Line of Sight

by David Whish-Wilson

  Detective Inspector Casey sat forward in his seat and spoke even more loudly. ‘Because while the man has been spreading rumours about me, never having the guts to say things on the record, what is on the record is that he had a sexual relationship with one of his junior officers. A 24-year-old uniformed constable, someone for whom he should have been setting a good example, rather than taking advantage of.’

  Wallace nodded with a new gravitas, his voice gently reproving. ‘That may well be the case, Detective Inspector; however, as it relates to our purposes here, are you suggesting that Superintendent Swann’s liaison might have had some influence on his allegations with regards to the murder of Ruby Devine? And if so, what evidence do you have to back up this assertion?’

  Casey’s anger was gone, just as quickly as it had come, and in its place was a new, sly expression. He lowered his voice, weighted it with a reluctance that was clearly an act. ‘There are regulations in place about this kind of relationship – for a reason. It’s bad for team morale. Bad for our image as professionals. Bad for reputations.’

  So this is how it’s to be, Partridge thought. Resentment at the recruitment of an outsider he had expected, a subtle testing of his authority he had expected, even the methodical dismantling of Swann’s reputation, but this charade – no, pantomime – was beyond anything he had seen before.

  ‘But as it relates to the reason we are here, Detective Inspector?’

  ‘I think Superintendent Swann is full of shame. I think it’s no coincidence that he hasn’t returned to service since the truth came out about his relationship with a subordinate female constable. And I think that all this,’ he cast his hands about him, ‘is an elaborate diversion.’

  Wallace frowned deeply, waited a beat before resuming his questioning. Ample time, thought Partridge, for DI Casey’s words to hit home.

  ‘Are you seriously suggesting, Detective Inspector, that Superintendent Swann has manufactured “all this”, as you termed it, simply because he is ashamed about a sexual relationship with a junior female in his ranks? I’m sorry, but your choice of words …’

  Casey nodded, withdrew into himself, looked down at his large hands. ‘I’m suggesting that Superintendent Swann is not in his right mind. That he’s suffering from a mental illness that has affected his thinking – something which is also on the record, I believe.’

  Partridge had come out of retirement to take this commission, the highest honour in a long and successful career, and the only garland to have eluded his father. By rubbing Swann’s nose in it they were also rubbing Partridge’s nose in it, and that was something he would not stand for.

  Wallace was still letting the silence build, showing no sign that he was prepared to intervene. When Partridge spoke over him, the QC looked startled.

  ‘Detective Inspector Casey,’ he said sternly. ‘Character assassination is not something I will tolerate in my court. Nor am I pleased to see it abided by counsel.’

  A blush of shame spread across Wallace’s face but the DI did not appear chastened, although his jaw tightened. His eyes held again that curious expression of barely concealed humour. The judge had seen that look many times throughout the years, a strange marriage of menace and self-satisfaction, although never before from a policeman.

  ‘Your Honour,’ Casey said, ‘I apologise for my tone. You see, despite some twenty years of loyal service, I still find that I’m a man of action and not of words, if I might put it like that, unused to these kinds of proceedings.’

  Partridge leaned forward on his elbows. ‘There’s no need for you to address me directly, Detective Inspector. However, you are required to return to the question put to you. The Queen’s Counsel asked you specifically whether you have any evidence to back up your assertion that Superintendent Swann’s relationship with the junior female, as you have described her, is in any way relevant to the purposes of this royal commission.’

  Wallace was looking down at his notes like a schoolboy caught cheating, but Casey had noticed the gavel in Partridge’s hand. His eyes narrowed and he turned instead to the gallery.

  ‘The junior female of whom I’m speaking has placed herself in my care because of concerns that are directly linked to her relationship with —’

  Partridge interrupted in a steely voice. ‘While it’s admirable that you’ve taken such an interest in the guidance of this female officer, Detective Inspector, the matter is insufficient to our purposes here.’

  He brought his gavel down before Casey had time to reply.

  She was dressed for work. Miniskirt, a low-cut blouse showing her firm young breasts. Heavy eye makeup, with glam blue liner. A cluster of freckles across the bridge of her nose – she was obviously just of age.

  Michelle, she called herself; Swann had no interest in her real name, or where she was from. But there was a coldness about her that meant she’d probably been sexually active before she was a teen – nothing left in that department she hadn’t known, or been forced to know, since she was a kid.

  They sat in silence waiting for Jacky to return, Michelle’s eyes avoiding his. Behind them he could smell stale beer in the bar mats, and vulcanised pies in a warmer. A middle-aged woman at a table nearby was pencilling in the scratchings for the evening trots; she was all sprayed hair, Cardinals tracksuit, menthols smoked down to the butts. She stared at Michelle with a look of unconcealed hatred.

  ‘There’s a good girl, Shelly, mouth shut.’ Jacky sat down next to her and placed three drinks before them. ‘What they don’t know can’t hurt you.’

  Swann took up his beer and inhaled the sulphurous flavour of unwashed pipes. ‘Vote of confidence, Jacky.’

  She laughed, but underneath her heroin drawl Swann recognised the nervous strain. Her grief was there on the surface like oil on water. The rumour that Jacky too had been murdered was one Swann had heard time and again in His Maj and the Paddington and the Shaftbury, and in other queer clubs on William Street – either that or she’d returned to St Kilda or moved to the Cross or fled overseas.

  Swann had left the courtroom as soon as word came she wanted to meet. ‘Where’ve you been, Jacky? I’ve been looking for you.’

  ‘I bet you have.’

  She lit a Winfield red and coughed, almost barked. She still wore her hair short, as Ruby had. Both of them had been prostitutes since they were kids, had long records for streetwalking and soliciting, and in Jacky’s case, stealing and possession. At twenty-one she was twelve years younger than Ruby, but unlike Ruby, who’d had a family and a social circle that extended to sitting members and minor celebrities, Jacky had the hardness of the street about her.

  A hardness made apparent every time she opened her mouth. ‘Swann, we’re here because Reggie set this up. Ruby trusted you coppers, but look where that got her.’

  It was awkward with the girl there. While he’d never met Jacky before, he knew he could trust her. For the most part, Ruby Devine had been a pretty good judge of character.

  But he knew nothing about Michelle. And Jacky seemed to be putting on an act, making it clear how things must be with a cop. Because it had been like that from the beginning. The first colonial building was a jail, and when the free men hadn’t been able to make a go of it, the whole colony was turned into an open prison, populated by screws and cons, johns and janes, and nothing in between.

  You still felt it as a cop on the beat through Perth or Fremantle on a Saturday night – that beery leer and barefaced hatred, and that just from the whites.

  ‘So what have you got for me?’ he asked.

  ‘Tell him, Shell, before he busts a gasket.’

  For the first time, the girl looked him in the eyes. She didn’t appear to like what she saw. ‘I was working in Kalgoorlie, for Ruby’s shop. But after she got murdered Annie DuBois hired me. Now I’m working for Pat Chesson on William Street.’

  A country girl, from somewhere around the Gascoyne. Her voice nasal and vicious. But he didn’t get the significance of her CV, and it did
n’t look like she was going to enlighten him. It was rare for girls to shift from madam to madam, especially from someone like Annie DuBois to Pat Chesson. Ruby and Annie had been in alliance against Pat, who came from over east but like them soon had brothels in Perth and the goldfields. Now that Ruby was dead, Annie and Pat were the last two protected madams, both of them demanding loyalty from their girls, both of them fierce.

  ‘Go on,’ he said. She looked at Jacky.

  ‘Tell him what you heard, Shell. And when. He’s okay.’

  Michelle’s eyes darted as she tried to remember. ‘It was the sixteenth of August – about a week after I started working for Pat. I remember because it was my first birthday party.’

  And you were the cake, Swann was thinking. Still not sure where this was going.

  ‘There were some businessmen, out-of-towners, one Chinese. But mostly coppers, far as I could see.’

  ‘Do you know any of their names?’

  ‘They wasn’t hiding themselves, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Casey and Webb and Hogan were there, Swann. Your old mates.’

  ‘Let her say it, Jacky, otherwise —’

  ‘That was them. They wasn’t hiding themselves.’

  Jacky couldn’t help herself. ‘Those bastards had something to do with it, them and Pat Chesson. It’s bloody obvious.’

  Swann stared at the girl but she wouldn’t meet his eye. ‘You hear or see something at that party, Michelle?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘About a bloke called Cooper. One of them called him some funny name. I think …’

  ‘Gin Blossom,’ Swann said. Ruby’s lawyer.

  ‘Yeah, that’s it. Gin Blossom. They said he —’

  ‘Who said?’

  ‘I didn’t know them. They were the out-of-towners. Dings, or Maltese.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘Said that Gin Blossom had been cooking the books, skimming off Ruby, but that he had to pay it back when she copped it. They both had a laugh about it.’

  That made sense to Swann. Cooper had always run with the hares and the hounds. He was a bad gambler and constantly in debt. More important, he was executor of Ruby’s will and estate.

  ‘What else did they say?’

  ‘That was it. Except one said, loud, like he didn’t mind people overhearing, “If he does that to me I’ll feed him to my dogs. I’ve still got my first dollar, and I’ll know.” ’

  ‘That’s it?’

  Michelle exhaled, puffed out her cheeks, sat back and nodded again.

  More rumours. Things overheard. Nothing he could prove in court. He didn’t bother hiding his disappointment. Turning to Jacky he said, ‘What are you going to do with yourself?’

  The grimace on her face said it all – she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Instead she put a cigarette into her mouth. ‘Pass your lighter.’

  He slid it across the table. Michelle had lapsed back into brooding silence.

  ‘You didn’t come here to tell me that,’ he said. ‘What’s really going on?’

  Jacky couldn’t hide the fear in her eyes. He gave her a look that made clear what he wanted.

  ‘Shell, go and sit in the car,’ she said. ‘I’ll be there soon.’

  Michelle rose obediently, moving through the tight shadows and hard eyes that followed her to the door.

  Swann stared at Jacky until she broke her silence.

  ‘You seen Ruby’s kids?’ she asked finally.

  Swann shook his head. ‘They’re with the father.’

  ‘They were good kids. I wanted to stay in touch with ’em but I’ve been in the Cross. Getting my head right. But lately —’

  ‘I’m not interested in the state of your head. What do you know about my daughter? Those stories I keep hearing of her going shopping with Ruby?’

  Jacky twirled her empty glass on the coaster, rubbed the condensation with her thumb. ‘A week before Ruby was murdered she came home and said she’d bumped into your daughter, who told her she’d run away, so Ruby took her shopping, fed her.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I was watching telly, didn’t mean much to me. She said she gave Louise some money for a hotel, the Park Lane. That’s about it. And I only remember that because Ruby seemed to be expecting me to say something, but I didn’t.’

  ‘What did she expect you to say?’

  ‘Dunno. Probably ask why she’d help the daughter of a cop. Especially when Ruby was under the pump money-wise.’

  ‘Did she say anything else? Where Louise was headed? What she was going to do for money?’

  ‘Nope. I didn’t ask. But Ruby wasn’t lining her up for a job with us, if that’s what you’re thinking. She’d already told me you and her go right back to the Kal days.’

  ‘Then why didn’t she call me after she saw Louise?’

  Jacky looked hard at Swann. ‘You know why.’

  He could guess. Louise had asked Ruby not to tell, had made her promise. The only reason Ruby would let him down like that. But she’d helped Louise out, set her up, hoped she’d come to her senses by herself.

  ‘I kept an eye out for your Louise over east. Saw one of your posters on The Wall, another at Darlo station. Lots of new kids every day, and I asked around a bit. Know plenty of touts. But nothing.’

  Swann nodded his thanks. Pushed away his empty glass.

  ‘I did learn one thing in Sydney,’ Jacky said. ‘Word in the Cross is that most of the good smack these days is coming through Perth. Even a rumour there’s a bit of green-lighting.’

  This was news to Swann. Back when he was a rookie, there had been rumours of detectives dealing out of the evidence locker, and lately he’d heard of a protected marijuana trade – plantations grown in the market gardens and orchards around Perth by small gangs of Sicilians and Calabrians. But heroin was the new drug in town. According to Donovan Andrews, a kilo could be bought in Malaysia for ten thousand dollars and turned into a clear hundred thou overnight.

  ‘If what you’ve heard is true,’ he said, ‘it won’t have sprung up in the last six months. You have anything to do with the Drug Ds, any time?’

  ‘We dealt only with Casey, occasionally Webb, Sherving. Other Ds had no reason to bother us.’

  ‘Why did you bolt?’ Swann asked. ‘I could have used your help.’

  Jacky laughed grimly. ‘They got me. Verballed, pure and simple. Two statements with my signature on them. One for if I’m good. The other if I’m bad. Casey typed them up right in front of me, made me sign ’em. I couldn’t take the risk.’

  ‘Did you ever see Ruby threaten Casey, or any other detective? She ever mention putting the word on them?’

  Jacky stared down at her cigarette, burnt right to the butt. ‘Ruby never told me much about that. She was worried about money towards the end, but she always reckoned she’d be looked after.’

  ‘She say who by?’

  ‘I assumed it was the Ds – Casey and the others she was paying off. She told me she kept a record of every payment she made.’

  ‘Where did she keep the records?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘You ever see them?’

  ‘Sure, that was part of my job for a while. Every week I put five hundred bucks in an envelope, wrote “DC” on it and left it at the front desk for Don Casey or Webb, sometimes Sherving, to pick up. Made a note of it in the books, which I passed back to Ruby, who kept it in her safe at home.’

  ‘Let me guess – cleaned out by Casey and Cooper the morning after she was killed?’

  ‘They took everything. I was there.’

  ‘What about somebody higher up? She supplied girls to politicians, lawyers’ parties – she have anything over any of them, try to blackmail one of them? Help me with my debt or I’ll tell your wives? She pass the hat around at any point?’

  ‘Might have. But she wouldn’t have told me that, especially if she had the wood on someone. Men and their bullshit needs was one subject we didn’t talk about.’

/>   ‘What about Sullivan? You ever see Ruby with our Minister for Police? She ever mention doing business with him, investing in his name? Did he try and help her with her debt?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of. I knew they had some history, but she never mentioned any business.’

  Swann sat back in his chair and picked up his cigarettes and lighter, stowed them away.

  ‘You know, I stayed in touch with Annie DuBois when I left,’ Jacky said suddenly. ‘Called her every now and then. After what happened to Ruby she’s kept herself to a few places in the ’burbs, does some strippers for the bikies. She’s still got the green light, pays Casey regular, but reckons Pat Chesson’s the new queen bee, making it hand over fist. Annie never liked Pat, but now they hate each other. Apparently, when a special little thing of hers didn’t come home one night, she tracked her down to a place of Pat’s, went round there herself. There was a bit of a blue.’

  ‘That special little thing out in the carpark?’

  ‘Yeah, her. What’s the look?’

  ‘You trust her?’

  ‘No, I don’t trust her, but Annie reckons she’s all right. Michelle liked Ruby and she wants to stay on good terms with Annie. The kid’s a kid. As soon as she heard that thing about Cooper, she got back to Annie with it.’

  ‘It’s not much. I can’t use it.’

  ‘I was just getting to that. After Michelle ran off to Pat’s, and Annie went round there looking for her, Pat told Annie to fuck off or else she’d get what Ruby got – her exact words.’

  ‘She said that?’

  Jacky nodded. ‘You know Annie. She’s no slouch. But even she was worried. Then a few days after she told me, when I was in the Cross, I bumped into a working girl I remembered from over here, though I hardly recognised her, she was that fucked up on the gear. And she was scared of me, anything that reminded her of Perth, since she’d done a runner. But we shared a blast or two and she loosened up, told me she’d done the big thing, twice.’

  ‘Done what?’

  ‘Carried. Been a mule. From Asia to here. Twice.’