Vigilante

by Brian Cain

CHAPTER SEVEN

  Thursday morning Chief Inspector David Stokes of the Sydney CIB was summoned to Canberra to present a report to Ben Porter, Minister for Defence, regarding the death of Kevin Sharp of the AFP. Stokes had been told to release no information on the incident and the media had been given a brief that it was an accident. Sharp tripping and falling through the window to his death. Stokes was a big man, six foot two with wide shoulders and a shaven head. His wide, round face and prominent check bones tapered down to his protruding jaw giving him an intimidating appearance. He entered Porter’s office in Parliament house when instructed, showing no emotion. He placed a manila folder on Porter’s desk. Porter offered Stokes his hand, Stokes shock his hand firmly but briefly, then waited in silence. Porter took the folder and read the three page report saying nothing. There was silence the entire time until Porter put down the folder on his desk and spoke.

  "Thanks for coming on such short notice. David, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "Nasty business, Sharp was a good friend of mine. You think he was murdered by the remarks in your report."

  "Yes," replied Stokes, who continued to show no emotion.

  "You have no idea who did this?"

  "No."

  "Strange the alarm and surveillance system were down for some time before and a short time after the incident. Can you offer any reason this happened?"

  "Yes, the system went down just prior the door to the office Sharp was using was open and closed, not long before Sharp used the door himself."

  "You are positive about this?"

  "No; it's the only reasonable assertion. We can find nothing in the system other than the door was used just prior to Sharp using the door. We find the person who used the door we find the killer."

  "Yes, possibly." Porter picked up the folder, ripped it in half twice and put it in his bin. "You have suggested you wish to speak to a John Stanton of Stanton Security Services regarding what happened. The gentleman I believe resides in Newcastle."

  "That's correct, I know he was in Sydney at the time of the incident, I have confirmation from Traffic his vehicle was seen at the airport driving in an irresponsible manner with false plates. He knows more about the security system at Kirribilli than anyone; he designed it apparently. I’ve heard rumours of his background; it's quite disturbing but I can't find information anywhere to back it up. He may be able to shed some light on what happened. I don't know the man but am keen to talk to him."

  Porter walked around his desk closer to Sharp in an attempt to intimidate him. "I haven't been in this position long David and only met Stanton once myself. You are not to go near him, nor ask any more questions about him; in fact you are to forget all about him"

  Stokes replied with stern assertion, "I feel this man can help me with my enquiries."

  Porter blew up. "Half the planet knows you wanted to talk to him before me due to your prying! I have had visits and calls since early this morning! John Stanton in relation to a murder case, are you insane? Would you like a list of the people who are down on my arse, would you like me to start from the Australian ambassador to the UK and work down or the British Minister for Defence and work up?!" Porter calmed. "Come on David, I'm assured you’re an excellent inspector with an exemplary record, I'm sure you don't want to direct traffic in the pissing rain in some busted arse town miles from anywhere so you won’t cause any delicate problems for some very powerful people…" Stokes stood up kicking the chair from under him and headed for the door. "David!" shouted Porter. Stokes turned to Porter as he opened the door. "It’s unfortunate that you feel this way David, you’ll be in Bourke on traffic control by five tonight, close the door as you leave."

  Stokes looked at Porter with a scowl, his look piercing through Porter’s square black rimmed glasses turning his thin, pale face white. "I don't know why you would turn your back on one of your own, a friend of yours. I assume you have a good reason. I do not wish to be part of such a sham. Bourke sounds like a good place compared to here." Stokes closed the door quietly and left. Porter picked up his phone.

  Stanton had time to think while he rested and motored to his daughter's house which was two houses down from her mother Jodi’s in Newcastle. The 429 cubic inch supercharged engine in his boss mustang coughed and objected as it idled up the street and Lola's house came in sight. His sight became fixed on a little girl riding a scooter along the front path of the generous garden in front his daughter's house. The little girl was dressed in a blue track suit with long blond hair half way down her back. She put the scooter against the wall and sat down on the bottom step of the pathway leading to the front door; she sat and watched the sea’s waves crash against the beach. Stanton parked opposite the girl and quietly alighted. He walked across the road and calmly sat on the step next to the girl. She was looking at him but he looked out at the sea. "I was looking at the beach and you put your car in the way Mister," said the girl.

  "Sorry. My name’s John, what's your name?"

  "My mum calls me Petal, but it's not my name, my name’s Jasmine." The little girl was extremely well spoken.

  "Does your grandma live close by?"

  "Yes she lives just down there, she's gone on holiday." Stanton had established he was talking to his granddaughter.

  "How old are you Petal?"

  "I'm seven."

  Stanton gently stroked the top of her head. "A year before I got here, how an earth didn’t I know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Stanton changed the subject. “It’s not the weekend, why aren't you in school?"

  "Uncle Anthony called mummy and said I was meeting someone today, I'm waiting for them."

  "Oh I see. Who are you expecting?"

  "It’s really special so I think it’s the ice cream man; he comes sometimes when I'm at school and I miss him."

  "Well Petal, that's an incredible power of deduction."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Do you have a grandad Petal?"

  "No."

  "Everyone has a grandad Petal. I used to call your mum Petal when she was little, you see, I'm your mum’s dad Petal." Jasmine got up and ran up the steps opening the front door and slamming it behind her. Stanton stood up and climbed the steep steps to the door. His face was etched with despair; he waited at the door for a while then as he went to knock the door opened. He looked Lola in the eyes for the first time in many years. Her long blonde hair flowed over her shoulders down to her waist. Her olive complexion was on skin that had not one blemish. Her blue eyes pierced into Stanton's face making him feel uneasy. Jasmine stood behind her mother looking around the side of her right leg. "Where is my mother?!" Lola said in a commanding voice. Stanton opened his mouth but nothing came out, he tried again.

  "She's safe, in England. God you look so much like her. Do you mind if I come in? I have some explaining to do."

  "No, go away and don't come back." Stanton looked gutted as he turned away and started down the steps. "Dad! God where have you been?" Lola sunk her face into her perfectly manicured hands and burst into tears. Stanton walked back and took her in his arms, holding her tight.

  "I have no answers for you my love, other than I would do nothing your mother didn't want. You need more than a genetic connection to be part of a family. You need to be accepted for who you are. That’s a big ask for anyone when it comes to me." Stanton held her tight with his head over her shoulder and his eyes shut rocking her from side to side. He opened his eyes; on the wall of the entrance hall in front of him was his picture hanging next to Jodi's. He held her at arm’s length. "Bit of me in you as well by the looks, always catering for your mother’s wants but do what you really want in your own home. How many times has she asked you to take it down? The picture, that is." Lola smiled for the first time.

  "Never, she loves that picture of you, one of the only ones she has of you not wearing a uniform. That's why I love it too."

  "Well that's not surprising, you are of your mother in m
any ways." Stanton knelt down and put Jasmine on his knee. "I'm the ice cream man Petal." Lola shook her head and interupted.

  "Wow, that's what she said when she came running in, the ice cream man’s here." Stanton looked elated.

  "Ice cream men are of the highest standing with seven year olds, hopefully that's a compliment. You can call me Pop, how’s that?" They retired to the kitchen overlooking the street and talked for over an hour, laughing mostly, and crying sometimes. Stanton noticed binoculars on the window seal. "Binoculars, mmm… chip off the old block, use them to watch the sun come up."

  "Sometimes I’ve been using them to watch a car parked over on the other side of the hill by the park. Been there for a couple of days, has two guys in it, maybe they are casing houses in the area to rob them or something." Stanton hastily grabbed the binoculars; he focused on a black Holden statesman.

  "White falcon is it Lola?"

  "No, a black Holden Statesman."

  "Yep, that's it okay." Take Jasmine, go upstairs and lock yourself in the bedroom. Do it!" Lola picked up Jasmine and headed upstairs. Stanton casually strolled to his car, climbed in and started it up. The passenger in the Statesman lowered his binoculars and spoke to the driver.

  "I'm telling you Stanton looked over here with the binoculars that woman has been using, now get out of here."

  "You're paranoid," answered the driver.

  "If you're watching Stanton's daughter it pays to be paranoid. I’ll give you the tip. I'm telling you it was a dodgy job to take on."

  "Settle down, he's gone. He lives not far away. The money we’ll get paid for this we’ll be able to retire."

  "Something's wrong, why didn't she come out to see him off? She only ever goes upstairs in the evening; she's gone upstairs and pulled the curtains and is peeping round the edge. Get out of here while we’re still alive I'm telling you." The driver put his seat upright ready to drive.

  "If she's gone upstairs we can walk in downstairs and job done."

  Stanton appeared directly in front of their vehicle and looked the driver in the eyes.

  "Holy shit." He started the car, put it straight into gear and with smoke coming from the rear wheels attempted to run Stanton down but he side stepped and the car shot straight passed. It crashed over the edge of the car park down a grassy bank for thirty metres coming to rest against a concrete air vent cover atop a deep stormwater drain sticking up above the ground over a metre. It smashed the front of the car and steam began to rise from the crumpled bonnet. Both front doors had been damaged in the impact and they couldn’t be opened. Stanton levelled his pistol to his eyes at arm’s length and walked to the driver’s side five metres from the door and directly in line. The driver was rummaging around in his jacket stunned from the impact, eventually finding his pistol and pulling it out. Stanton shot him in the head through the glass, killing him instantly, and sending blood and tissue over his passenger. He walked to the driver’s door pushing his body forwards over the wheel so he could see the passenger, a fat, short young man with cropped black hair. He was bleeding over one eye from the impact, the blood running down his check. Stanton recognised him.

  "I know you; I trained you a while ago. You're with the AFP. What are you doing here?" The young man held his hands on the dashboard; he was distraught.

  "Please don't kill me!"

  "Too late for that now boy. Who sent you, have you been watching my daughter?"

  "Sharp sent me a couple of days ago, I was supposed to kill her. I don't know why; a lot of money in it to keep quiet!"

  "Don't you listen to the news boy, Sharp had an accident. Did he say why he sent you to kill her?"

  "Don't know, he was off the rails acting really weird. I couldn't do it so I got my mate here to give me some help. He works for the Mafia in Sydney and reckons he wasn't scared of you."

  "Didn't learn much from your training did you? Never stay in one place for more than fifteen minutes on surveillance and have a different car every day. Never work with people who have no credence. What's the price for crossing the line?"

  "No! No!" There was a quiet thud from Stanton's silenced pistol and the young man fell quiet. He walked away to his car parked over the rise and whispered to himself.

  "A young man tainted by autocratic bribery, had I not come it would be my family that lay dead for no cause. Okay the line is drawn." Stanton drove to a pay phone on the beach directly down from the park. He rang Cadiche's mobile, Cadiche was not far away. He told Cadiche about the accident at the park and that discretion was required in cleaning it up. He asked Cadiche to be at his place on Saturday morning like nothing had happened to visit his mother’s resting place.