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Authors: Barry Maitland
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to. They’re crooks. There
must be smoking guns if we knew where to look.’
‘Can’t the police do that?’
‘I can try, but…The Queensland police had a crack, and ASIC. Neither of them got
anywhere. I’ve just been stood down for a week because I got too involved. They’re
not going to listen to me pushing for action just because he was a mug, there’d have
to be some pretty concrete evidence of a crime.’
Harry’s memories of Greg are crumbling. He no longer has a real handle on who Greg
actually was. He remembers a scene in this room, when his parents still lived in
this house. Greg and Harry’s father were sitting together over there at the front
window, playing chess. Engrossed in the game, they barely acknowledged him as he
came in. He had recently returned from overseas, Afghanistan or maybe earlier, Iraq,
and was feeling suspended, not fitting in. The sight of them together pierced him,
as if Greg now occupied a place that should have been his, if he hadn’t gone off
soldiering in two wars with which both his mother and father thoroughly disagreed.
Not that they hadn’t been interested. They’d asked. But when he tried to describe
it their faces had clouded over with distaste and disapproval.
11
The next day he returns to work, day shift. The second padlock has been removed from
his locker and he senses the relief on the others’ faces as they nod and mutter their
welcome back, mates. Toby Wagstaff gives him a wink and Bob the Job himself comes
to Harry’s desk and shakes his hand.
He settles down. He has to make a case to the Crime Commission in favour of planting
bugs and tapping phones in the houses of a number of people peripherally connected
to a suspected murderer called Victor Nguyen. The idea is to trawl for incriminating
material against these people on other matters, so then the police can squeeze them
for evidence against the main target, Nguyen.
In between gathering and composing his submission, Harry makes searches on Bluereef,
Kristich and the lawyer Nathaniel Horn. The solicitor’s past clients include a star
list of socialites, politicians, footballers and celebrity crooks, charged with
everything from acts of indecency to drugs, fraud and murder. Kristich is much as
Jenny said. Harry sends requests to Queensland for information on the deaths of Krstić’s
wife and of the man who went public with claims of fraud. In the middle of this he
gets a call from the central switchboard saying there’s a Kelly Pool on the line
for him. His first impulse is to say he’s not available, but then he relents and
takes the call.
She is brisk and businesslike, in the manner of someone giving it one last shot.
‘Thanks for speaking to me Harry. I’m not pestering you for no good reason. I believe
I have information that will be of interest to you. I think you should give me twenty
minutes to explain.’ She suggests a pub, a good choice. Not too far from headquarters
but not too close.
‘Ten,’ he says.
In the event it takes somewhat longer. For a start she keeps him waiting, and he’s
on the point of leaving when she bursts into the bar, coat flapping, threatening
to send glasses flying from the tables. ‘Sorry, sorry! Bloody traffic. What are you
drinking?’ He holds up his glass, ‘Fizzy mineral water.’
She comes back with the drinks and subsides onto a stool. ‘Well.’ She takes a deep
breath and a gulp of the house shiraz. ‘Harry, there’s something going on at Crucifixion
Creek. That siege, the builder’s murder, the fire—a lot of coincidence, don’t you
think?’
Ah. She wants there to be a conspiracy. ‘The last two may be related, but it’s hard
to see what they’ve got to do with the siege.’
‘Agreed, but the gunman was a former Crow, yes?’
That hasn’t been made public. ‘Where did you get that from?’
‘I told you, I know my turf. And the Crows are definitely Creek turf. And there’s
something else. Do you remember that old couple who died
must be smoking guns if we knew where to look.’
‘Can’t the police do that?’
‘I can try, but…The Queensland police had a crack, and ASIC. Neither of them got
anywhere. I’ve just been stood down for a week because I got too involved. They’re
not going to listen to me pushing for action just because he was a mug, there’d have
to be some pretty concrete evidence of a crime.’
Harry’s memories of Greg are crumbling. He no longer has a real handle on who Greg
actually was. He remembers a scene in this room, when his parents still lived in
this house. Greg and Harry’s father were sitting together over there at the front
window, playing chess. Engrossed in the game, they barely acknowledged him as he
came in. He had recently returned from overseas, Afghanistan or maybe earlier, Iraq,
and was feeling suspended, not fitting in. The sight of them together pierced him,
as if Greg now occupied a place that should have been his, if he hadn’t gone off
soldiering in two wars with which both his mother and father thoroughly disagreed.
Not that they hadn’t been interested. They’d asked. But when he tried to describe
it their faces had clouded over with distaste and disapproval.
11
The next day he returns to work, day shift. The second padlock has been removed from
his locker and he senses the relief on the others’ faces as they nod and mutter their
welcome back, mates. Toby Wagstaff gives him a wink and Bob the Job himself comes
to Harry’s desk and shakes his hand.
He settles down. He has to make a case to the Crime Commission in favour of planting
bugs and tapping phones in the houses of a number of people peripherally connected
to a suspected murderer called Victor Nguyen. The idea is to trawl for incriminating
material against these people on other matters, so then the police can squeeze them
for evidence against the main target, Nguyen.
In between gathering and composing his submission, Harry makes searches on Bluereef,
Kristich and the lawyer Nathaniel Horn. The solicitor’s past clients include a star
list of socialites, politicians, footballers and celebrity crooks, charged with
everything from acts of indecency to drugs, fraud and murder. Kristich is much as
Jenny said. Harry sends requests to Queensland for information on the deaths of Krstić’s
wife and of the man who went public with claims of fraud. In the middle of this he
gets a call from the central switchboard saying there’s a Kelly Pool on the line
for him. His first impulse is to say he’s not available, but then he relents and
takes the call.
She is brisk and businesslike, in the manner of someone giving it one last shot.
‘Thanks for speaking to me Harry. I’m not pestering you for no good reason. I believe
I have information that will be of interest to you. I think you should give me twenty
minutes to explain.’ She suggests a pub, a good choice. Not too far from headquarters
but not too close.
‘Ten,’ he says.
In the event it takes somewhat longer. For a start she keeps him waiting, and he’s
on the point of leaving when she bursts into the bar, coat flapping, threatening
to send glasses flying from the tables. ‘Sorry, sorry! Bloody traffic. What are you
drinking?’ He holds up his glass, ‘Fizzy mineral water.’
She comes back with the drinks and subsides onto a stool. ‘Well.’ She takes a deep
breath and a gulp of the house shiraz. ‘Harry, there’s something going on at Crucifixion
Creek. That siege, the builder’s murder, the fire—a lot of coincidence, don’t you
think?’
Ah. She wants there to be a conspiracy. ‘The last two may be related, but it’s hard
to see what they’ve got to do with the siege.’
‘Agreed, but the gunman was a former Crow, yes?’
That hasn’t been made public. ‘Where did you get that from?’
‘I told you, I know my turf. And the Crows are definitely Creek turf. And there’s
something else. Do you remember that old couple who died
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