himself what he should have with dinner. Sounded like he was going to settle on a nice bottle of Penfolds bin 389 cabernet shiraz. The stuff was almost a hundred bucks a bottle. But, thought Schlakier, if you had the money then why not. Finally the phone went dead. Schlakier pondered over the question: ‘Can I trust him?’. Presumably it was about him. He would have to work harder at winning the man’s confidence.

  The next day Schlakier got through. He mentioned the accidental phone call but Hohl thought nothing of it. The pair agreed to meet. Presumably, Schlakier reasoned, Hohl wanted to set the record straight about Sarah Chisholm as well. Same place. Same time of day. Schlakier also managed to secure the same quiet corner table. The only thing different this time was the wicked hangover he was nursing. He took the liberty of getting a bottle of Evian and a glass before Hohl’s arrival.

  Hohl turned up in the same woman’s attire as he had on their first encounter. This time he was wearing some sort of white nurse’s shoes rather than heels but apart from that, the ensemble was the same. Hohl appeared to have a light stubble on his chin. His feminine standards of deportment appeared to be slipping. He greeted Schlakier in his usual affable manner. As he sat down, Schlakier handed him the letter given to him by Fried. In truth, he was not obliged to pass it on but was curious to see Hohl’s reaction.

  ‘What’s this?’ said Hohl.

  ‘A cease and desist letter from your brother, Russell. His lawyer asked me to pass it along if I saw you.’

  Hohl took the letter from its envelope, unfolded it slowly and ran his eyes down the page. Once finished, he crumpled the letter into a ball and dropped it on the table.

  ‘My brother always was a pussy,’ he said.

  As an afterthought, he gathered the scrunched up letter and put in his lady’s purse.

  ‘He can’t even fight his own battles,’ continued Hohl. ‘He has to hide behind his lawyer. Is that cretin Fried still there?’

  ‘He’s the one who gave me the letter.’

  ‘Figures.’

  ‘Do you mind if I record this?’ said Schlakier.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  Once Schlakier had the Dictaphone rolling, he asked: ‘Your brother appears to be afraid of you. Do you know why that might be?’

  ‘Like I said, he’s a pussy!’

  ‘But also,’ Hohl continued, ‘he’s trying to take control of my assets through the family trust by having me declared mentally incompetent.’

  ‘This was something your wife, Maria Lombardo, pointed out to you. Is that correct?’

  ‘Well, she pointed it out but it’s not something I hadn’t already figured it out for myself. It has become very clear to me that my brother and the family lawyers want to gain control of my assets by having me declared mentally unfit. That’s why I got my own lawyers.’

  Hohl’s tone was patient, unhurried.

  ‘And how would your brother’s legal team do that?’

  ‘For example if I have to go to trial, for whatever reason, diminished mental responsibility could be used in my defence. But if successful, it would also enable them to take control of my assets.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be a defence you would care to use.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Which brings us to Sarah Chisholm’s murder,’ said Schlakier.

  Hohl fixed him with a cool stare.

  ‘When did you find out about it?’

  ‘Like everyone else,’ said Hohl, ‘I read about it in the newspaper. Naturally, my name was mentioned as a possible suspect.’

  There was just a hint of testiness in his voice as he answered. He leant forward, unscrewed the bottle of Evian, poured himself a glass and swallowed a mouthful.

  ‘What was your reaction?’

  ‘I was shocked,’ continued Hohl. ‘We were friends. I had only seen Sarah a few weeks earlier. She seemed to be
in good spirits…’

  Hohl’s voice trailed off. Possibly he was thinking about Sarah’s blood-stained body, lying stiff on the carpet of her house. It was on the tip of his tongue to mention the cadaver letter, but something made Schlakier resist the urge. Instead, he asked, ‘Who do you think was responsible?’

  ‘That’s hard to say. I can’t imagine that she had any enemies. She was a lawyer for the mob but that was a long time ago. Of course, my name’s been mentioned. That’s why I’m here on the other side of the country. To escape all the attention.’

  ‘Some people might see your running away as an admission of guilt,’ said Schlakier.

  ‘I’m aware of that.’

  Schlakier then asked Hohl about his movements on the days either side of Sarah Chisholm’s death. As with Justina’s disappearance, Hohl gave a lucid run-down of events, putting him nowhere near her house. Although as with Justina’s appearance, Hohl again did not have an alibi for his whereabouts.

  When Hohl had nothing more to add, Schlakier ended the recording session. But he still had one question that was gnawing away at him.

  ‘Thank you for being so generous with your time,’ said Schlakier. ‘But if you don’t mind, there’s just one more thing I’d like to ask you of a personal nature. Off the record.’

  Hohl said nothing; Schlakier took it as permission to proceed.

  ‘Why did your father do it? That night when your mother was on the roof, why did he take you to the window?’

  It struck Schlakier that it was the moment that Hohl’s father lost two lives – that of his eldest son and his wife.

  ‘It took a long time but I eventually came to a realisation,’ said Hohl.

  Schlakier looked into his face but Hohl refused to meet him in the eye.

  ‘My father thought that if she saw me, she wouldn’t jump.’

  22

  =====

  A REVELATION

  Schlakier was back in his Smith Street office on Monday morning when the phone rang at exactly nine o’clock.

 

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