by Peter Ralph
“I’m so fucking sorry I can’t make your job easy. Don’t make me do it for you, or we’ll end up with two HR Managers, and we wouldn’t want that, would we, Kurt?”
“No, Douglas,” Kurt replied, getting out of his chair.
Wes Bracken sounded agitated. “Douglas, she was on Channel Sixteen’s morning show, saying she’s going to expose a prominent businessman’s double life. They’ve also been advertising Monday night’s Your Family Today non-stop.”
“Why do you think it’s me? Hell, she’s digging up dirt every night on some poor prick. She’s got nothing new on me.”
“She mentioned he was ruthless and headed up a large public company. Are you sure she hasn’t dug something else up?”
“Every public company CEO is ruthless. If it’s me, she’d be telling the world.”
“It’s all about ratings. It’ll be the last segment of her show, and half of Australia will tune in just to see who it is. If anything, she’d lose audience by disclosing who it is now.”
“Nah, it’s not me. She’d never describe me as prominent.”
“She’s using that description just for ratings. It’s not some kind of backhanded compliment. I’ll see if I can find out if it’s you.”
“Do that, Wes,” Aspine said. Despite his bravado he felt ill.
- 25 -
CRAIG TRIED ONE last time to convince Fiona not to air the segment about Charlie, to no avail. “You’ll hurt his wife and kids. Why do that? Just run the rest of the story. There’s no need to bring the smutty part up.”
Fiona was uncompromising. “I’m going to run everything as planned. Who knows what we’ll find out from the jilted wife after she knows about the mistress? I’m going to make this bastard’s life misery.”
Aspine sat in Mercury’s boardroom waiting for the ad break to finish, and for the bitch’s face to reappear on screen. Instead, a photo of Bert Stuart in full military regalia and medals materialized, accompanied by maudlin music. “Fuck!” Aspine cursed, knowing he was the ‘prominent businessman’. The camera panned to Fiona’s grim face as she outlined the circumstances surrounding Bert Stuart’s death. Sitting opposite her was Andrew Lawson from the Construction Employees Union. “Mr Lawson, would you say the company’s negligence led to the death of Bert Stuart?”
“That’s really for the coroner to determine, but any work place death needs to be thoroughly investigated.”
“Do you expect the coroner to make any recommendations in his findings?”
“It’s not unusual for recommendations to be made so as to ensure accidents like this do not recur.”
“I know that. I was thinking more along the lines of recommendations that may lead to action being taken against the company and its directors.”
“You mean criminal action?”
“Yes. Isn’t it about time that the people responsible for work place deaths are brought to account? Didn’t this company terminate the services of a number of its safety officers immediately prior to this accident?”
“We’ve been campaigning for harsher penalties for years and ...”
Fiona interrupted. “Isn’t it about time our law enforcers sent a message to these highly paid fat cat directors, by incarcerating them, when they fail to look after their workers’ safety?”
“Bitch,” Aspine gasped, “she’s trying to have me jailed.”
“Yes. Where there’s blatant negligence resulting in death or injury, those ultimately responsible should be jailed. I’m sure that after the first director or manager is locked up, there’ll be a significant improvement in the safety of our workers.”
“You need an example?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps after the coroner concludes his deliberations this week, you’ll have one. Thank you, Mr Lawson.”
Aspine drew himself closer to the screen, his face flushed with rage.
The camera cut to Fiona sitting behind a desk with a black folder in her hand. “We thought that you might like to know about the double life of Mr Douglas Aspine, CEO of Mercury Properties. Until quite recently he was paying for an up-market apartment, MGB, interstate trips, and expensive clothing for his mistress of over three years. Then he grew tired of her and stopped making payments, without having the common decency or courage to tell her. The first she knew was when real estate agents commenced action to evict her, and a finance company left a repossession notice on her MGB’s windscreen. Obviously Mr Aspine wasn’t satisfied with just getting rid of her, he needed to degrade, and embarrass her as well. It seems that he gets rid of his former girlfriends in the same way that he gets rid of his loyal long serving employees.” As she’d been talking, pictures of the block of apartments, the swimming pool and the red MGB flashed across the screen. The cameras now panned back to Fiona, her eyes, small slits and her lips curled in a sneer of disgust, as she signed off.
Aspine was stunned, and overcome by a desire to kill the woman whose face mocked him from the small screen.
Aspine ignored the incessant ringing of his mobile as he drove to the nearest hotel. His head was splitting as he tried to fathom the effect that the bitch’s revelations would have. The hotel was quiet, and he ordered and belted down a Jack Daniels. The stinging spirits brought immediate relief, and he ordered and downed another. His chest was warm and his mind was clearing. What business was it of anyone else if he’d had a mistress? Plenty of CEOs had mistresses. No, that wasn’t a worry, but the possibility of criminal action and jail emanating from the inquest into Bert Stuart’s death was. Barbara and the kids never entered his mind. He sipped his third shot slowly, savouring the smoothness of the amber liquid, before putting twenty dollars on the bar. The last thing he needed was to be caught exceeding the limit on the drive home. He drove slowly, planning what he’d do in the morning to balance the pressure on the coroner. “Bloody hell,” he exclaimed. His driveway was blocked by five near-bursting plastic bags. He got out to move them, and noticed one of his Armani suits crumpled against the transparent plastic. Another bag contained his shirts mixed with ties and shoes. “What the fuck’s going on?” He hadn’t noticed Barbara come out of the front door, until she was no more than three steps from him. Her eyes were red and her face was tense and drawn.
“You mongrel, I want you out of here.”
“Christ, Barbara, what are you talking about? Have you gone mad?”
“You bastard, you blamed me because we couldn’t pay the school fees, and all the time you were renting an apartment, and leasing a car for your whore.” she said, kicking one of the bags hard. “It was her car in the driveway that night wasn’t it?”
“You’ve known that I’ve been having affairs for years. What difference does tonight make?”
“It was more than an affair. You jeopardized the future of your family, your kids and their education just so you could have a little play-thing on the side. My friends always suspected you were a rake. Now it’s public knowledge. Get your stuff in the car and get out.”
“What about the kids?”
Her laugh was a mix of sarcasm and pain. “Since when have you been worried about the kids? You’ll have a letter from my lawyers tomorrow. Please go.”
“Where am I going to find anywhere to sleep at this time of night?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” she sobbed angrily, before storming into the house.
He had no trouble getting a room at the Hilton but sleep did not come easily, and he tossed and turned most of the night. When he arrived at the office in the morning, it was uncomfortably quiet, and his staff found it hard to make eye contact with him. “Get me Max Vogel, and then find me a two-bedroom fully furnished rental apartment or townhouse around Hawthorn or Kew,” he barked at Kelly, before closing the door to his office.
“Good morning, Douglas.”
“Max, did you see that woman’s show last night?”
“Yes. Jeez, why’s she got in for you so bad?”
“I don’t know. I’m worried that she
may have influenced the coroner.”
“I think your worries are ill-founded.”
“That’s easy for you to say. It’s not your arse that they’ll haul off to jail if you’re wrong. Tell me, did you dig anything up on that truck driver?”
“Not much that’ll help. He had a few problems when he was younger, but he hasn’t had so much as a parking fine in the past eight years, he’s a family man, he’s not on drugs, and he’s only a moderate drinker. I’m sorry, but we’re not going to be able to stick him with anything.”
“Tell me about his problems.”
“He has an assault conviction, a drunk and disorderly, and an offensive behaviour. He also ran up the rear of another car while driving an uninsured vehicle. It took him five years to pay the damages, but he paid every cent − not many do that. Bear in mind that these incidents took place before he turned thirty, and he’s nearly forty now. There’s just nothing we can use at the inquest.”
“I understand, Max. If anything comes up before then, let me know.”
“Wes, it’s Douglas Aspine. I want you to leak a story to the press, preferably the Herald-Sun. Now take down the details, and make sure you get it right.”
As Aspine put the phone down Kelly buzzed to say he’d had calls from Sir Edwin Philby, Jeremy Smythe and Duncan Milgate. They could wait; he had more important matters to attend to. “Get me Phil Kendall at the bank.”
“How can I help you, Douglas?”
“I want you to transfer the balances of my personal accounts to an account in Hong Kong. I’ll fax the details to you in the next ten minutes.”
“You’re not happy with the service we’re providing?”
“I’m perfectly happy. I’m just acting on the advice of my tax accountants,” Aspine lied. “Can you do the transfer immediately?”
Kendall sounded relieved. “I’ll initiate the transfer the minute I receive your faxed instructions.”
“Thank you, Phil.” Aspine didn’t know whether Barbara or her lawyers would seek to freeze his bank accounts but, if they did, they’d find there was nothing in them.
Duncan Milgate sounded sympathetic, when Aspine finally phoned him, but it was clear that he was worried. “Douglas, we’ve had a lot of calls from concerned clients who we’ve put into Mercury. They don’t like it when CEOs of the companies that they’ve invested in, have their dirty washing aired on television. Worse, the shares are down 20 cents this morning.”
“Duncan, I can’t control Fiona Jeczik or what she televises. That show last night was a beat-up, but there’s nothing I can do about it. If I take action against her or Channel Sixteen, it’ll just drag on and remain in the public eye.”
“I agree. You can’t take legal action, but you do need to be careful about how you handle your extra-marital activities. We have a lot of old money clients, and they don’t like it when these things become public.”
“So it’s okay to do a bit of extra-marital fucking, but it’s not okay to get caught.”
“Getting caught is not a problem, but getting exposed is. You need to be very careful because that woman seems to be paying very close attention to you.”
“Don’t I know it,” Aspine mumbled.
“On a more pleasant note you might like to invest fifty thousand dollars in a small uranium explorer, Clean Energy Limited. The shares are trading at 50 cents and we expect them to more than double in the near term.”
“I’d like to, but I don’t have any loose cash.”
“You’re not even going to take your usual fifty per cent? Surely you can put your hands on twenty-five thousand?”
“Thanks, but I’ll have to give this one a miss.”
“You’re a strange man, Douglas. There’s going to be a lot of easy money made on this one. You will of course keep it to yourself. I’d hate to see the shares rushed because of loose lips.”
“I never talk to anyone about the information that you give me. I just hope I’m in funds when you next phone me with a recommendation.”
“I’m pleased to hear that. I’ll be in touch.”
The day had just got a lot better courtesy of Duncan Milgate. Aspine reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his prepaid mobile, and punched in Charles Ong’s direct line number.
“Charles Ong.”
“It’s Douglas Aspine. I’ve just transferred another three hundred thousand dollars into Mapago.”
“Yes, I’ve already been notified.”
“Good. I want you to invest eight hundred thousand dollars in Clean Energy Limited. Make sure you use a number of brokers, and tell them to buy in small quantities, with a maximum price of 60 cents a share.”
“I’ll instruct them to be very discreet. Phone me in twenty-four hours, and I’ll let you know at what price you’ve been filled.”
Sir Edwin Philby was peeved. “Douglas, I phoned you hours ago and you’re only just returning my call now?”
“Get off your high horse. I had some personal problems that needed my urgent attention. I thought you might have guessed.”
“Don’t take that attitude with me. I’ve had a lot of pressure on me today from the institutions. Some of them are talking about selling their shares. Can’t you be a little more discreet in your personal life?”
“If you don’t like it, Ed, you can always fire me, and see if your precious institutions get the same profits and increase in share price that I’ve delivered.”
“I wasn’t being critical, I was just suggesting you be a little more careful,” Sir Edwin said, in a placatory tone.
Aspine smiled. Sir Edwin had groveled when his bluff was called. There was no doubt it was now ‘Douglas Aspine’s Mercury Properties,’ and everyone else was irrelevant. “I’m very busy. Phone me if you want to talk to me about something other than my personal life.”
The following morning Aspine awoke in the luxurious townhouse that Kelly had rented for him. He mused that her taste in townhouses was better than her taste in sex. She’d also arranged the delivery of newspapers, and he gloated over the article on the third page of the Herald-Sun headlined, ‘Inquest to examine tipper driver.’ The article stated that the driver who’d reversed his truck over and killed Bert Stuart, had previously been involved in a major road accident, and had a number of criminal convictions for drunkenness and apprehended violence. Wes Bracken had done well. The story was also covered by the radio stations, and the evening television news. If the coroner was influenced by the media, he now had more to consider than what the bitch had said about jailing negligent directors.
Kurt was surprised by how low the seating in the Ferrari was, and it felt like his bottom was scraping along the road. “Douglas, you know you don’t have to be here, you haven’t been called.”
“I’m not staying long. I’m only here as a mark of respect to Bert Stuart’s widow and family,” Aspine lied. Wes Bracken had insisted that he make at least a token appearance at the Coronial Inquest. “I’ll drop you at the front of the court, find a park and meet you back here.”
“There’s a car-park right next to the court.”
Aspine had no intention of parking close to the court where the press could trap him. “I’ll find a meter on the other side of the road and walk back.”
Five minutes later Kurt glanced up and saw Aspine on the other side of the road. The traffic cleared and he started to cross when an old white Ford, that’d been parked on the side of the road, pulled out and accelerated at high speed directly toward him. At the last second Aspine caught a glimpse of white haze coming directly at him. He jumped back, but was still struck a vicious blow that hurled him high into the air, before he crashed to the ground with a sickening thud.
-26 -
“DOUGLAS, DOUGLAS, ARE you alright?” Consciousness and the pain that goes with it returned quickly. His right leg was pounding, and when he reached down to touch it, he felt warm blood oozing from just above the knee. He looked up and the clear blue eyes of Harry Denton were only inches away.
“Are you alright, Douglas?”
“So long as you don’t try and give me fucking mouth to mouth, Harry, I’ll be fine. What happened?”
Kurt rushed across the road. “I saw it. Oh, my God, someone tried to kill you.”
The television crews at the inquest now had a bigger story and pushed closer. Aspine propped himself up on one elbow, before trying to get to his feet.
“Don’t move,” Harry ordered, pulling out a small Swiss army knife and cutting Aspine’s pants away just above the knee to reveal a gaping bloody wound. One of the cameras focused directly on the seeping gash from no further than a metre away
“Fuck off you parasite,” Aspine shakily slurred. He’d lost a lot of blood, and the colour was draining from his face.
The wail of ambulance sirens drew closer, and Aspine tried to stand up again. Within three minutes he was being conveyed at high speed to St Vincent’s Hospital.
Two homicide detectives who’d been standing at the front of the court had followed Kurt across the road, and heard what he said. “Did you get a look at the driver?” Bill Muller asked, flashing his badge.
“No, it was all too quick”
“Was it a man or a woman?”
“I don’t know, I was watching the car.”
“What make was it?”
“And old Ford. It was dirty white.”
“Are you’re sure the driver intentionally tried to run down the poor gentleman?” The younger detective asked.
“I’m certain,” Kurt responded.
“Do you know him?”
“He’s my boss, Douglas Aspine.”
“Does he have any enemies?”
Harry laughed. “Thousands.”
“And who are you?” The thickset, heavy-jowled Muller asked.
“Harry Denton. I serve on the same board as him.”
“Scott, are you getting all this down?” Muller asked, addressing the younger detective.
