by Peter Ralph
“What do you mean thousands?”
“Don’t you read the newspapers or watch television, detective? This is the man who runs Mercury Properties.”
“Shit. This is the prick who sacked everyone, and kicked his mistress out of her apartment, without even telling her.” Scott said. “You know, Bill, the guy who was in the chariot cartoon.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know who you’re talking about now. Let’s get a list of suspects.”
“Your partner’s notebook isn’t big enough,” Harry grinned.
“You seem to be enjoying this. You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?”
“If you’re drawing up a list of people, who can’t stand Douglas Aspine, you can put me at the top of it, but I’m not into violence, detective. I wasn’t being flippant about the number of enemies he has though. Countless people hate him.”
“What about you?” Muller asked Kurt.
“I don’t hate him, but what Harry says is true. He’s taken on the workers, unions, management, customers and suppliers. He’s made a lot of enemies.”
“You left out some of his fellow directors, his former mistress, Bert Stuart’s family and friends, and probably his wife as well,” Harry added.
“So he’s not Mr Popularity. That doesn’t mean that he’s fair game for some nutter to kill him,” Muller growled.
“I hope you still feel the same way after you’ve met him,” Harry smiled.
The two detectives finished giving testimony at the Coroner’s Court late in the afternoon. “Scott, let’s go and visit Mr Aspine in hospital.”
“Jeez, Bill, you’re keen. You’re getting transferred to the drug squad in two weeks. Why do you want get involved in something that you won’t be around to finish?”
“I don’t, but I’ve thinking about this guy ever since this morning. I want to see if he’s as big a prick as the media makes him out to be. Come on, let’s go.”
St Vincent’s was a hive of activity, but the nurse on reception knew exactly what level and ward Aspine was in. “Ninth level, west ward. You’d think he was a film star or something, with the number of calls we’ve had.”
As they stepped out of the elevator they heard the loud voice of an angry man. “Get me my clothes and a walking stick. I want to get out of here.”
“Mr Aspine,” the distinctly Asian female voice said, “you’re not ready to leave. Don’t you understand, any pressure on your leg might pull out the sutures?”
“Looks like we’ve found him,” Muller grinned, as they walked into the ward. The doctor was Chinese, young, pretty and petite, but she looked tired and not accustomed to dealing with the likes of Douglas Aspine.
“If you force me to stay I want a private room, bathroom, phone, computer, internet and television.”
“We’re not that type of hospital.”
“Get me transferred to The Avenue Private then,” Aspine said, noticing Muller and Bishop for the first time. “Hey, this is a private conversation, if you don’t mind.”
“Mr Aspine, I’ve got to tell you there’s nothing private about your conversation,” Muller said, flashing his badge. “I’m Bill Muller, and this is Scott Bishop. We’re from homicide.”
“Homicide? I was hit by a car while crossing the road. What’s that got to do with you guys?”
“We have witnesses who say the driver of the vehicle intentionally tried to run you down.”
“Bullshit!”
“Are you saying you don’t have any enemies?” Scott asked.
“For fuck’s sake, sonny, everyone has enemies, but how stupid would you have to be, to try and take someone out in front of the Coroner’s Court? It was an accident, pure and simple.”
Scott felt himself turn red with a mix of embarrassment and anger. “If it was an accident why didn’t the driver stop?”
“How would I know? Maybe he was pissed. Maybe the car was stolen. Maybe he was running late for work.”
“Did you get a look at the driver?”
“Is this ask a stupid question day?”
“Your human resources manager is convinced that the driver was waiting for you to cross the road, and that he tried to kill you,” Muller interrupted.
“Kurt, Kurt, Kurt,” Aspine sighed. “Do you remember Sergeant Schultz in Hogan’s Heroes, detective? He was a well-meaning, bumbling German, who managed to draw the wrong conclusions on just about everything he was involved in.”
“You don’t think much of him do you?”
“I’ve never had a great opinion of Sergeant Schultz. Look, why don’t you go and find some real criminals, instead of wasting your time investigating a simple accident?”
“We’ll do that Mr Aspine,” Muller said, dropping his card on the bed. “If you think of anything that you might have overlooked, phone me. Come on Scott, let’s go.”
“There’s one thing you can do for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Can you check, or get your mates to keep an eye on my Ferrari. It’s parked just down from the Coroner’s Court and I’d hate for anything to happen to it.”
“Stupid arrogant prick,” Scott muttered, as they reached the elevator. “I’d like to put a dirty big dent in his precious Ferrari.”
“He’s arrogant alright, but not stupid. He knows that someone tried to kill him, but he’s got his reasons for not wanting us to get involved.”
“What reasons?”
“I don’t know, but experience tells me that when victims don’t want help from the police, they’re usually worried that something they’re doing themselves might be uncovered.”
“You think Aspine’s up to no good?”
“I think he’s hiding something.”
The elevator doors opened, and Muller’s breath was taken away by the stunning features and flawless olive skin of the Eurasian woman who alighted, holding the hand of a pimply faced nervous looking young man.
“How come guys like him always seem to end up with girls like her?” Scott grinned.
“Girls like her? Jeez, Scott, when you get a little older you’ll realize she’s a one off.”
“W-we ca-came as so-soon as we cou-could,” Kerry said, “we cou-couldn’t get a ba-baby sitter. Ho-how are you feel-feeling?”
“I’m alright. I’ve got a bit of a cut on the leg which they took twenty-seven stitches, but it’s nothing,” Aspine said, with false bravado, all the time eyeing off Jasmine. She was wearing a simple emerald coloured silk dress that clung to her body.
“They’re saying on the radio that it was a hit and run driver, and that the police suspect that it might have been an attempt on your life,” Jasmine said.
“The driver didn’t stop, but the suggestion that it might have been attempted murder is absurd.” Aspine laughed. He was enjoying her concern. She hadn’t sat down, and as she bent forward he glimpsed her small firm unrestrained breasts. What had she ever seen in Kerry? She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes on, and even in his weakened condition he felt a stirring in his groin.
“Why? Didn’t some of the retrenched employees threaten you?”
“You-you did get so-some nast-nasty messages on your-your mobile,” Kerry said. His stuttering was worse than usual, his pimples were angry, and Aspine thought he could smell alcohol coming from his body.
“And they said on the radio, that there’d been some women in your life who’d like to see you dead. They were making jokes about it. It was demeaning,” Jasmine said. “I was so sorry to hear that Barbara and you had broken up.”
She was naïve, honest, forthright and outspoken, in the way of a child, and Aspine found her delightfully charming and provocative.
“I don’t have any women in my life, and I’m sure it wasn’t an ex-employee. It was probably someone who had a little too much to drink, made a mistake, and just didn’t stop for fear of getting caught driving under the influence.”
“Kurt told us if you hadn’t jumped back you might have been killed,” Jasmine pers
isted.
“Kurt exaggerates,” Aspine smiled. “I’ve been in here long enough. Kerry, see if you can find me some crutches. Then, if it’s not too inconvenient, you can drive me home.”
With the help of Kerry and Jasmine he hobbled to his front door. “I won’t invite you in. I’m tired and I’m going straight to bed.”
“That’s sensible,” Jasmine said. “You need to rest. Goodnight.”
“Thank you for helping. I’ll see you in the morning, Kerry.”
He half hopped, half limped over to the bar and poured himself a long shot of Jack Daniels, and then propped himself up on the sofa. Someone hated him enough to have tried to kill him − he knew that − but there was no way he could publicly admit it. The last thing he needed was police involvement in his, and Mercury’s, affairs or speculation in the financial markets, that he might be on borrowed time. Why had Harry been so close to him when the car-park was on the other side of the road? Had Harry been following him and if so what had he expected to find? As he pondered who it might be, his thoughts turned to Jasmine, and he silently resolved that one way or another he would have her.
“I feel so sorry for him,” Jasmine said, “he is a very bad man who needs to find our Lord.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He cheated on his wife, disgraced his children, demeaned his mistress and he’s in denial despite someone trying to kill him.”
“Are you some kind of psychiatrist now?” Kerry growled, taking a corner a little too sharply.
Jasmine placed her hand on his knee. “He’s not making you do something you don’t want to, is he?”
“Why would you ask me something like that? Of course he’s not!”
“I’ve never seen you drink before, but now you smell like brandy most of the time.”
“Leave me alone. I’ve had one or two drinks lately to help me relax.”
The car went silent and the tension became uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, “it’s just that I’m under so much pressure. It’ll be over soon, I promise.”
“Why don’t you just resign and find a job that will allow you to spend more time with the boys and me? We don’t need the money, and if we have to sell Mansfied, it won’t be the end of the world,” Jasmine said, lightly stroking his face.
“I can’t. I can’t resign now, but hopefully I’ll soon be able to.”
“I don’t understand.”
- 27 -
THE CAB PULLED up in front of Mercury’s offices and Aspine gave the driver a large tip for helping him up the stairs. The pain killers had worn off in the early hours of the morning, and the pain was so bad that he’d been unable to get back to sleep.
As he hobbled past Kelly’s office, he threw his keys onto her desk. “My car’s still out the front of the Coroner’s Court. Get it picked up and brought back here.”
“How are you feeling this morn...?” Before Kelly could finish he slammed the door to his office shut.
It was 7am in Hong Kong, but Charles Ong answered his phone after two rings.
“Hello Charles, it’s Douglas Aspine.”
“Douglas, we managed to buy one and half million shares in Clean Energy for prices between 49 and 58 cents. The average price that we paid was 53 cents and they closed at 65 cents yesterday. You’re already one hundred and eighty thousand dollars in front. Well done.”
“Thanks, Charles.”
Kelly knocked at his door and placed a large envelope on his desk. “This was just dropped off by courier.”
He knew what was inside it. “Get me Max Vogel.”
As he waited for Vogel, he tore open the envelope and cursed. Barbara was spending his money on one of the city’s largest firms of bloodsuckers. The letter was what he expected, and sought details of all his assets, warned against any disposals, and demanded an outrageous monthly allowance.
“I have Mr Vogel for you.”
“Douglas, how are you feeling? I didn’t expect that you’d be at work today.”
“I’m a little queasy but I’ll live. Max, Barbara’s got Carnegie & Yze acting for her, and they’ve just couriered me a five page letter. I’m instructing you to tell them to fuck off.”
“This is not something frivolous you can sweep under the carpet. I’ll need to respond to Carnegie & Yze’s letter, and I’ll need your help with the detail.”
“Stall them. This is something I’ll settle with Barbara, but now is not the time. She needs a few days to calm down and see reason.”
“You’re not hiding or disposing of assets are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You leaked that information I gave you about the truck driver.”
“What if I did? I don’t remember you saying that it was confidential.”
“I told you that we couldn’t use it. I thought that was enough.”
“It wasn’t and I’m glad I managed to get it in the media. It helped balance up what that bitch said about me.”
“The coroner and his staff didn’t get their positions by being fools. They’ll know that you or someone acting for you leaked it and, let me tell you, they’ll take no account of it.”
“We’ll see about that,” Aspine said, growing tired of his whingeing lawyer. “I’ll fax Carnegie & Yze’s letter to you. Send them a response that’ll buy me some breathing space.”
Aspine damned Fiona Jeczik. She’d caused of all his problems and, if it wasn’t for her, Barbara wouldn’t be trying to steal half his assets. If it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t have lost Charlie. If it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t have needed to be at Bert Stuart’s inquest. If it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t have been nearly killed. He felt dizzy and a wave of anger swept over him. His leg was throbbing and a small amount of blood had seeped through his pants. He took the prepaid mobile out of his jacket and punched in Tom Donegan’s private number. “Yeah.”
“Tom, it’s Douglas Aspine.”
“You’ve been in the wars. Do you want me to find out who tried to kill you?”
“No,” said Aspine, sweating heavily.
“And you’ve got no labour or union problems, so how can I help you?”
“I want you to dig up everything you can on Fiona Jeczik and Barry Seymour.”
“Everything dirty, you mean. Why are you interested in Seymour?”
“He’s CEO of Channel Sixteen.”
“I know, but he’s not the cause of your problems. Why go after him?”
“Maybe if he feels a bit of heat about his own private life he’ll put the brakes on the bitch. Better still, he might fire her.”
“You’re treading on dangerous ground, and there’s no way she’s going to get fired. She’s their star performer and she knows it − so does Seymour.”
“Just do as I tell you!”
“Calm down, Douglas. Who do I bill?”
“Mercury, of course.”
“Labour negotiations and relations?”
“That’s right. Get back to me − pronto.”
Aspine was stark white, and his shirt was soaked in perspiration. “Kelly,” he shouted. “Get me a doctor, and tell him to bring plenty of pain killers.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Just get me a bloody doctor. I’m fine.”
Fifteen minutes later Kelly showed a young doctor into his office. “Douglas, this is Dr Stewart.”
“Doc, I was in an accident yesterday and had a few stitches in my leg. It’s hurting like all hell. Can you give me something for the pain?”
“I know about the accident; it was on last night’s news,” Dr Stewart said, as he took Aspine’s blood pressure and pulse, before kneeling down to check his leg. “You’re in no condition to be here. You need to be home with your leg elevated for a few days.”
“I’m too busy, Doc.”
“You don’t seem to appreciate how serious a wound you have. Without rest
it could become infected and gangrenous, and you know what that means.
“You’re not serious.”
“I’m deadly serious,” the doctor responded, flicking the point of an extremely large injection. “This might hurt for a second or so.”
“It’s fine. Thanks, Doc.”
“I’m giving you prescriptions for pain killers and sleeping tablets. Get them filled and go home.”
Aspine pressed the button on his desk. “Kelly, I need you to get some prescriptions filled, and then get me a cab. I’m going home to rest up for a few days.” The doctor had scared him with his talk of gangrene.
Harry Denton sat in his car watching Aspine being helped into the rear of a cab and wondered what could be so urgent as to require his attention, when he was so badly injured. The cab pulled away from the offices and Harry started the engine of his Holden and followed, feelingly more than a little stupid. He’d had the same feeling when the police had asked him if he had seen the driver of the car that had struck Aspine, and he’d said ‘no’. He had no idea who the little man with the bald head and large glasses was, but in an instant Harry had made up his mind that he hadn’t seen anything. He had a strong conscience, but in the case of Douglas Aspine it was on holiday, and who knew what he’d done to that man? Harry did not have to drive for long before the cab stopped out the front of a townhouse, in one of Kew’s more exclusive locations. He watched as the cabby helped Aspine to the front door, and guessed that he’d been too ill to stay at work. Harry sat behind the steering wheel and let the engine idle, feeling even more stupid.
As Aspine entered the townhouse, he sensed that someone was inside. “Who’s there?” he shouted? There was no response but as he hobbled down the hallway he thought that he heard the back door close. He felt dizzy and fought back a surge of nausea, and when he reached the door it was securely locked. Maybe he was hallucinating? He walked back down the hallway and noticed that the door that led up from his basement garage to the stairs was open. He strained to remember whether it’d been open when he’d left for work − he was convinced it hadn’t. Nothing appeared to have been stolen, but perhaps the intent of the break-in hadn’t been theft? He staggered back to the front entrance, threw the door open, and stared at the Holden parked fifty metres away. Wasn’t that Harry Denton’s car, and wasn’t that Harry sitting behind the wheel? He closed his eyes tightly and when he reopened them the car was gone. What were the pain killers doing to him? He dragged himself down to his study, and ran his eyes around it, looking for something out of place or missing. Then he noticed it − the phone was not in its cradle − someone had been in his study. Exhausted, he limped into his bedroom, falling on the bed, and collapsing into a troubled sleep.
