by Robert Blain
There, in his very office, stood Christopher Hohl. He was dressed very much like a man this time. He wore a grey suit, black shoes and a white shirt. A mobile phone was peeking out of the shirt pocket where you might expect a handkerchief to be. A black sports bag was slung over his shoulder, somewhat shattering the professional-looking persona.
‘I’ve been trying to reach you,’ said Schlakier.
‘Well here I am. You can talk to me now. If you’ve got time.’
‘Sure, come through to my office. Did you just a call a minute ago?’
‘I did. I wanted to make sure you were in.’
It was the same cordial tone. The same gravelly voice. But something was off. Schlakier didn’t like it.
‘I tried to call you several times last week,’ said Schlakier.
‘I’ve been busy. I had to leave Fremantle in a hurry. I’ve got things to attend to in Melbourne.’
Once they were in his office and both taken a seat, Schlakier realised his mistake. The box of memorabilia was sitting on a shelf just above Hohl’s eye line. The lid was off and Hohl’s telltale list was sitting in pride of place at the top of the pile in its Ziploc bag. There was nothing for it but for Schlakier to bluff his way through and try to get rid of Hohl as quickly as possible. And hope he didn’t notice what was in the box. Thank God he hadn’t come by half an hour earlier – the contents had been scattered all over Schlakier’s desk.
‘Andrew what’s going on?’ said Hohl. ‘Maria said you talked to her.’
‘That would be your wife, Ms Lombardo.’
‘Yes. I don’t see the need for you to talk to her. You’re treading on thin ice, Andrew.’
Hohl seemed agitated. Schlakier didn’t like the presence of the sports bag one little bit. It occurred to Schlakier that there was a handgun in the safe in Birtles’ office. A fat lot of good that was going to do him sitting here.
‘I need to get the testimony of all the relevant people so I can get a better picture of events. And present a stronger case for you to the authorities.’
‘So you’ve talked to her now. You don’t need to talk to her again.’
Hohl’s face gave an involuntary twitch. He appeared a lot tenser than he was in Fremantle.
‘Have you given my version of events to the authorities?’ said Hohl.
‘Yes, I’ve passed it along.’
‘And?’
‘It doesn’t work that way. I give them the testimony and then they factor it into the overall case.’
‘For or against me?’
‘That’s not how it works.’
Hohl began fingering the zip of the sports bag.
‘I’m just not sure if you’re on my side Andrew. Are you on my side?’
Schlakier tried to keep his eyes trained neutrally on Hohl, determined not to let his glance stray to the sports bag – at least not too obviously – or to the shelf with the box.
‘Yes, I’m on your side.’
There was a long silence while the two men stared at each other. Schlakier sensed his mettle was being tested.
‘I’m glad to hear it, Andrew.’
Hohl stopped fidgeting with the bag and put his hand by his side.
Schlakier waited for Hohl’s next move. He was determined to say and do nothing.
Finally, Hohl stirred. ‘Time for me to go.’
He stood up and slung the sports bag over his shoulder.
‘Let me know if there’s any progress with my case. Good news I hope.’
‘I will,’ Schlakier managed.
There was another nervy moment when Hohl briefly scanned around the office. His gaze appeared to hover above the box of memorabilia before moving on.
After Schlakier had seen Hohl off the premises, he locked the front door, put up a “We’re Closed” sign, went back to his office and collapsed into his chair. He put his hands to his face and let out a deep breath. He could feel sweat forming under his armpits and a trickle of sweat at the back of his neck. The term ‘dodged a bullet’ flashed across his mind. He thought again of Hohl’s sports bag and what it might contain. He was pretty sure it wasn’t gym equipment.
29
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STRAIGHT TO VOICEMAIL
Schlakier sat for several minutes. Then suddenly realised he desperately needed to pee. He walked through to the toilet at the back of the office, unzipped and let fly. The office phone began to ring. Fuck it, he thought, let it go through to voicemail. They still hadn’t found a replacement receptionist since Vicky’s departure. He decided it was high time they did. Schlakier could hear the recorded answer message, followed by a long beep and then someone leaving a message. Mutterings, chaffing sounds, more mutterings. What the fuck? It suddenly dawned on him it was Hohl. He must have called by accident again. Schlakier quickly finished and went through to the main office where he could hear more clearly. It sounded similar to the time in Fremantle, like Hohl was walking while he talked to himself:
‘……..I shouldn’t have met him………she was right and I was wrong……..……..chaff, chaff……..I think he’s hiding something……. chaff, chaff…….. ……..
Schlakier could scarcely believe his ears. Here was Hohl, as good as confessing to murder. Multiple murders, in fact. And he had it all recorded on voicemail. The unintended message went on for a while longer with just occasional inaudible muttering and more chaffing and then the phone went dead. It didn’t matter. Schlakier had heard enough.
30
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SHOW AND TELL
‘That’s a nice shirt mate. Do they make them for men?’
Peter Michael had turned up at Effie’s Café to meet Schlakier. He was attired in a blue suit, pale pink shirt and lime-green tie.
‘Who made you the bloody fashion police?’ said Michael as he took a seat at a quiet spot at the back of the café. There were no other patrons apart from a young man eating a spanakopita near the entrance. Music from an easy-listening radio station was playing quietly. If Schlakier had been paying attention to it, he would have recognised it as a Kenny Rogers’ song.
‘I’m just a lowly private investigator,’ said Schlakier. ‘And fashion don’t enter into it. Nice tie by the way – matches your hair.’
‘I’ve been told before that I’ve got interesting taste in clobber. Better than the beige bastards back at the office anyway.’
Schlakier caught Effie’s attention and signalled for two cappuccinos.
‘I could go another of those spanner-wotsits,’ said Michael, rubbing his chin speculatively. ‘Nah better not, I’ve put on a few too many pounds recently as it is. Anyway, enough of the pleasantries. What have you got for me?’
Schlakier pulled his mobile phone out of his trouser pocket. He cued up the phone and handed it to Michael.
‘Take a listen to this.’
Schlakier watched as an incredulous look spread across Michael’s face. After about thirty seconds, Michael handed him the phone back.
‘How the fuck did you get that?’
‘Hohl left it on my office answer phone. I couldn’t believe it myself. Although it’s not the first time he’s done it. He accidentally left another message on my phone when I was in Fremantle. Although not as incriminating as this one.’
‘What’s this “she was right” business?’
‘His wife, I suppose.’
Effie appeared with the cappuccinos. The two men maintained a judicious silence while she placed the cups in front of them. She favoured them with a quick smile and left them to it.
‘Actually, Hohl came to see me,’ continued Schlakier. ‘Totally out of the blue. He was dressed as a man this time, dolled up in a grey business suit. Tailor-made by the look of the cut.’
‘Shit. S
o he’s back in Melbourne then.’
‘Yep. It wasn’t a very comfortable visit I can tell you. He was acting weird, very on edge. Sort of threatening. He had this sports bag with him. Kept playing with it. I’m not exactly sure was he had in there but I can tell you when thing – I’ll be keeping a gun handy in the office from now on.’
‘Probably a wise move.’
‘Then about five minutes after he left, that message popped up on the answer phone. I recorded the message onto my mobile but I’ve kept the original on the tape. So what do you think?’ said Schlakier.
‘Sounds pretty damning. Although it could be argued that he might just be having a lend of you. Sort of pranking you.’
‘Could be. Seems pretty unlikely though.’
‘I’d have thought so. Might not be enough to get a conviction on its own though. You said you had enough to nail him – what else you got?’
‘I finally met someone from Justina Doble’s family. Her brother Jack.’
‘Brother Jack. Do you sleep?’ quipped Michael.
Schlakier thought for a moment. ‘Oh yeah. Very funny.’
‘What did he have to say?’
‘He gave me a box of stuff belonging to Justina, old letters documents, that sort of thing. It also contained some handwritten notes from Hohl. One of them was a list of how to dispose of a dead body.’
Michael had been about to take a sip of his cappuccino but the cup remained held in mid air while Schlakier spoke.
‘And that’s not all. You know that cadaver letter you sent me?’
Michael nodded.
There’s an envelope in the box written by Hohl in exactly the same handwriting. And the address is misspelt in exactly the same way in both instances.’
Michael finally managed a mouthful of his cappuccino and place in the saucer in front of him with a small clatter.
‘I’ll need to take the box of letters, including the list, and the tape back with me,’ said Michael.
‘I’ve got them in the office,’ said Schlakier. ‘I’ll give them to you once we’re finished up here.’
‘And if our handwriting expert can prove that the handwriting belongs to Hohl – then you just might have nailed the bastard.’
31
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NAILED
‘We’ve got your man,’ said Michael.
‘Hohl?’
‘They picked him from Melbourne Central. Security cameras caught him stealing a sandwich, if you can believe that.’
‘He’s been arrested?’
‘Yep. He’s currently residing at Her Majesty’s pleasure. So you can rest easy.’
It had been a week since Schlakier had handed all the evidence over to Michael. He’d had been oddly listless since that time, at a loose end. And also exhausted. Birtles had tried to encourage to look for some new cases but he just didn’t feel up to it. Not yet anyway.
‘So what sort of sandwich was it?’ said Schlakier.
‘What?’
‘The sandwich he stole.’
‘Oh. Roast beef and Branston Pickle apparently.’
‘Bizarre. Why would a guy with that much money steal a sandwich.’
‘You tell me. The contents of his sports bag were pretty interesting too.’
‘Go on.’
‘It contained a marijuana cigarette, twenty-five thousand dollars in cash and two pistols. You’re lucky he didn’t take a potshot at you,’ continued Michael. ‘If he’d seen the box of evidence in your office, he probably would have.’
Schlakier was silent while he processed this.
‘But I’m not too concerned about the unlicensed firearms in Hohl’s possession, or the unlicensed joint in his kitbag – I’m more concerned about the evidence of the murder of Sarah Chisholm.’
‘How’s it stacking up?’ said Schlakier.
‘We’ve got the analysis back from our handwriting expert. The results are in. It’s one hundred percent certain that the handwriting samples match. Hohl’s our man. Congratulations, buddy. You did it. People here are very happy with your work. That big, fat bonus is coming your way.’
‘I’m stunned,’ said Schlakier. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Who knows,’ said Michael. ‘You might even have played your part in getting the premier re-elected.’
‘God forbid.’
Michael laughed. ‘I’ll pass that on.’
‘One thing I forgot to mention,’ continued Michael. ‘The coppers in Western Australia found a blood-stained saw in some bushes near where Amos Gil was murdered. Turns out he was a neighbour of Hohl’s. If I was a betting man, I’d say tests on the saw are going to come back with Hohl’s DNA on it. But even if it doesn’t hold up, we’ve still got him for the Chisholm murder.’
‘I guess so.’
‘Good work sport.’
After Michael rang off, Schlakier sat in his office chair and stared blankly at his computer screen. Now that it was all over, he didn’t know what to make of it. He was numb. Shell shocked.
Birtles appeared in the doorway.
‘Bad news?’
‘Good news, I suppose,’ said Schlakier quietly. ‘They’ve arrested Hohl for the murder of Sarah Chisholm.’
‘Well done, mate. Congratulations.’
‘Yeah.’
‘You don’t look too happy about it.’
‘I don’t know. Mixed feelings I guess. Here I was thinking the guy was innocent, trying to find evidence to prove it…’
‘And the opposite happened,’ said Birtles. ‘That’s the funny thing about detective work.’
‘How so?’
‘It’s a bit like war. You never really know what the outcome’s going to be. Until it happens.’
‘Yeah.’
Schlakier still hadn’t moved from his seat.
‘Ah, forget it mate. You’ve done great work – you’re going to be financially set now. There’s a couple of pots of beer at Grumpy Green’s with our name on ‘em. What do you say?’
Schlakier managed a small smile. ‘OK, sure.’
‘Great. Give us a sec to clear my desk.’
As they were about leave the office for the pub across the road, Schlakier’s phone pinged. He read the message on the screen:
Hey, do you still want to go to Hanoi?
32
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SCHLAKIER’S SOLACE
Schlakier was just about to put on the pasta when the doorbell rang. When he opened up he found Vicky standing on the doorstep, a bottle of red wine in hand. She was attired in a black T-shirt and jeans. Her long hair casually brushed back from her face.
‘I hope you like Wolf Blass,’ she said, holding up the bottle for him see. ‘They tell me last year was a very good vintage.’
‘The best,’ he joked.
He hadn’t seen her since their ill-fated date six weeks earlier. It seemed like a lot had happened since. They stood facing each other moment, unsure what to do. She leant forward and gave him an awkward kiss on the cheek.
‘Come through,’ he said. ‘I was about to start dinner. It’ll only take about twenty minutes.’
‘What are we having?’ she said to his back as she followed him into the living room.’
‘My specialty,’ he said. ‘Sicilian tuna pasta.’
‘Awesome.’
‘Well actually, it’s Jamie Oliver’s specialty. I nicked it out of one of his cook books.’
She laughed – no more than a girlish giggle really. It was a welcome sound in his long-time bachelor pad. She was the first woman who’d been here since Zoe.
Schlakier ushered her to the somewhat battered blue corduroy couch in the living room.
‘I hope you don’t mind it a bit spicy,’ he said.
‘The spicier the better,’ she said. ‘Hey, I’m Vietnamese. You should try my mum’s pho sometime – it’ll blow your head off.’
‘Just put the wine on the coffee table and I’ll grab a couple of glasses.’
Schlakier re
turned from the kitchen, sat down next to her on the couch, grabbed the bottle of wine, unscrewed the top and poured.
‘Look,’ she said. ‘My leg’s all better.’
With a bit of effort, Vicky rolled up her jeans and – as if to prove the point – flexed the knee a couple of times. She still had nice legs, Schlakier noticed. There was a small white mark in the inside of her knee where the surgery had been done, standing out against the rest of her lightly tanned skin. So she hadn’t been bullshitting about doing her ACL after all.
‘You back playing tennis yet?’
‘Not for another six months, the doc says.’
‘Here you go,’ he said. Her eyes lingered on his as he handed her the wine glass.
‘Shouldn’t we let it breathe?’ she said.
‘Nah, just drink it slowly,’ he said.
‘I like the music,’ she said. ‘Sort of chilled. What is it?’
‘Van Morrison. Moondance. His best album, I think.’
They clinked glasses and each took a gulp, while the soulful Irish crooner waxed lyrical about the marvel of water.
‘So what’s been happening?’ she said.
‘Not much. It’s been pretty quiet since the case wound up.’
‘It must be good to have finally got your man.’
Schlakier had promised himself not to talk about the Hohl case, but now that Vicky was here, he just couldn’t hold back.
‘That’s what everyone says. But I’m not so sure. I feel pretty cut up about it, to be honest.’
Schlakier lightly flicked the top of his wine glass, which responded with a small ping. Vicky cradled her own wine glass to her chest and gazed into his face.
‘It’s just that I really thought the guy was innocent,’ said Schlakier. ‘And then when I went into his family background, I actually felt sorry for him.’
‘You shouldn’t let it cloud your judgement, Andy. The guy did terrible things. He murdered three people.’
‘Yeah, I know. It’s just that sometimes life deals you a rough hand and there’s no way back. Maybe if he hadn’t seen his mother jump off a roof, he never would have done those terrible things. And then I came along, Won his trust. Won the trust of the people involved in the case. Then I used that trust to convict him. Put him in jail.’