Crooked

by Camilla Nelson

  Allan was making a show of inspecting the silver-framed photographs on the mantelpiece and, hanging above them, a portrait of the young Queen. ‘And what did he say to that?’

  ‘He jots down some numbers and says, “I reckon nobody will be having any problems with that. But they’ll want to have a definite date when things can reopen.” So I say to him, “Allan’s got to talk to Askin about this.” Overall, I think he was pretty impressed.’

  ‘Good,’ said Allan.

  ‘Not quite.’ Tanner wiped the too-wide boyish grin off his face. ‘There’s been a turn in the investigation.’

  ‘What investigation?’

  ‘The Dick Reilly case.’

  ‘I thought the matter was closed. Sleeping dogs and all that –’

  ‘Well, it’s not a sleeping dog anymore, because there’s some clown coming forward to claim the reward.’

  ‘If he’s trying it on … well, surely you can put an end to that?’

  ‘No, I can’t, because the clown has the guns. I have to go through the motions or it’ll look a bit strange. Anyway, you put the reward out.’

  ‘But I didn’t expect anybody to come forward or anything,’ said Allan, defensive. ‘Anyway, this informant bloke. Who is he?’

  ‘He didn’t give a name. He rang up and spoke to young Finlay.’

  Allan screwed up his face. ‘I thought the boy was onside.’

  ‘There are levels to this thing that not everybody’s aware of.’

  ‘Do you trust him?’

  ‘I chose him.’

  ‘Well, you don’t have anything to worry about then.’

  ‘I can pull my own people into line,’ Tanner responded heavily. ‘But this informant, he wants the reward and the pardon, and he’s put that in writing. He says that he wants an official guarantee.’

  ‘Well, we can’t go around giving guarantees to just anybody. Let me have a word to the boy. Make sure he’s running straight.’

  ‘I dunno about that.’

  But Allan insisted.

  Fifteen minutes later they were back at police headquarters in Phillip Street and Gus was brought in. He stood straight on the carpet, hands at his back, spectacles gleaming.

  Allan started, ‘Tanner here informs me that some rum bloke’s been ringing you about the Reilly case.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Gus, and though the explanation he gave was remarkably brief, it was obvious before he got to the end of his first sentence that Allan was waiting for him to finish.

  ‘Well, let’s have it,’ said Allan, and stuck out his hand.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Show me the letter.’

  Gus glanced at Tanner. Tanner shifted his tie and pulled the note out of his inside coat pocket. ‘Here.’

  Allan held the letter out at arm’s length and squinted, as if it might spit at him. He read it through twice, then tore it cross-ways and dropped it in the wastepaper basket under his desk. ‘Well, that’s solved then. Now there’s no letter and no guarantee. Just wring everything you can out of the smart bastard and charge him with something.’

  Gus made some sort of ordinary answer to Allan’s extraordinary demand. After a few minutes he was sent on his way.

  Tanner stayed on. ‘With due respect, I don’t think you’re taking the right tack on this.’

  ‘Why? Is there something you haven’t told me? Because if anything comes back at us –’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I’ll deal with it.’

  Chooks crouched under the rain-dripping trees in the back yard of his cottage in Greystanes, and took to the fence with hammer and pliers. He knocked a nail into the fowl house, hosed out the feed bucket, and padlocked the gate. Meanwhile, the rain came clattering down on everything, rattling on the tin roof like gravel – and through the rain came fingers of mist, like accusing ghosts, poking at him.

  Chooks had been brain-boxed with horror at the manner of Johnny’s going, but when Marge raised the concept of going to the coppers and making a fresh start, he’d felt obliged, at the very least, to give the matter some thought. He’d had a bit of a rough trot since Johnny departed, and there hadn’t been many spare quids coming his way. He’d got a job as a shop clerk at O’Hallighan’s Sports Store at Marge’s insistence, but forty bucks a week went nowhere when the rent was taken out. Once again, he’d looked to the ponies to set matters straight, but being an out-and-out racing sort of bloke he’d always preferred good odds to a sure thing. His racetrack investments had taken a terrible tumble. He was dreadfully exposed (bone-thin and naked before his Bookie & Maker), a fact of which Marge was still unaware.

  Chooks sat down in the kitchen and poured out a second cup of strong tea and a glass of warm milk before he got down to business. ‘I can’t go through with it, Marge,’ he said, surprising even himself. ‘I’d do anything for you, but don’t ask me to do this. I don’t think I can.’

  ‘Well, I reckon that you don’t have a choice,’ said Marge.

  ‘But Johnny was a mate. I don’t want to do anything that could cast him in a bad light.’

  ‘I can’t for the life of me think of a worse light than killing the whole of his family –’

  Chooks shrivelled up. He still blamed himself for letting Johnny go the night they spent drinking down at South Sydney Juniors. He’d gone out and searched for the bloke, and didn’t get home until quarter to three, then spent the rest of the night in the shithouse, owing to Marge’s not approving of his drinking on week nights. It was well after two the next afternoon when he climbed out of bed. Finding the house empty, he had slipped out for the paper. The headlines glared ominously at him before he even picked it up, ‘Come Quickly, Mummy’s Shot’. Chooks didn’t believe it. Deep in his guts, he didn’t think Johnny was capable.

  ‘I don’t reckon he did it,’ said Chooks, staring tearfully down at his glass. ‘I loved the man. He was the best mate I ever had.’

  ‘He was the unmaking of you, Chooks. Everybody said so. He didn’t give you your wages when the Liverpool club collapsed, then you helped him out in this business and he didn’t pay you for that either. Bugger him.’

  Chooks looked up, startled. He’d never known his wife Marge to swear. ‘But it’s a low thing you’re asking me to do. Shelfing a mate.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with shelfing a mate who’s already dead.’

  ‘I dunno about that,’ said Chooks, uncertain. ‘Besides, the coppers dunno it’s me. There’s nothing to tie me to the actual crime.’

  ‘My God, Chooks,’ said Marge, getting up from the table. She put the tea things in the sink. ‘You’re not thinking straight. It’s Reilly’s mates, not the coppers, you’ve got to be worried about.’

  Gus felt his spirits rise as the investigation began unfolding about him, and the whole of his world seemed subtly altered. He and Tanner met Chooks in the rear lane outside Keenan’s Mixed Business, before accompanying him to the Georges River at Milperra, where they walked out along the bridge. Chooks gave them a remarkably persuasive account of events leading up to the shooting, and showed them the spot where Johnny had let the guns fall into the ropy lengths of black water. The diving squad was called in to begin dredging, but the water was so murky with factory run-off and other sorts of pollution that they were forced to search manually, swimming sometimes in grid fashion, sometimes in circles, skimming the riverbed with the palms of their hands. They found weed-choked Eskies, a black iron lamppost from forty years back, and the abandoned carcass of an automobile. Eventually the gun barrel was discovered under three feet of sludge, with the pin lying next to it. Another bolt was found in a separate location, and the pieces sent off to a gunsmith’s laboratory for assemblage and testing. But Tanner looked far from convinced when they confronted Chooks in the smoke-filled interrogation room several days later.

  ‘So, tell us again, why did Warren kill Reilly?’

  Chooks was meandering about the room, peering at the bolted-down metal furniture. He stepped up to the glassy surface of the two-way a
nd pulled his mouth sideways, as if checking for lost or damaged teeth, then smoothed down the collar of his faded blue work shirt, and backed away slowly.

  ‘Johnny hated the man,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen Johnny talking about Reilly and there’s actual spittle coming out of his mouth.’

  ‘You also said Warren was figuring on murdering Lennie McPherson, and a whole bunch of other blokes. Why did he want to do that?’

  ‘It was something to do with taking over Sydney. Through getting rid of his opposition and such.’

  ‘Opposition?’

  ‘Yeah, other criminals.’

  Gus saw the doubt writ large on Tanner’s face. ‘You’re sure that this actually happened? You’re sure you’re not giving us a story?’

  ‘I never would,’ said Chooks, contriving to look shocked.

  ‘Well, I reckon you are. I reckon Warren upped and shot himself and you thought, bingo! I’ll shelf him to the coppers and claim the reward.’

  ‘Well, I’d hardly have shelved the bloke if he was alive, would I? I mean it’s a bit different to put in a bloke who’s already dead.’

  ‘Bugger this for a joke,’ said Tanner. He shoved back his chair, and walked out of the room.

  Outside, Wally Driscoll was pacing the hallway, light-soaped bifocals plastered together with a bandaid. He glanced briefly at Gus, then called out after Tanner, who was already halfway down the length of the long hall. ‘The ballistics on those guns we dug up –’

  ‘What about them?’ Tanner swung round.

  ‘Read it yourself,’ said Driscoll. He gave Gus the report and shambled away.

  Gus passed the report on to Tanner, who tore open the envelope and read it right through before handing it back. Gus skimmed down to the concluding remarks. He read, ‘The characteristics of the reconstructed gun barrel being a near identical match for fragments of bullets recovered from the crime scene, the guns are almost certainly the weapons used in the Reilly homicide.’ Gus grinned, but Tanner didn’t seem to like it one bit. He took a cone-shaped paper cup from the water cooler, emptied it, crumpled the cup, and dropped it to the floor.

  He returned to the interrogation room. This time he treated Chooks with utmost caution.

  Chooks was nervous over the course of the next few interrogations, but after a while he began to blurt his answers out quickly, with increasing confidence, in response to each question. He took them to several sites around the Heathcote, Merrylands and Greystanes areas, pointing out tree trunks, rubbish bins and bits of broken bottles into which Warren had test-fired the weapons. He also took them to the Ace Ben Loan Office on George Street, where Warren had pawned and subsequently redeemed the guns days before the shooting. The proprietor of the Loan Office recalled the occasion and obligingly introduced Gus to the proprietor of the sports store adjacent, who readily identified the Parker Hale as the gun he’d sold Warren three years before. It was a tidy result, with damage strictly confined to a dead suspect with a strong revenge motive, and the ends stitched so tight they wouldn’t unravel on reaching the Coroner’s Court. Gus thought that Tanner finally seemed pleased, but there were others less happy.

  ‘How come he knows so much?’ said Agostini, staring at Gus over the rim of his mug. ‘How come he’s so anxious about the pardon?’

  ‘He’s a crook in his own line of business,’ said Gus, taking his feet off the desk. ‘He’s also good mates with the bloke, and probably an accessory after the murder.’

  ‘Yeah, but I reckon there’s more to this than the brass are letting on. They’ve got this look on their faces like they’ve been caught pulling a goat. They’re just glad to get through without further embarrassment.’

  ‘I dunno what the brass think.’

  ‘Well, sorry me. I thought you were Tanner’s blue-eyed boy.’

  Anger flared in Gus’s cheeks. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I just want to find out the truth. I thought you might too.’

  Gus had nothing to say to this. Agostini pressed on, ‘I want to ask your witness a couple of questions. It won’t take much more than a minute.’

  ‘He’s not my witness.’

  ‘You found him. He’s yours as much as he’s anybody else’s.’

  Frankly, Gus suspected there was an element of truth in what Agostini was saying, but it took him some time to convince himself that he was doing the right thing. If he gave Agostini a chance at the bloke, at least it would get Agostini off his back, maybe even settle his own doubts either way. After a minute, Gus found himself reluctantly agreeing to the interview on the condition that he carried out the interrogation himself. Three minutes later he was back in the interview room, fixing Chooks with a long look across the blue metal table.

  ‘How come you know so much?’

  But Chooks had lost interest. ‘I’m not saying anything.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Gus. ‘It’s not fussing me. But I thought I’d let you know that it’s highly unlikely they’ll be paying out reward money for shopping us a suspect who’s already dead.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t care,’ said Chooks, although the lie was palpable.

  ‘Oh, so you just came in here like a regular Citizen Joe? Well thanks, mate, for the information. I guess you’re free to leave.’ Gus rose from his chair and gestured at the door. Agostini got up with him.

  Chooks showed no sign of departing. ‘I was also promised protection.’

  ‘God, you were promised a lot – money, protection, the whole kit and caboodle. But do you honestly think that’s what you’re going to get? I mean, why does anybody need protection from a bloke who’s already dead?’

  Chooks eyes widened slightly. ‘But Reilly was a serious criminal, with mates that might be looking to back up for him. It might look to them like I’m mixed up in this thing, through just being friends with Johnny and so on.’

  ‘Yeah, I’d sure hate to hear about somebody who’s only involved through “just being friends” ending up riddled with bullets and floating in the Harbour. Then again, I guess you weren’t involved, so you don’t have to worry. Just happens you know all this stuff.’

  ‘Johnny, he was in absolute fear of the bloke. He asked me to help.’

  ‘So tell me,’ said Gus, musing theatrically. ‘Why did Johnny ask you? I mean, did you help him kill somebody before?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Gus feigned confusion, actually scratching his head. ‘I mean, it’s a mystery to me as to why somebody would ask an upright Joe Citizen such as yourself to help out in a murder. I mean, you being the kind of bloke who’s off and confessing to the coppers, without even asking for money or nothing –’

  Chooks obviously felt this was a view of things he was bound to dispel. ‘Johnny only put the murder proposition to me because I’d proved a very loyal doorman at the Liverpool club. He knew he could trust me, that I’d keep my mouth shut. I never said a word about that bloke Chubb getting shot –’

  Gus felt tingles. ‘What do you know about the murder of Ernie Chubb?’

  ‘Just that it was Johnny who shot him.’

  ‘And he asked you to help?’

  ‘Needless to say, I was very flattered when he asked.’ Chooks frowned, and added, ‘But I was never going to kill anybody, I wasn’t to pull any actual triggers. That was never suggested to me at any time.’

  Gus tried very hard to contain his excitement. ‘Are you admitting that you were personally involved in the murders of Dick Reilly and Ernie Chubb?’

  ‘Fair cop. I only participated in the killings to save Johnny’s life.’

  ‘You’re admitting it was you who shot Reilly?’

  Chooks was horrified. ‘But I was never going to shoot anybody or anything. Just to help out. I was already committed, because I’d said “Yes,” and also because I’d already spent the two hundred I had off him.’

  ‘He paid you two hundred to help with the shooting?’

  ‘Well, not exactly. See, I already owed him two hundred on account of some bad in
vestments that I’d made at the track. Johnny said he would write off that money, and pay me another thousand the day after the shooting. But all I got off him was five hundred bucks.’

  Gus said, ‘You’re telling us a different story now. Why?’

  ‘I only covered up a few of the facts.’

  ‘Yeah, a few of the facts,’ said Gus, and let Agostini take over.

  Agostini said, ‘I reckon maybe there’s another few things you aren’t telling us either. See, I don’t think you’re smart enough to take on somebody like Reilly on your own. I reckon there’s somebody else.’

  ‘I never met nobody.’

  ‘Come on, Chooks. You can do better than that. Who was it?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. Everything I know was through Tommy and Johnny.’

  ‘Tommy?’

  ‘Yeah, Tommy Bogle. He was the in-between person.’

  ‘In-between person?’ Gus interrupted.

  But Agostini continued, ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Johnny told me about it. He says, “Remember Tommy Bogle at the Liverpool club? He’s the go-between in the situation.”’

  ‘So who was this Tommy Bogle taking his orders from?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘Why – didn’t Johnny tell you?’ Chooks started sulking, but Agostini kept pushing. ‘Didn’t he trust you enough?’

  ‘I dunno. I reckon you’d have to ask him.’

  ‘Who organised the crime?’

  ‘I dunno. Nobody, I guess.’

  A light came on in the passageway, an ominous yellow glare fanning under the door.

  ‘Well, I reckon you do and I want you to tell me.’ Agostini lunged across the table and grabbed Chooks by the collar. ‘Who put him up to it – McPherson?’