The CEO: White Collar Crime Finance Suspense Thriller

by Peter Ralph

  “Tha-that’s be-because costs were charged inc-incorrectly to South Melbourne in the fir-first place. I’m sure I wen-went over it with the au-auditors at the end of the y-year,” Kerry mumbled, unable to hold Creland’s gaze.

  “I thought so,” Creland smiled, “but we’ve been unable to find any back-up documents or evidence to support the entry.”

  “I’ll hav-have to hun-hunt through my files. I hav-have a few meet-meetings this morn-morning. Will mid-afternoon be all-alright?”

  “That’ll be fine. Oh, we’d also like to have a look at the Balmoral Finance file.”

  “I-I’ll let you hav-have it at the same time that I give you the wor-work papers.”

  “Thanks,” Creland said, walking to the door with his junior close behind him.

  Kerry closed the door, took a huge breath and held his head in his hands and whimpered. He knew that he was off to jail in the morning. He tried to regain his composure but, as he left his office to go to the toilet, he felt a hundred eyes staring at him. He splashed cold water over his face and looked at his reflection in the mirror − blood-shot eyes, the worst acne he’d ever had, flaky pallid skin, and severe and unsightly dandruff.

  He didn’t return to his office, but crept out to the car-park, continually glancing over his shoulder. The drive to Mansfield took a little over two-and-a-half hours, and he wept uncontrollably all the way to the small township. He drove past hotels, for the first time in months having no desire to feel the stinging taste of brandy burning his throat. He stopped at the town’s fish and chip shop and ordered a hamburger and chips. While he was waiting he walked to a nearby pharmacy. He felt calm, relaxed and in control, feelings that’d become totally foreign to him over the past eighteen months.

  It was a bright, sunny, early spring day, the birds were chirping and the towering gums were just starting to break out in brilliant red flowers. As he drove down the twisting dirt track toward the house, the sun’s rays bounced off the lake. He didn’t go into the house but instead walked around the property, touching the fences and barn, before eventually sitting on the end of the jetty and looking down at his reflection in the water. His thoughts turned to Jasmine and the two boys and he started to choke, and the tears welled up again. “Why was I so stupid?” he mumbled. The sun had started to drop and the chill air of early afternoon reddened his cheeks. Surprisingly, he felt hungry.

  He went back to his car, grabbed the cold hamburger and chips and entered the house. He put the food in the oven and turned on the house heating, before wandering around looking in the rooms. It was far more homely than it’d been the day that they’d bought it. He sat on the lounge, feet on the ottoman, munching on his dried-out hamburger and overly crisp chips. Finally he picked up the phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Jasmine, it’s me.”

  “Hi honey, are you going to be early tonight?”

  “No, I’m up at Mansfield.”

  “Why?”

  “I needed a break, and it’s so peaceful up here.”

  “Why didn’t you take us?”

  “Sorry, I needed to be by myself, but I’d like it if you came up tomorrow,” he said, fighting the choking in his throat.

  “We’ll come up first thing in the morning.”

  “Don’t bring the kids. We need to have some time by ourselves.”

  “Are you alright?” Jasmine asked, her voice filled with concern.

  “I’m fine. I’m just so tired.”

  “Do you want to say hello to the kids?”

  “No-no, not now. I hav-have to g-get some sl-sleep.”

  “Love you, honey.”

  “Love you to-too.”

  “See you in the morning.”

  Kerry flicked the television on and watched the early news. Mercury’s shares were still falling and had closed at $2.40. The weather presenter said that Victoria was going to be basked in sunshine tomorrow, and he was glad that Jasmine wouldn’t have to drive on wet, slippery roads. He went into the bedroom and took a doona and pillow and threw them on the floor in the family room before going down to his study. Ten minutes later he went into the kitchen and poured himself a large glass of water, which he placed next to the pillow. He pressed hard on the cap of the bottle of sleeping pills that he’d bought at the pharmacy, and tipped them all into his hand. He crammed most of them into his mouth and took a huge gulp of water, before shoving the rest in and finishing the glass. He pulled the doona up around his shoulders and rested his head on the pillow, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Forgive me, Jasmine, please forgive me.”

  Jasmine had arranged for the boys to sleep at a friend’s house so that she could get away early in the morning. She’d phoned Kerry at nine o’clock the prior night, but he hadn’t answered and she’d guessed that he was in a heavy sleep. She left home at seven in the morning, with the low easterly sun coming through the windscreen making it difficult to see. She drove slowly and didn’t arrive in Mansfield for three hours. The dew was still on the ground as she drove down the dirt track. Kerry’s car was covered with condensation and there was no sign of life from within the house. Suddenly she had misgivings but immediately admonished herself for being so silly. Her fears quickly returned when she found the front door locked, and she panicked, fumbling to find the key. She pushed the door open and Kerry was lying motionless on the vinyl floor, a doona pulled up around his chest. She knew he was dead and was hit by the odour of stale brandy coming from his kidneys and liver. “Why?” she screamed. Body fluids had seeped from his eyes, mouth and nose, and when she pulled the doona away the back and front of his pants were soaked, giving off a vile smell. She violently dry retched as she gently placed the doona back over him. “Why? Why?” she moaned. There was an empty bottle of sleeping pills and a glass next to the pillow on which his head was resting. She stroked his cold face gently, fighting back the tears. “Who made you do this, my darling? What will I tell our boys?” Then she noticed the unsealed envelope on the other side of the pillow. There were two A4 sheets inside it, and she slowly read the top one. ‘My darling Jasmine, you will soon learn of the dreadful mistakes that I have made. I was weak and I can no longer live with the shame of what I have done. I love you and I’m sorry that it had to end this way. Don’t ever tell the boys how I died. It is the coward’s way out. Tell them that I loved them with all my heart. If God is forgiving, one day I’ll see you in heaven. All my love, Kerry.’ The second one contained details of a bank account with over seven hundred thousand dollars in it, which he said that he’d been too scared to tell her about. ‘Don’t spend it, because you may have to return it,’ the note warned. In death, as in life, he had not sought to blame anyone else, and she put the notes back inside the envelope and pushed it to the bottom of her bag. No matter what her husband had done, he was innocent in her eyes, and to the rest of the world his suicide would not be accompanied by a final message to the living. She fought for composure as she dialed 000 and told the operator what had occurred. Five minutes later she heard the wail of police sirens coming down the dirt track. A heavyset, middle-aged detective from Mansfield, with large jowls and a kind face jumped out of the passenger’s side of the first vehicle and walked briskly over to the house. Jasmine took one look at him, and all her forced self-composure evaporated and she became a sobbing mess. She slumped into his arms and wept uncontrollably, while he beckoned his partner to enter the house. A few minutes later, the second detective came out the front door, slowly shaking his head.

  Within two hours, news of the suicide of Kerry Bartlett reached those in the know, and shares in Mercury sold off in huge volumes, driving the price down to $2.00. As hysteria took over, punters rushed to sell their holdings. The shares continued to plunge, but now there were no bidders. Just before the close of the market, the asking price had fallen to $1.20, but the only bidders were bottom feeders, offering $1.00. Bad news drives share prices down, but uncertainty causes them to go into free-fall. No-one knew why Kerry Bartlett had committe
d suicide and the ‘not knowing’ triggered panic.

  The detectives had been kind and sympathetic, but were surprised when they couldn’t find a suicide note. They suggested that Jasmine stay in Mansfield overnight and drive back the following day, but she desperately needed to be with her boys. Dusk was rapidly approaching as she left the township and started the long lonely drive back to Melbourne. Her mind was numb and she struggled to imagine what life would be like without Kerry. They’d been together since school and she’d never known another man. Tears poured down her cheeks and she wondered what he had done that was so terrible. Had he embezzled the seven hundred thousand dollars that he’d mentioned in his note? And if he had, why? He’d been earning a large salary and bonuses; they lived comfortably and had virtually no debts. Try as she might, she couldn’t imagine any act that he might have committed, that would lead to him take his life. Sorrow turned to anger when she thought about him leaving the boys without a father, and leaving her without a husband. “How could you have done it?” She wept in exasperation. The road was dark as she drove through the small town of Yarra Glen and caught a glimpse of a café that they’d enjoyed a coffee in only three weeks earlier. This brought a new rush of tears − tears of self-pity. What would she do without him? How could she go on? “Why didn’t you talk to me? Why didn’t you tell me?” she sobbed. The only thing she was sure of was that Kerry’s problems had started the day that he’d joined Mercury Properties.

  Aspine was shocked to hear of Kerry’s demise, and then terrified. What had he said in his suicide note? Had he blown the whistle? Any small concern that he might have felt for Kerry disappeared in a haze of thoughts of self-preservation. Why hadn’t Kerry spoken to him? What had triggered such a terrible act? He watched the early news on Channel Ten and was surprised to hear the newsreader say that the police had been unable to find a suicide note. At six o’clock he flicked to Channel Sixteen, who’d rushed a crew to Mansfield, and there was footage of the detective in charge being interviewed. “Yes, it is tragic,” he agreed.

  “And do you know why he did it?”

  “Unfortunately we’ve been unable to locate a suicide note.”

  “Isn’t that unusual?”

  “Very.”

  “Could it have been foul play and not suicide?”

  “No.”

  Aspine’s mind turned back to Kerry’s demeanour and personality, and he smiled. He was one of those rare types who took the blame for everything, someone given to self- admonishment, someone unlikely to burden others with what he saw as his mistakes. There was no suicide note because Kerry, right up until his death, had determined that he was the one at fault, he’d been weak, and he’d been the one who needed to be punished by making the supreme sacrifice. Aspine’s mind worked furiously, because, if there was no suicide note, he was off the hook. Better still, anything found by the investigators at Mercury could be blamed on Kerry without possibility of repudiation. The final loose end had been tied up and he was safe from any form of prosecution. “Thank you, Kerry,” he murmured, “and God bless you.”

  Harry Denton aged ten years on the news of Kerry’s death. He knew exactly why he’d taken his own life, and grieved for him. The evening prior, the auditors had informed him of the anomalies that they’d found, and that Kerry had not returned after leaving for some meetings earlier in the day. Harry read the personnel file on Kerry, talked to Kurt, and made discreet enquiries. Kerry had had a brilliant mind, had been deeply religious, had a beautiful devoted young wife and two sons, and had been a non- drinker before joining Mercury. He’d also been shy and nervous and, while Harry hated to label him with the word, he’d been weak. The saying, ‘the devil made me do it,’ flashed through Harry’s mind, and the Phoenician features and sneering face of Douglas Aspine laughed at him. Harry knew that Aspine had murdered Kerry, as surely as if he’d bought a gun and shot him. His heart was heavy, as he thought about the young widow and the two poor little boys orphaned from their father. Harry admonished himself; he knew that Kerry had been a heavy drinker, but he hadn’t made any effort to counsel or help him. The joy that he’d felt about managing Mercury again had made him blind to the plight of others. On Sunday, he would pray to the Lord for forgiveness and, in the meantime he would bleed for the loss of one so young.

  - 40 -

  JASMINE DIDN’T WANT to put the boys through the trauma of a funeral procession, followed by the lowering of a casket bearing their father’s body into the cold ground. Instead, she chose to hold an early afternoon service in the Renowden Chapel at the Necropolis, Springvale, where mourners could bid Kerry a last farewell. The chapel only seated fifty, but it was intimate, and Kerry had had few friends. She stood at the door, dressed in a long black dress and veil, her eyes red and swollen from tears and lack of sleep. Mourners paused and told her how sorry they were, or what a fine man and father Kerry had been, and that the pain would eventually go away. She was stoic and charming but yearned for the dreadful day to end. The little man with grey hair and intense blue eyes had been warm and yet deeply affected, but she didn’t know who he was. “How did you know, Kerry?” she enquired.

  “My name’s Harry Denton. I’m looking after Mercury until they find someone else.’

  “Mr Denton, Kerry liked and spoke very highly of you. I’m glad you could come.”

  Aspine had wrestled with himself about attending the funeral. He didn’t like funerals and didn’t see any need to go, but was worried about how it would look if he didn’t. He wondered whether Jasmine blamed him for Kerry’s death. He sat in his car waiting for two o’clock to come around so that he could slip quietly into the chapel. He strolled toward the entrance of the chapel, looking down at his feet.

  “Douglas, it’s so good of you come.”

  He looked up in surprise. “Jasmine,” he said, kissing her on the side of the veil. “I don’t know what to say. I feel your loss so badly.”

  “Thank you. Are you coming back home? I’m having a small wake for family and close friends, and Kerry considered you one of his closest.”

  “I felt the same way,” he lied, surprised by Jasmine’s warmness. “I’d be pleased to come.”

  He was entering the chapel when he heard Jasmine cry out. “Raj, you came,” and throw her arms around a tall, fair skinned Indian man in his early thirties. He was strikingly handsome, with a strong jaw, penetrating brown eyes and jet black hair. His suit was finely tailored, fitting him like a glove, and his black shoes shone. He seemed to be a man of affluence.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, my precious sister, it is a very sad day and my heart goes out to you. Where are the boys and how are they taking it?”

  “They’re in the chapel with a close friend. I think they’re still struggling to realize that their Dad’s gone,” she said, taking his hand. “The service is about to commence.”

  Aspine watched Jasmine and the Indian man walk down the aisle to the front of the chapel, and sit down next to her children and another woman. He wondered who the man was.

  A close family friend delivered the eulogy and spoke of Kerry’s many fine qualities. There were no other speakers and the service finished with the mourners filing past the open coffin for one final glimpse of Kerry. Jasmine had already said her farewells and saw no point in prolonging the boys’ pain. She asked her friend to take them home, while she went to the front door of the chapel where she could thank the mourners for their attendance.

  Aspine wasn’t looking forward to the wake and he drove slowly to Glen Iris. The house was a neat old weatherboard in a peaceful, tree-lined street. Sometimes the Ferrari was a totally inappropriate vehicle and he parked it around the corner and walked two hundred metres to the house. Jasmine mingled with her friends and relatives, trying to keep busy by serving drinks and finger food. She’d removed her veil, and her face was drawn and there were blemishes on her cheeks. “Can I get you a drink, Douglas? We have some alcohol, but I don’t know what it is.”

  “I’ll have a c
up of tea, thank you.” As she turned, he said, “I’ll come out to the kitchen with you.”

  “Thank you for coming. Kerry idolized you,” Jasmine said, as she waited for the jug to boil.

  “He was a fine young man.”

  “Douglas?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know why he did it?” she asked, her eyes welling up.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Was he doing anything dishonest?”

  “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”

  “There’s a bank account with seven hundred thousand dollars in it, and I don’t know where it came from.”

  “Don’t worry. I can put your mind at ease. Kerry converted some options into shares and then sold them. I remember him saying that the profit was about seven hundred thousand. He didn’t do anything illegal or dishonest.”

  “That’s a relief,” Jasmine responded, wondering why Kerry had said that she might have to repay it.

  “Do you need money?”

  “Oh, no, you misunderstood. I don’t care about the money, but I’d be disappointed if Kerry had done something dishonest to attain it.”

  “I don’t know of anything that Kerry did that could be construed as dishonest,” Aspine said, choosing his words carefully.

  As Jasmine poured tea, the tall Indian man came into the kitchen. “Douglas, I’d like you to meet my brother, Raj.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, but I wish it was under different circumstances,” Aspine said.

  “It’s very sad. You were Kerry’s boss, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, up until about a month ago, when I left the company. I’d forgotten that Jasmine had a brother.”