The CEO: White Collar Crime Finance Suspense Thriller
Page 37
“Your worship is very generous,” Bowden responded, touching his forehead in a theatrical manner. “I appear for the defendant, Douglas Aspine.”
“And I appear for the crown, your honour,” Stuart Thistlewaite interrupted. He was fat, with three chins, pale white skin and a six strand comb-over that accentuated his hair loss.
“Mr Thistleweed.” Bond frowned, peering over the top of his thin framed Armani spectacles.
“Thistlewaite, your honour.”
“Why are you repeating what I said?” Bond said, his long bony fingers tapping impatiently on the bench. “Are you ready to proceed?”
Ken Sturt noticed Bowden smiling, and the queasiness that he’d felt earlier returned.
“Yes, your honour,” Thistlewaite replied, before presenting a long and monotonous recital of the charges.
“Thank you, Mr Thistleweed. You may call your first witness.”
“I call Mr Ken Sturt of ASIC.”
“Mr Ken Sturt,” the clerk shouted, as Sturt walked toward the witness box. For the next hour Thistlewaite asked questions and received answers that he’d rehearsed with Sturt. They went over the false accounting entries, Balmoral Finance Company, and Thistlewaite produced originals of Mercury’s financial accounts, signed by Aspine.
“Would you like to cross, Mr Bowden?”
“Thank you, your worship?” Bowden rose, stretching his long legs, and running one manicured hand over his slicked down hair. “Mr Sturt, how long did you say you’ve been working at ASIC?”
“Six years.”
“And where were you before that?”
“I was an auditor with two international firms of accountants.”
“So you’re a qualified accountant and experienced investigator?”
“Yes.”
“Is it fair to say that there’s usually a significant amount of documentary evidence in most cases of white collar crime?”
“Yes,” Sturt murmured, knowing exactly where Bowden was going.
“So in the case of the false accounting entries, did you find any documented evidence to support the charges against my client? Did he process the false entries, or issue written instructions to others directing them to do so?”
“No, but ...”
“Just answer the questions, Mr Sturt,” Bowden interrupted. “Were there any minutes, memos or notes from my client evidencing his involvement in the falsification of the company’s books?”
“No.”
“Did you talk to anyone who heard my client issuing instructions to others regarding the false accounting entries?”
“No, but he was the CEO of M...”
“Mr Sturt, just answer my questions. So am I to understand you do not have any documentary evidence against my client?”
“He signed the company’s financial accounts.”
“Did Sir Edwin Philby, and the company’s auditors, sign the same set of financial accounts?”
“Yes, but ...”
“There are no buts, Mr Sturt. Why hasn’t Sir Edwin Philby been charged with the same offences that you’ve charged my client with?”
“He’s not an accountant and could not reasonably be expected to understand complex accounting nuances.”
“But the auditors are, and they signed off on the financial accounts, so presumably they did not detect the falsifications. My client is not an accountant, so I’ll ask you again, why is he being treated differently to Sir Edwin Philby?”
“Sir Edwin, in his role as chairman, was not responsible for the management of the company. Douglas Aspine was.”
“Would it be fair to say that your office has been placed under severe pressure by outsiders to launch this action? And isn’t it based on vindictiveness rather than fact?”
“Not that I know of,” Sturt muttered.
“Your worship, I’d like to move for the dismissal of all charges against my client, and an order for costs against the crown,” Bowden said.
“I’m inclined to agree,” magistrate Bond replied.
A gasp of dismay went around the courtroom and Stuart Thistlewaite jumped to his feet, protesting. “Your honour, counsel has not refuted the evidence.”
“What evidence?” Bond replied, looking at Thistlewaite with disdain. “That’s your problem, Mr Thistleweed, you don’t seem to have any evidence.”
Thistlewaite ignored the insult. “Your honour I must prot...”
Bond cut him off. “Mr Bowden, I’m not prepared to make a ruling yet. Carry on.”
“As you wish, your worship,” Bowden nodded deferentially.
“Mr Sturt, in reference to Balmoral Finance Company do you have any cheques signed by my client?”
“No.”
“Any cheque requisitions?”
“No.”
“Did my client sign the agreement between Mercury and Balmoral Finance Company?”
“No.”
“Are there any memos, notes or letters that link my client with Balmoral Finance Company?”
“No.”
With great theatre, Bowden turned to Magistrate Bond, palms uplifted as if to say, ‘what more do I have to do?’ “I move for dismissal of all charges.”
Bond picked up his gavel and hammered it on the bench. “All charges are dismissed, and I’ll sign an order for costs against the crown.”
Thistlewaite was on his feet but, before he could speak magistrate Bond bellowed. “Sit down, Mr Thistlewaite; I’m disgusted that you could come into my court so poorly prepared.”
Aspine glanced around and the first face he saw was Fiona Jeczik’s. She was shaking her head in disbelief. Shirley Bloom looked like someone had kicked her, and Vic Garland was engaged in furious conversation with the suits surrounding him. Harry Denton appeared impassive and his cold blue eyes momentarily sent a shiver through Aspine, before he broke into a huge grin and watched Harry’s face redden. Jasmine looked happy and relieved and gave him a radiant smile. He shook hands warmly with Bowden. “Thank you, Murray, it’s a relief to put this behind me.”
“I wish they were all that easy, Douglas.”
“You told me that the Director of Public Prosecutions can override the magistrate and still bring charges against me.”
“Yes, he can, but he won’t. For the DPP to act there needs to be at least a probability of conviction. Unless they unearth some solid documentary evidence or find some witnesses, you have nothing to worry about.”
“They won’t find either,” Aspine smiled confidently.
As Aspine walked down the stairs, there were little groups clustered on the footpath. They’d come to see him committed, but he’d defeated them and he made no attempt to conceal his smirk. Harry Denton, Fiona Jeczik and Charlie looked like they’d just been to a funeral and were talking about the bereaved. There was no sign of Channel Sixteen’s cameras. Shirley Bloom looked like she was asking Andrew Lawson and his off-siders for advice. Vic Garland was gesticulating angrily with his hands to Bob Dwyer as the suits looked on. “I didn’t know you two knew each other but, then again, you’ve got a lot in common,” Aspine laughed. “You’ve both been done over by me.”
Garland looked like he was going to explode. “Make the most of it, because you won’t find it that easy when my lawyers take to you.”
“Is that right? Murray Bowden doesn’t think it’ll be much of a problem.”
“You’ll need more than a smart mouthpiece next time.” Garland coughed, his face red with anger and exertion.
“Take it easy, Vic, I’d hate for you to die before I have the satisfaction of crushing you in court,” Aspine laughed.
“Piss off, you bloody spiv,” Bob Dwyer snarled.
“You’re not looking very well either, Bob. Have you thought about retiring?” Aspine sniggered, before walking over to Jasmine, who was standing by herself. He hadn’t noticed Colin Sarll standing in the shadows glaring at him.
“I’m glad that’s over,” she said.
“Me too. Let’s have lunch.”
“Do you make a habit of reading minds?”
“Let’s buy something we can share.”
“You don’t drink alcohol.”
“I’ve never tasted it, but I think I’d like to try some today,” she giggled. “Why don’t you order something for me?”
Aspine caught the eye of a waitress and ordered a Jack Daniels, and a screwdriver.
“I can’t taste the alcohol,” she said, “but I like the orange juice.”
“Be careful; three of those and I’ll be carrying you home.”
“I might like that,” she said, placing her hand over his.
He felt her foot brush his and wondered if it’d just been an accident. “You’ve been a good friend,” he said.
“Oh, is that what we are? Good friends?” She finished the screwdriver and was picking at her lasagna.
“I think the alcohol’s going to your head.”
“I’m sorry, I’m being silly. You’re not as happy as I thought you’d be.”
“I’m relieved that the court action is over, but I haven’t worked for seven months and I’m unlikely to get another job in this town. Worse, I’m not getting any younger,” he said, taking a long sip of his whisky.
She didn’t immediately respond but, instead, took his hand and squeezed it. “Do you remember my brother, Raj?”
“Of course.”
“He’s built quite an empire in Singapore, and was heavily involved in the acquisition of Optus and Tru Energy in Australia. He’s always on the lookout for undervalued companies with good cash flows.”
“I’m sorry, but how does that help me?”
“He’s going to open an office in Sydney or Melbourne, specifically to search for badly managed and undervalued companies. He’s looking for an Australian-based manager. Would you like me to talk to him?”
“That’d be really helpful,” Aspine said, visibly brightening.
“I’ll phone him tonight. Now I’d like another one of these yummy corkscrews, please.”
“Screwdrivers,” Aspine laughed. “I think one is more than enough when you have to drive.”
“But I feel fine.”
“Maybe next time, when I’m driving. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car,” he said, taking her arm. When they reached the car-park he bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips and she responded firmly. He put his arm around her waist and felt her body through her thin silk dress. “You’re driving me crazy.”
“Am I?” She giggled.
Colin Sarll had gone to court expecting Aspine to be committed, but the bastard and his slimy barrister had managed to worm their way out of the charges. His house had been sold and in ten days’ time it would be settled and he’d no longer have a roof over his head. He cradled the five-shot Winchester like it was a baby, oiling the barrel for what must have been the twentieth time. His mouth turned up in a grim smile in the knowledge that he’d be dead within ten days, but so would Douglas Aspine.
Vic Garland’s lawyers had told him that the civil case to recover the five million would be easy, once Aspine had been convicted of the charges that he faced under the Corporations Act. Now he’d walked free and Garland wanted to bring the civil action on without delay. The bastard had mocked him out the front of the court and Garland wanted blood.
Harry Denton watched Jasmine give Aspine a brilliant smile out the front of the court. What was wrong with her, he wondered? Had she been having an affair with him? Was that the real reason poor Kerry had committed suicide? He’d joked with Stan Pettit that Aspine was like Satan and, being a religious man, he now wondered whether he was the devil incarnate. For some strange reason Harry felt that if he watched Aspine closely enough, he’d eventually make a mistake.
Aspine’s mobile rang and the screen lit up with Barbara’s name, and he wrestled with whether he would answer or not. “Yes?”
“Mark’s been sent home from school for fighting,” she shouted angrily. “He has a black eye, a blood nose and a chipped cheekbone. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The other kids at school were calling you a crook and a sleaze, so he went to your defence.”
“Shit.”
“God knows why. You never phone and you’re always too busy to see him.”
“Get off my back. You know I’ve been in court and haven’t had any time.”
“No time for your kids! Why don’t you listen to yourself? How long’s it been since you spoke to Jemma?”
He didn’t answer but Barbara wasn’t going to let a silence build. “She’s leaving home and moving into a flat with her boyfriend.”
“Well, stop her.”
“How? She’s eighteen. Oh, sorry I forgot you haven’t seen her for nearly two years. I wish they’d locked you up and thrown the key away,” she sobbed angrily.
He hit the end button cutting her off. Her whining had given him a headache.
- 44 -
JASMINE SOUNDED EXCITED, but Aspine couldn’t make out what she was saying.
He heard her yell, “Jack, turn the telly down, Mummy’s on the phone.”
“Sorry, Douglas, the boys have everything on full blast.”
“I know, I have a few of my own,” he laughed.
“I told my brother about you and he’s very keen to meet with you. Can you have dinner with him in Singapore this Friday night? He will of course, reimburse your air fares and expenses.”
“I most certainly can, and thank you. I’m lost for words.”
“SQ 638 departs Tullamarine at 10.10 and gets you into Singapore at 16.45, allowing you plenty of time to freshen up before dinner.”
“Thanks again. I’ll book as soon as I get off the phone.”
“Douglas.”
“Yes, Jasmine.”
“Would you like to stay with me this Thursday night?”
He felt a tightening in his chest and he struggled to keep his breathing normal. “I’d love to. Are the boys going to be home?”
“Of course not, silly,” she giggled. “I have a girlfriend who’s looking after them. I thought we could go out and have a nice dinner and a few of those yummy screwdrivers.”
He laughed. “I thought you were meant to be a non-drinker.”
“I am. I just don’t think drinking flavoured orange juice counts. Truly, I didn’t feel anything at lunch.”
“Maybe you’re right,” he smirked. “We’ll find out on Thursday night.”
“I don’t want you driving. Why don’t you come to my home and we’ll get a cab.”
“I like driving.”
“I’m not going to drink by myself,” she said, sounding miffed, “and if you’re driving, you won’t be able to drink. Maybe Thursday night isn’t such a good idea.”
“Hey, slow down. If you want to get a cab, then we will,” he said, desperate not to do anything that would ruin a night in the cot with her.
“You’re so good to me. Don’t forget to pack your suitcase. You have to be at the airport early on Friday morning.”
For the first time since Kerry took his life, Jasmine felt at peace with herself. Instead of shopping at her local supermarket, she drove to Camberwell, and threw a box of condoms into her trolley. She was looking forward to Thursday night. She had a few other items to pick up in the city, and then she’d be fully prepared.
It had been a cold, wet, unseasonal day, and the heater in Colin Sarll’s old white Ford didn’t work. In the two hours that he’d been parked out the front of Aspine’s townhouse, he hadn’t seen any sign of life and didn’t know whether he was home or not. As he watched from the back
seat, the garage door started to open and the Ferrari entered from the street. There was no time to shoot, but if Aspine went out again, he’d need just one clean shot.
Harry Denton parked two hundred metres down the street from Aspine’s townhouse in his wife’s Corolla. He felt stupid and didn’t really know what he was doing, or what he was trying to find. He too saw the Ferrari enter the garage, but paid no attention to the old white Ford parked directly opposite.
Aspine had decided to spend the weekend in Singapore so, in addition to his suit and business shirts, he threw in some casual clothes for the flight and a few days sightseeing. There were two side combination locks on his suit case, and he made sure that he had a set of anti-tamper seals with him. He knew that he couldn’t be too careful travelling to South East Asia. It was dark when he reversed the Ferrari out of the garage.
Colin Sarll was cold, hungry and alert. He’d left the driver’s side window open, and the front seat was now saturated with the constant rain. He rested the Winchester across the bench seat so that the end of the barrel rested on the front door, and took aim. As he started to gently squeeze the trigger, an elderly couple walking a playful golden retriever blocked his line of vision. They were about twenty metres away and he shouted, “Get out of the way,” more to himself than to them The Ferrari was now on the street and he realigned the barrel of the rifle but, as he did, the old couple scurried across the road, spoiling any chance of him taking a shot. In a flash the Ferrari was gone. Sarll didn’t notice the blue Corolla take off after it. He’d been waiting for nearly four hours and a few more hours in the cold wouldn’t hurt. He got out of his car and casually strolled over to Aspine’s townhouse, took a rubbish bin and placed it directly in front of the garage door. When Aspine got home, he’d have to get out of the car and move the bin, and that would be the last thing that he’d ever do.
Because of the rain and wet roads, the traffic was heavy, and Harry had no trouble keeping the Ferrari in sight. The big red car turned into a quiet street in Glen Iris, and now Harry knew exactly where Aspine was going. He couldn’t understand it and he felt ill and angry. The widow was obviously without morals. He watched as Aspine drove into the driveway of the weatherboard house and took a suitcase from the boot. What was he doing? Harry’s first thought was that Aspine must be moving in with her, but he quickly dismissed it. He’d need more than one small suitcase, and the house would need to be a lot more palatial. Perhaps they were going on a holiday together? Harry parked the Corolla a hundred metres down the street, and sat, waited and watched, feeling a little more stupid as each minute ticked by. Fifteen minutes later a yellow cab pulled up in front of the house, and Aspine and the widow climbed into the back of it. Neither had any luggage and Harry scratched his head, totally confused. Should he follow the cab, wait where he was, or go home? He decided to wait but had no idea why. It was as if something or someone was driving him to pursue what he knew was an exercise in futility.