Crucifixion Creek

by Barry Maitland

  Harry nods. ‘Right.’

  ‘The guys are monitoring all their phones. They’ll give you his number.’

  When Harry gets back to his desk he gets O’Brian’s number and makes the call. He hardly recognises the voice that answers, distant, suspicious of the unknown caller ID. ‘Rowdy, hello. This is Harry Belltree.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ He doesn’t sound surprised.

  ‘Can you talk?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I’d like to meet you.’

  ‘Not a good idea.’

  ‘See the Bankstown Chronicle this morning? I might be able to help take the heat off you blokes.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘Just a chat, Rowdy. No pressure.’

  There is a long pause. ‘Where?’

  ‘Wherever you feel comfortable. Your choice of place and time.’

  ‘I’ll get back to you.’

  The line goes dead.

  ‘Any luck?’ Deb has been listening.

  ‘I don’t know. He said he’ll get back to me.’

  She nods. ‘That Kelly Pool, bit bloody cheeky phoning you at home, Harry.’

  ‘I thought so.’

  ‘What’d she want from you?’

  ‘I don’t know, I cut her off. Maybe she was looking for someone to confirm the Lavulo tip.’

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘That business about a Chinese company in Vanuatu. Kristich spent time in Vanuatu when he left Queensland. Maybe we should find out who his contacts were over there.’

  ‘Yeah, good idea. Why don’t you do that?’

  Ten minutes later Harry’s phone rings. O’Brian will meet him in an hour in the first-floor café of David Jones at Elizabeth Street in the city.

  ‘Funny choice,’ Deb says.

  ‘Probably the last place his bikie friends would go.’

  And it is certainly that, the café full of lady shoppers from the suburbs laden with DJ department store bags. Rowdy is already there, glowering, at a table in the far corner. As Harry shakes hands and sits down, a waiter appears and reels off a list of the special teas. They order black coffee.

  ‘My boss reckoned you chose this place because none of your mates would come here.’

  ‘So they put you up to this did they?’ He studies Harry’s face, as if trying to restore some lost memory.

  ‘Yeah.’

  Rowdy nods and Harry says,

  ‘Anyway, good to see you again. How have you been?’

  ‘Not bad. You?’

  Harry shrugs. ‘Bit of a hard time adjusting when I got back. Settled down eventually.’

  Rowdy nods. ‘So you joined the big blue gang and I joined the Crows. Comrades in arms, Harry, just like the army. Hard and loyal. So don’t expect me to dob them in.’

  ‘That’s what I told my boss.’

  ‘What does he want you to do?’

  Rowdy has changed. There is a flat tone in his voice, like that of a man grimly determined not to show that he doesn’t much care anymore.

  ‘He wants to know what Lavulo was doing in Kristich’s office the night they killed each other.’

  ‘Is that what happened?’

  ‘Forensics says there’s no other explanation.’

  ‘So what’s your theory?’

  ‘Kristich had a stash of crystal meth in his office safe. They’ll try to match it to the stuff they found in yours. Is that right? Was Lavulo supplying Kristich? Did they fall out over a sale?’

  O’Brian’s face hardens. ‘I don’t know anything about meth.’

  ‘Yeah, I didn’t think it was your scene.’ He shrugs. ‘People change.’

  ‘Not me, not about that.’

  This hints at a point of friction within the gang, and if Rowdy were a suspect in the interview room Harry would press harder. He decides to let it go for now.

  The waiter arrives with their coffees. ‘Sure I can’t tempt you boys to one of our special cakes?’

  Rowdy says, ‘Fuck off.’ He glowers at Harry. ‘Anything else your boss wants to know?’

  ‘What’s all this in the paper about you guys kicking old ladies out of their homes?’

  ‘That’s crap. She was moving. They were doing her a favour, helping her load her stuff into the removals van.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘That’s about it.’ Harry sips at the coffee. ‘There is something I’d like to ask, not for my boss. For me.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A while ago, my mum and dad were killed in a car smash, and my wife was blinded.’

  ‘Oh.’ O’Brian frowns. ‘That’s bad.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s become a bit of an obsession with me. An unhealthy obsession, according to the people I work for. The thing is, the coroner recorded an open verdict—the skid marks were unusual and the investigators couldn’t tell if it was an accident or if the car was deliberately run off the road. They were in a silver BMW, but there were traces of white paint on one wing. And a patrol car reported seeing a white tow truck further down the highway at around the time it happened, but it’s never been traced.’

  Harry pulls out a copy of the photo of the tow truck he found in the siege house. He shows it to O’Brian. ‘Like I said, I’ve got a bit obsessive, especially about tow trucks. I found this picture on the wall of the house where that siege was a few weeks back, near your clubhouse. I assume it belonged to Stefan Ganis, the guy who died there. He was ex-Crow. Can you tell me anything about this? This is personal, Rowdy. I won’t pass it on if you don’t want me to.’

  O’Brian fingers the picture, silent. Finally he says, ‘When I first joined we had a different president, guy called Tony Gemmell. He was the one who led the breakaway from our old club and set the Crows up in the Creek. Great character, ex-army, Vietnam. Great guy. But he was getting on. He’d taken a battering over the years and his hips and knees were playing up. Got so he couldn’t really handle the bike—fell over a couple of times, looked bad. We were getting new recruits, guys who hadn’t been with us when the Crows were founded. One of them was Roman Bebchuk. He thought Tony was a joke, and persuaded a circle of guys around him that we needed a new president. Things got a bit heated, and in the end Tony decided to quit. When he left, Bebchuk was elected president and his blokes took over. Including Stefan Ganis. He was always a bit of a problem—erratic, a bit crazy. Eventually, about a year ago, he stepped badly out of line and Bebchuk was forced to kick him out. He hung around the fringes of the club for a while causing trouble, until eventually, I don’t know what happened, he got into that blue with his woman and got himself killed.’

  All this comes out in a rapid low monotone. After his previous terseness Harry wonders if it contains something Rowdy particularly wants him to understand.

  ‘And yes, he had a tow truck. That one. I recognise the logo, 13 Auto Smash. He was in business with his cousin, but they closed the yard years ago. I don’t know what
happened to the truck.’

  ‘What happened to the cousin?’

  Rowdy shakes his head. ‘No idea.’

  ‘Know his name?’

  Another shake.

  ‘Well, when was it they closed the yard?’

  Rowdy thinks, stroking his beard. ‘Around the time there was the bust-up with Tony Gemmell. That was three years ago, winter, like now. That’s all I can tell you.’ He checks his watch. ‘Meter.’

  Harry nods. ‘Thanks, Rowdy.’ He waves for the bill and the waiter approaches cautiously. Harry pays and they rise to leave.

  At the door O’Brian turns to him and says, ‘Watch out for Bebchuk, mate. Hard is one thing, but Bebchuk is mean.’

  They make their way down to the ground floor and walk through the cosmetics counters towards the street doors. A woman’s voice calls out, ‘Rowdy? Is that you? What ya doin here?’ Rowdy mutters a curse and Harry walks quickly away.

  On his way back he detours through Mascot. Among the light industrial sheds and warehouses and car hire depots near the airport he finds the smash repair place on the business card. It appears deserted, an empty concrete yard protected by a chain link fence, and a shed that looks unoccupied. He gets out to take a closer look and a large Alsatian lopes out from behind the shed and snarls at him. He continues to his office and reports to Deb on his meeting with O’Brian.

  ‘It was pretty much what I expected; he wouldn’t say anything against his mates and claimed he knew nothing about drugs and had no idea what Lavulo was doing in Kristich’s office. The only thing I picked up was a hint that there are divisions within the Crows, between Bebchuk’s inner circle and the rest like O’Brian.’

  ‘Your mate’s trying to distance himself in case we find out more about the drugs,’ Deb says.

  He leaves work early and heads home feeling dispirited.

  Jenny is at her computer surrounded by papers scattered all over the desk and the floor around her. ‘I’ve got in a tangle,’ she says, flustered. ‘It’s all so complicated and I’ve messed up the hard copies I was making for you. I’ve no idea where they all are now.’ As she gets up she scuffs them with her feet, sending them fluttering.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. We can sort it out later.’ He reaches for her and draws her close. ‘I was thinking, why don’t we just sell up and get out of Sydney.’

  ‘What? Are you joking? Where would we go?’

  ‘I don’t know—Switzerland maybe. That place we read about with the eye clinic. Somewhere with clean mountain air and real winters, with snow crunching under our feet.’

  She laughs. ‘What brought this on?’

  He tells her about his meeting with Rowdy O’Brian. ‘I think he’s burnt out. Am I like that?’

  ‘No.’ She strokes his arm. ‘Anyway, we can’t go anywhere until we’ve sorted all this out. Nicole needs us.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘She’s not doing well. She’s had a row with Mum. Well, you know what Mum can be like.’

  He does. She’s getting more impatient as she grows older.

  ‘Nicole’s coming round with the girls in twenty minutes. I’m sorry. I had to ask her over. She needs to talk.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll get changed.’

  By the time he’s ready they’re here. He listens to them through the bedroom door, the girls’ happy cries dying away as Nicole starts to rant. She stops abruptly, forcing a smile as he emerges. He says hello, hugging them in turn, then says, ‘Hey girls, we need stuff from Thomas Dux. Want to give me a hand?’

  ‘Yes!’

  Jenny whispers her thanks. She gives them a list of the groceries they need, and they collect bags and take off down the lane and up to Crown Street. The girls love exploring this area, the glimpses into cafés, bars, odd interiors. They are stopped by an old man whose eyes light up at the sight of the two girls. He wants them to try something that he holds out in a grubby paper bag. They move on and come to the grocer. Both girls grab baskets and run down the aisles, soaking up the smells, grabbing bread, bunches of vegetables, fruit. They fill up the bags and return to the street, paying a visit to a butcher. Harry buys wine and, laden, they turn back for home. On the way they come to a small playground, deserted. The girls drop their bags and run for the swings.

  He watches them, egging each other on to reach higher. They’re too old for this, he thinks. It’s like they need to go back to a less complicated time for a little while. When they reach home they grow silent again, hearing their mother through the closed kitchen door, raging, weeping.

  Harry searches for something loud and distracting and shoves an old DVD into the player. It is a Disney animation, a favourite of theirs four or five years ago. Harry watches with them, stabbed by the thought that the last time they played this Jenny saw it too.

  After a while the kitchen door opens and Jenny calls to him softly. He gets up and joins them, closing the door. Nicole has been weeping, her eyes red, and she is gulping a large glass of wine. Jenny sounds hesitant as she begins.

  ‘Nicole has been talking about their finances, darling. There seems—’

  Nicole cuts in, her voice angry. ‘Sam Peck is bloody useless, Harry. He doesn’t give me any idea what’s going on. All he says is not to spend any money! That’s ridiculous. When I told him I had to pay the girls’ school fees he said I shouldn’t.’ She glares. ‘Their fucking school fees, Harry! Of course I’ve got to pay.’

  ‘It’s not Sam’s fault,’ Harry says gently. ‘The fire destroyed most of Greg’s records and he’s got a terrible job trying to work things out.’

  ‘But the bank will still have their records, won’t they? They can still tell us how things stand, surely? Sam’s so bloody secretive. I wonder if he’s trying to rob me.’

  ‘No, no. I’ve been keeping in close touch with him.’

  ‘He asked me if I had any money of my own that I could use, but I have almost nothing. The electricity bill just came in and the rates and he tells me I can’t write any cheques or use the credit card. Then he suggested I sell some jewellery for God’s sake—my jewellery!’

  ‘Look, we can help out until things get cleared up.’

  ‘I don’t want money from you!’

  ‘Just a temporary loan. How much are the school fees?’

  She tells him and he wonders if he misheard. He had no idea they would be so much. He sees the surprise on Jenny’s face, then she recovers. ‘We can cover that, can’t we Harry?’

  ‘Yes, sure.’ He has to think about it. ‘Tomorrow lunchtime, we’ll set up a new account for you with our bank, Nicole, and I’ll transfer some funds to see you through this sticky patch.’

  ‘Oh…’ Nicole sags and the tears begin to flow again. ‘Thank you,’ she sobs. ‘I just didn’t know what to do. I’m lost without him.’

  ‘Now come on,’ Jenny urges her. ‘Help me make dinner for us all. What did you get, Harry?’

  Later he takes them home and when he returns Jenny is sitting at her computer. He feels a strange pang of jealousy, watches her intimacy with the machine, then she turns towards him and removes her headset and smiles, and he just feels tired.
<
br />   ‘Are they all right?’

  ‘I guess so. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the house will have to go.’

  ‘What about that account I found? I think she’s entitled to it.’

  ‘I don’t know, Jenny. We don’t know who the money belongs to, do we?’

  ‘Bells. The name came up again in the files I managed to get into today, and other names, all nicknames—Rooster, Crystal, Pol, Chippy. Could be anybody. I think they must all be crooks. Don’t you? Why else disguise their real names?’

  He is silent for a while, then says, ‘I’ve been thinking about that name, Bells. Suppose it stands for Belltree?’

  ‘What? How could it be?’

  ‘My dad. Could it be him?’

  Her mouth drops open. ‘But…why would your father have an account with Kristich?’

  ‘Perhaps he was bent too. How can I tell?’

  ‘Oh, Harry.’ She goes to him. ‘How can you think that?’

  ‘How well did I know him, really?’

  She shakes her head. ‘I think your work is getting to you.’

  ‘Yeah, well, we thought Greg was straight, didn’t we?’

  ‘He was just desperate. Come on, let’s go to bed, you’re exhausted.’

  ‘We should sort through your printouts.’

  ‘They’ll keep.’

  That night he dreams he is trapped in a room with a cast of strange characters—Rooster, Crystal, Pol, Chippy. He has a gun, and they are waiting for Bells to join them. His arrival is imminent, almost palpable, and Harry protests, ‘Why do I have to do it?’