by Peter Ralph
Harry noticed the man wearing a track suit run onto the street from the rear of the townhouses, and thought it strange that he was carrying a small black case. Perhaps he was just running late for an appointment? A few minutes later Aspine had appeared at the front door of his townhouse, looking distressed and concerned. Harry, hit the accelerator hard, hoping that he’d not been seen, surmising that perhaps the man had been disturbed while breaking into Aspine’s townhouse.
Images of Fiona Jeczik disrupted Aspine’s sleep and he tossed and turned, breaking out in a heavy sweat. She was leading a mob, intent on stoning him to death and, no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t get away. She disappeared for a few minutes and he fell into a deeper sleep, only for her to reappear as a judge sentencing him for his sins against society. He awoke soaking wet with his leg throbbing, screaming, “no, no, leave me alone.” He rubbed his eyes and stared at the clock − it was 3am and he’d slept for more than twelve hours, but still felt totally washed out. He forced himself out of bed, removed his shirt and underwear, and threw off the damp sheets. As he put on his pajamas and changed the sheets, it became clear to him − crystal clear − the burglar was some snitch hired by Fiona Jeczik, to look for embarrassing or incriminating private papers. Bitch! Then he remembered the phone, and it hit him − she’d also had his apartment bugged. Bitch! Why did she have it in for him so bad? After drinking a glass of water and swallowing two pain killers and a sleeping tablet, he felt a little better. Then he recalled that someone had tried to kill him in the last forty-eight hours. Surely the bitch wouldn’t try and kill him? Maybe it was the would-be-murderer who’d broken into his townhouse? He resolved to phone Tom Donegan in the morning, before flopping back into bed, angry, frustrated, and worried.
“Tom, it’s Douglas Aspine.”
“That was quick. Sorry, the woman’s clean. She’s very ambitious, but blemish-free. She has an alcoholic father, being looked after in an exclusive private nursing home that must be costing her a fortune. She visits him at midday every Friday without fail. We don’t have anything on Barry Seymour yet, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
“I wasn’t phoning about her. I want you to get your best security people out to my townhouse. I want it swept and made secure, totally secure, and I want it done now.”
“For forty thousand dollars I can make your place as secure as Fort Knox. I’ll just add it onto Mercury’s account for labour relations. What happened?”
“Someone broke in yesterday. I knocked off early because of my leg and disturbed him.”
“You caught him?”
“No, but I scared him off.”
“But you don’t think he was burglar?”
“No! I think he was looking for dirt.”
“Shit! I think we need to sweep and secure your car and office too,” Donegan said, “and Douglas, be careful about what you say, and where you say it, from now on.”
“Can you provide me with a small discreet device that will enable me to record telephone calls?”
“That’s easy, but don’t forget, by law you have to inform the other party that you’re recording the conversation.”
“When can you get your security people here?”
“This afternoon. I’ll give them the recorder to give to you.”
“Thanks,” Aspine said, silently cursing. He’d planned to make phone calls to Brad and Kerry, but they’d have to wait until he was sure his townhouse was clean. As he was contemplating this, his prepaid mobile rang and he hobbled out the front door saying, “Hello, Vic.”
“How’d you know it was me?”
“You’re the only person who has this number. How’s business?”
“Steady, and we’re making good money from the sales we’re getting. It was a good idea of yours to fix up the pricing.”
“It was. So what is it you’re looking for?”
“I could have just been phoning to pass the time of day, or enquiring about your health.”
“But you’re not,” Aspine responded, growing impatient.
“No. I wondered if you’d have any interest in acquiring four hundred acres of surplus property we have in Melton. We’ve had it rezoned residential.”
“Why do you want to sell? Why aren’t you developing it?”
“We’ve got nearly a thousand acres out there, and I just want to trim our exposure.”
“I could be interested,” Aspine said nonchalantly, smelling the blood of a desperate seller.
“For speedy settlement we could let you have it for what we paid, plus holding costs, and the expenses of rezoning.”
“And how much would that be?” Aspine asked, surprised that Garland would admit that Vicland had liquidity problems so early in the negotiations.
“One hundred and fifty million.”
Aspine’s immediate reaction was to say bullshit but he curbed himself. “Fax the titles, development plans, and everything else you’ve got to me, and I’ll let you know if I’m interested.”
“When will you be able to give me an answer?” Garland croaked.
“Forty-eight hours,” Aspine responded, knowing that Garland was desperate for cash.
“It’s a great deal.”
“Sure, Vic.”
- 28 -
ASPINE SLEPT WELL knowing that he was totally secure. The technicians had swept his townhouse, checked the phones, and found no bugs. Maybe he had imagined that he’d heard someone, in the same way that he’d imagined seeing Harry Denton? Perhaps it was the painkillers that he’d been on? His leg had stopped hurting, the wound didn’t look as angry, and he decided to follow doctor’s advice and take another day off.
“Hello, Doug,” Brad’s voice crackled down the phone line, “how’s the leg, and is it true that someone tried to top you?”
“I’m fine and I don’t know what you’re talking about. It was an accident.”
“Sorry, but even the talkback jocks are speculating about which one of your many enemies it might’ve been. That’s their words, not mine.”
“What’d the share price close at yesterday?” With the accident, his leg, and installing the security system, he’d completely forgotten to look at the markets.
“It’s been falling ever since Jeczik’s show aired, but it really tanked after your accident. It closed at $3.50 last night?”
“Fuck! Those talkback jocks are spooking the market. That’s bloody terrible.” His new options were worthless, and those that he’d been initially allocated had fallen by a million dollars.
“Tell me about it. It’s costing me big-time.”
“How are sales holding up?”
“We’ve sold everything that’s been completed and half of what’s available off-the-plan.”
“At last some good news.”
“Perhaps. We’ve sold on deposits as low as a hundred dollars, one hundred and eighty day settlements, subject to finance and most of the off-the-plan stuff has been courtesy of insurance bonds, and we might have problems.”
“What problems?”
“Well, you know the façade of the centre building at Docklands was meant to be gold.”
“It is.”
“Some of the early off-the-plan buyers are saying that brass isn’t gold, and they’re talking about a class action to rescind their contracts.”
“Shit! They don’t have a leg to stand on, but we don’t need the bad media that goes with legal action, driving the share price down.”
“I do have some good news. I’ve sold six of the apartments that we’ve been financing, for a little over three million dollars. I don’t know how you got our competitors to increase their prices, but it’s lifted the value of our pre-owned apartments.”
“I knew that if we propped the market up for a while it’d turn in our favour,” Aspine said, breathing a sigh of relief. “How are Vicland’s apartments selling?”
“Strongly, the pricks have been selling against us by shit canning what they’re calling our crepe walls. They’re agg
ressive, tough, and fiercely competitive. It’s good; they’ve just about sold everything, and don’t have much in the pipeline.”
“Is that right?” Aspine asked, puzzled. It didn’t fit the profile of a company beset with liquidity problems.
Aspine knew that he had to convince the police to drop their investigation. He found Bill Muller’s card in his wallet and phoned him.
“Muller speaking,” a terse voice answered.
“Detective Muller, it’s Doug Aspine. I was in a car acc...”
“I remember you, Mr Aspine. How can I help you?”
“There are lots of unfounded rumours going around about the accident. They’re unsettling my employees.”
“Are you sure they’re unfounded?”
“Detective, I told you it was an accident, and that’s what it was.”
“Yes, you did say that. Look, I can’t control public opinion.”
“No, but you can help tone it down.”
“I’m not with you.”
“I’d like you to release a statement saying that there were no suspicious circumstances and that you’re closing your file on the matter.”
“I can’t do that. Hell, even if it was an accident, it was still a hit and run.”
“Bill, can I call you Bill?” Aspine asked, oozing charm. “I understand, but couldn’t you release something saying it’s no longer a homicide matter?”
“Why’s it so important?”
“I told you. My employees are unsettled, and their work’s being disrupted by bloody talkback jocks and rumour mongers.”
“I can’t help you.”
The phone went quiet. “Are you still there?” Muller asked.
“Understand this,” Aspine snapped, dispensing with any semblance of charm. “My public relations people will issue a press release tomorrow, stating that the police have absolutely no evidence to indicate that the accident was an attempted homicide.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch me. If you have any evidence, you’ll be able to repudiate the press release but, if you don’t, you’ll be pushing shit uphill. If you’re right, which you’re not, the culprit might relax after he reads the newspapers, and make a mistake that’ll help you catch him.”
“You can get yourself into a lot of trouble interfering in police business.”
“Detective, I’m guessing you earn about seventy thousand a year. That’s half what I earn in a week so don’t threaten me. If you bring an action against me, my lawyers will strenuously and publicly resist it. Are you getting my message?”
“Don’t make a mistake or I’ll come down on you like a ton of bricks,” Muller said, kicking the side of his well-worn desk hard. He knew that he’d been put in his place − he also knew how easy it’d be to hate the obnoxious Douglas Aspine.
“I don’t make mistakes,” Aspine laughed derisively.
Aspine was short with Wes, telling him exactly what he wanted released to the media. “Have you cleared this with your lawyers?”
“Wes, if I cleared everything with them I’d get nothing done. Just make sure you say the police have no evidence to suggest the accident was an attempted homicide. It’s simple and straightforward, and all you have to do is get it out there.”
“Why’s it so important?”
Fuck, Jeremy had told him that Wes was bright. “My employees are upset by the unfounded rumours about my accident. I just want to settle them down,” Aspine lied.
The four hundred acres that Vicland wanted to sell in Melton was prime land, but the one hundred and fifty million dollar asking price was, in Aspine’s view, way above the odds. Garland sounded tentative and nervous when he answered his prepaid mobile.
“Vic, I’ve been considering your offer,” Aspine said, without announcing himself.
“Douglas?”
“Yeah, who else would it be, or are you hawking this land everywhere?”
“No, I haven’t offered it to anyone else, which doesn’t mean that I won’t.”
“If you do, I hope you don’t tell them that it cost you a hundred and fifty million, because we both know that’s bullshit.”
“You’re not interested?”
“Not at that price.”
“I might be prepared to consider something a little less. Make me an offer.”
“It’s worth no more than eighty million!” Aspine heard coughing and spluttering. “Are you still there, Vic?”
“Are you stupid?” I don’t even need to think about your ridiculous offer.”
“It wasn’t an offer. I was just telling you what it’s worth. I might be prepared to go slightly higher, because by redrawing your development plans, we can add value.”
“It’ll want to be a lot higher. A lot, lot, higher!”
“I’m going to make you one offer, and you can take it or leave it. I’d like to get my hands on the land, but I’m not going to get drawn into prolonged haggling.”
“Make your offer.”
“One hundred million, subject to checks on title, and rates and planning.”
“That’s absurd,” Garland laughed, with a barely perceptible hint of nervousness, that didn’t escape Aspine. “I might be prepared to take one hundred and fifteen million.”
Aspine didn’t respond. As each second passed the tension grew, the only sound being Garland’s heavy breathing. “Douglas, Douglas, I didn’t hear your response,” the old man muttered, his breathing now heavily laboured.
Aspine waited another thirty seconds. “Look, if my offer’s not acceptable, why don’t you see if Apartco or Urban are interested? I’m not falling over myself to buy undeveloped land. I’d prefer to concentrate on high-rises.”
“Make it one hundred and five and you’ve got a deal.”
“No can do, Vic. One hundred’s it!”
“You’re screwing me blind.”
“You came to me. I don’t care whether I buy or not.”
“Can you settle in twenty-one days?”
Aspine smiled. Vicland must be desperate for cash. “I made my offer on the basis of settling in sixty days. That gives the lawyers plenty of time to do their checks, and prepare contracts.”
“So you won’t consider early settlement?”
“No.”
Again the conversation lapsed into silence, and Aspine pondered how much he could knock off the price for early settlement.
“I need early settlement,” the old man nervously blurted.
“Vic, if you’re prepared to accept ninety-five million, I’ll help you with early settlement.”
There was a gasp followed by a sudden exhaling of air. “You want five million dollars to settle thirty-nine days earlier − you bastard; you low bastard.”
“I’m not forcing you to sell. Make up your mind − do we have a deal?”
“Yes, you thieving bastard, we have a deal. My lawyers will be in touch.”
Aspine placed his hands behind his head and gloated − the pain from his leg had mysteriously vanished.
With the excitement of the past few days Aspine had forgotten about the quarterly results but sales had been strong, and he knew that they’d be good. “Carmen, put me through to Kerry,” he said to the receptionist.
“He phoned in sick this morning, Mr Aspine, and said he wouldn’t be in today.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He didn’t say.”
“I’ll see him tomorrow then.”
Kerry worked a hundred hours a week and never took sick days − what was wrong with him? He recalled him smelling of alcohol at the hospital and pondered whether it might have something to with him being sick. Kerry was a Rechabite, so he’d just presumed that his nose was playing up. God, the last thing that he needed was an alcohol dependent financial controller.
The morning newspapers contained articles stating that the police had uncovered no evidence to suggest that the accident involving Mercury Properties Limited’s CEO, Mr Douglas Aspine, was anything else other than that
− an accident. The articles went on to say that Mr Aspine had fully recovered from minor injuries, was in good health, and had resumed his duties at Mercury. Some of the radio and television stations devoted fifteen seconds to reporting the story. Aspine opined that the media loved the sensationalism of bad news, and hated the boredom of good news. Wes mightn’t be overly smart, but he had very good contacts in the media.
Aspine flicked over to the financial pages of the Herald-Sun and saw a prominently positioned article headed, ‘Clean Energy in major discovery.’ He skim read the article, which was an announcement about a massive new uranium discovery. The share price had gone through the roof before closing at an all-time high of $1.20. He sat motionless, dazed at the enormity of his profit, which was only a fraction short of a million dollars, and he resolved to sell as soon as the market opened. Blayloch & Fitch’s information had, as usual, been impeccable.
- 29 -
THE CAB DROPPED Aspine at his office just after nine o’clock, and he was elated to see the red monster gleaming in the early morning sun. He had missed it, and was glad that there’d be no more cab rides. His eyes scanned the car-park, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Kerry’s car. He half skipped, half hopped up the stairs, nearly knocking Kurt over. “Get out my way, Kurt.”
