52 Waratah Avenue

by Lynne Wilding

  He couldn’t remember ever being this tired, not even when he was doing his finals, Joel admitted, as he dragged one foot after the other down the steps of St Vincent’s Hospital and out into the crisp night air. His first day on duty had been a rugged twelve-hour go-go-go shift, during which he hadn’t had time to scratch himself, let alone think. He yawned as he rubbed the fine stubble on his jaw while he looked around for Elissa’s Corolla. Because she’d offered to pick him up after his shift so they could have a meal together, he hadn’t driven his Corvette in. What he needed more than a meal was a hot shower and bed and, if he were lucky, seven hours’ sleep before he came on duty again. However, sleep might have to wait, for he knew that Elissa was eager to know how he was coping. He didn’t want to disappoint her.

  A soft summer drizzle began to fall as he waited. Five minutes, ten, went by. Then he saw her car coming down Victoria Street. He hopped in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Well, how was your first day, Dr Beaumont?’ Elissa beamed at him.

  ‘Unbelievable. I’m bushed.’ He leant back in the seat and closed his eyes. ‘It was great, though. I’m assigned to a surgery department for three months, doing dogsbody stuff at first. You know, writing up patients’ charts, getting their medical records, doing initial examinations, assisting with minor surgery, etc., but it was really interesting.’ He sighed. ‘So many sick people and still,’ he sighed, ‘so much to learn.’

  ‘What do you mean, darling?’

  ‘Today made me see that I’ve only just begun. Six years of study was, really, a warm-up, the theory without the practice. This is the real thing, working with people, trying to understand their needs, what ails them. Often, just getting an indication of what’s wrong with a patient is hard — people can’t always properly describe their symptoms.’ He qualified that. ‘Unless it’s something obvious, like a broken leg or a bleeding nose.’

  ‘You liked it, didn’t you?’ She sounded anxious.

  ‘You betcha. I’m starving.’ He was — and he remembered why. He’d been too busy to stop for lunch. ‘Where will we eat?’

  ‘How about the restaurant we went to last week up in Paddo, The Green Onion? You liked the chicken risotto they made,’ Elissa suggested. ‘Then I’ll drive you home.’

  ‘You’re my girl.’ He turned and kissed her shoulder, though it was covered up by a blouse and jacket. ‘You know,’ he began thoughtfully, ‘this year is going to be hectic. Hospitals traditionally work interns real hard — as if ldidn’t already know that. Sixty, eighty hours a week plus. Can you put up with seeing less of me at times and, sometimes when you see me, I’ll be zonked out from exhaustion?’

  ‘Professor Harry warned me what it would be like, so did his wife. I guess I can take it.’ She grinned at him. ‘After all, really, it will be harder on you than on me.’

  ‘Heard from the Prof?’

  ‘He’s in Baden-Baden and has talked to Dr Engelbaum. He said to tell you that he’s very encouraged by the doctor’s research. And while he’s so close, he’s going to Warsaw to visit relatives. He’ll be back in three weeks, after which I’m sure he’ll want you to help him put his paper together.’

  Joel sat up straight in the passenger seat as Elissa drove up Oxford Street. ‘So, he still plans to present the paper at the Vancouver conference?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Terrific,’ Joel said as he stifled a yawn. As Elissa drove he had to acknowledge that while he was tired, physically and mentally, inside him was an unfamiliar sense of exhilaration at finally doing what he was meant to do: practise medicine. And Professor Harry’s paper would be a success, he was sure of it — which, in the long term, would benefit his mother.

  Most important of all, though, he hadn’t touched alcohol for almost six weeks — a record for him. They said he had to take it one day at a time, that he was a recovering alcoholic; that’s what they told people who attended Alcoholics Anonymous. He already had an AA buddy whose name was Martin Barry, a retired TV producer, to whom he could talk whenever he felt tempted and even when he didn’t. Sometimes only a recovering alcoholic knew what one who had similar problems was going through. He was confident that with Elissa by his side and his family’s support, his need could be controlled permanently.

  Everything was going to plan, just as Lenny liked it to. Tomas had sequestered himself in Ashworths store before closing time and had, right on the button, disconnected the alarm system which, fortunately, wasn’t the complicated type. He’d also opened the door that led to the roof to let in Lenny, Earl, Rocco and Ferdie, as well as Ben Lowry, the safe man. Then Tomas had reconnected the burglar alarm to allay any suspicions.

  One thing they had to be careful about was using the stairs to move from floor to floor because, just before midnight, that’s the way security travelled between floors. Neil had told Lenny once that power to the elevators and escalators was turned off at 11 pm, when the cleaners finished, and for the rest of the night the guards used the stairwell to do their rounds.

  He, Earl and Rocco were to go to the ground floor to empty the jewellery cases and the photographic section, plus anything else that might be light to carry, such as perfume and expensive hosiery, while Ben and Ferdie attended to the safe. Tomas was to guard their escape route, in case a fast exit was needed. Earl had calculated an hour and ten minutes to do the job so, at his command, everyone synchronised their watches before going off to do their allotted tasks.

  Lenny chuckled silently as, in soft-soled shoes that made as little noise as possible, they made their way down the concrete steps to the ground floor. His mate, or rather ex-mate, would chuck a major tantrum when he realised he’d been done over by them and couldn’t whisper a word to the pigs. Serves the arsehole right. This job was a worthy payback for him sticking his nose in the air and walking away from him. Better to hurt him financially than to beat the crap out of him, though the latter would have been personally more satisfying.

  Lenny found the silence and semi-darkness of the ground floor, with its elegant decor, marble floors, timber-panelled columns and expensive chandeliers, eerie at night. He’d visited the store many times, both to shop and to browse, and was used to the brightness, the hustle and bustle of shoppers, the attentiveness of the staff. The whisper-quiet and the grey, pale shadows from outside street lighting unnerved him just a little.

  ‘Psst,’ Earl whispered to Rocco. ‘Photography is in the left-hand corner of the floor. Only take the expensive stuff. Use the list I gave you as a guide.’

  Rocco gave the thumbs-up sign that he understood and padded off in that direction.

  Lenny located the jewellery counter. For a couple of seconds he mentally fantasised about how good several pieces would look around Michaela’s slender neck, or on her wrist. And, for a while, just thinking about her made it hard to force his mind and other parts of his body to the task at hand.

  ‘The real expensive stuff, rings and gold, will be in the safe,’ Lenny whispered as he shone his torch onto the display counters, ‘but there’s still plenty of interesting stuff here.’ In record time he picked the locks on all the counters and between them they piled semi precious stone rings, necklaces, bracelets and watches into a canvas carry-all that Earl slung over his shoulder.

  ‘Now for perfumery. Only the most expensive ones,’ Lenny said, ‘because we can move them easily.’

  In less than fifteen minutes all three, Earl, Rocco and Lenny, had completed their tasks, and their respective bags bulged with stolen goods.

  ‘Let’s go up to five, where Ben and Ferdie are working on the safe. I’ll feel happier when we’re all closer to the exit.’ Earl’s tone was soft.

  They were puffing noticeably by the time they’d walked up four flights of stairs to join the safe man and Ferdie in the office section of the Ashworths store.

  Lenny became instantly tense and bad-tempered when he saw that the safe hadn’t been opened. ‘Shit, Ben, what are you doing? Bloody malingering!’ he hiss
ed at him as he checked his watch. ‘The guards will start another round in ten minutes and be up here in less than twenty. Shake a leg, damn you.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ the safe man muttered, equally cross because the safe’s combination and the locking device were more sophisticated than he’d been told. He wiped a row of sweat off his upper lip and sniffed loudly. ‘I’ve got three tumblers down, we’re halfway there.’

  ‘Ferdie, go wait outside,’ Lenny ordered brusquely. ‘Give us a signal if you hear someone coming.’

  ‘What kind of signal, boss?’ Ferdie, who wasn’t very bright, asked. ‘Want me to whistle?’

  ‘No, you idiot,’ Lenny said as loudly as he dared. ‘Use your torch, flick it on and off three times.’ Jesus, what a dumb arse. Next time he’d think twice about using him on this type of job. Then, as Ben was doing, he began to sweat: under the armpits, around the back of the neck, down his spine. Getting the safe open was taking too long. His gaze darted to Earl and he saw that his expression mirrored his own thoughts. His jaw clamped down stubbornly. Damn it. He wasn’t leaving Ashworths without the safe’s contents, by Christ he wasn’t. It was a matter of professional pride.

  ‘One more to go …’ Ben whispered.

  Silently, Lenny motioned for Rocco to open his carry-all to receive the safe’s contents. He grinned nervously at Earl, who was keeping a watch on a wall of the office in case Ferdie lit it up with a warning.

  In the silence, the only sound was their heavy breathing and the occasional movement of their bodies. Other noises seemed exaggerated. Suddenly, from outside they heard a door slam shut. Then came the sound of muted footsteps shuffling down a corridor and, more faintly, the strains of pop music coming from a pocket radio.

  ‘Someone’s coming,’ Earl whispered urgently, ‘and it isn’t Ferdie or Tomas, I’m sure of that.’

  Lenny motioned with his left hand for everyone to crouch low, to hide behind office furniture if they could. His right hand reached for and unclipped the revolver in his shoulder holster. Gaze narrowed in concentration, he pointed the gun’s barrel at the office door as a shadow loomed against the glass …

  Chapter Eighteen

  Seconds before they saw the guard’s silhouette against the glass, and his hand grasp the office door handle, Lenny saw Ben ease his bag of tools under a desk. Then the little man slid to the ground and lay still, the side of his head pressed against the floor. An all-encompassing glance told Lenny that the others had done the same.

  He took a deep, calming breath and held it as he flattened his small frame against the side of a three-drawer filing cabinet. He exhaled slowly, silently, as the door opened about halfway and the light switch was given a cursory flick. Lenny blinked rapidly against the brightness. He began to count: one and two and three … five. The light flicked off and the door closed.

  In those few seconds, his heart had begun to beat like a brass bassoon, he’d farted from anxiety, and the hand wrapped around the revolver’s butt was cramping because he was gripping it so tight. As well, through the latex surgical gloves he and his men wore to avoid leaving fingerprints — for all except Earl had police records — the fingers of both hands were wet with sweat. Letting out a shaky breath, he looked at Rocco, Ben and Earl.

  ‘Shit, it doesn’t get much closer than that. Thought I’d have to shoot the bugger.’ Lenny stared at Ben and motioned with the gun barrel towards the safe. ‘Well?’

  ‘Okay. Half a minute more and I should have it open.’

  ‘You’d better, mate, you bloody well better.’

  Then the four of them almost had collective heart attacks when Ferdie opened the door and tiptoed into the office. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘You stupid shit! You were supposed to keep a lookout. We almost got sprung by security. Where the hell were you?’ Earl berated as loudly as he dared, in case the guard was still within hearing range.

  ‘Shit, man, I had to take a leak. Took me ages to find a bloody toilet.’

  Lenny shook his head in disbelief. Ferdie was definitely off his future specialist task force list. ‘Get upstairs and keep Tomas company,’ he ordered through gritted teeth, ‘and be quiet about it.’

  ‘I got it open, Lenny,’ Ben whispered, a note of triumph in his voice.

  Neil fumed. He raged. He threw things around like an angry child when, in the early hours of the morning, one of the security guards discovered the in-house robbery and reported it to him, to Boris and the police.

  For half the morning men in blue uniforms tramped through the store, looking for clues. In vain they fingerprinted the jewellery counter and the area around the safe.

  ‘It’s a very professional job,’ Warren, standing next to Boris, said disconsolately, ‘according to the police.’

  ‘You think so?’ Neil muttered tongue-in-cheek. It was killing him to have to keep quiet. He knew who the culprits were and the level of their professionalism, but he dared not say anything.

  ‘The insurance assessors will be here at 11.30 am. Thank goodness we increased our cover after the warehouse robbery,’ Boris told Neil and Warren.

  ‘Mmmm Neil’s tone was noncommittal. ‘I’m going back to the office. Let me know when the assessors get here,’ he said as he strode away.

  How dared he rob Ashworths! This was a complication he didn’t need, and it wouldn’t look good in the newspapers either, coming on top of the article on him assuming control of the company. Not at all.

  Deep inside, Neil was beginning to feel trapped. Coberg’s were continuing their audit. Certain employees were quietly resisting his authority, questioning the changes he wanted to make immediately. Even his family had looked at him with jaundiced eyes — instead of glowing approval — when he’d announced what he had done. They hadn’t said anything too congratulatory about his coup but, importantly, neither had they said a word about taking away his control of the McRae shares. Miserable, jealous, money-hungry bastards they were, all except Mark and his sister, Angela.

  He hadn’t been sleeping well. When he did manage to get to sleep, he had nightmares in which images of Laura and Michaela bore down on him with wrathful expressions and murder in their eyes. Their visages kept him twitching restlessly until the early hours of the morning. His sigh echoed around the office walls. This wasn’t how he’d pictured it would be. He’d expected congratulations from captains of industry, vocal admiration from his family and, from staff, a sense of approval that he’d done the right thing to return Ashworths to its former glory.

  And worrying, too, was the fact that there had been no feedback or legal action, other than having the audit continue, from the Beaumonts. He couldn’t believe that Laura, in fact any of them, would take his ‘rise in position’ lying down, but they seemed to be. Neil wanted the pleasure of seeing their faces, to be able to gloat at their shock; instead, all he’d heard was rumblings of sympathy for the Beaumonts from a variety of sources, including the media.

  Damn them! Damn all of them. His thoughts going in ten directions at once, he paced the office floor, his hands behind his back clenching and unclenching. Ten paces to the north, turn, ten paces to the south, turn …

  The most important thing he had to do was to stop the audit. If he didn’t do that, his time as CEO was limited. He had been clever with the false clues, the ‘paper trail’ he’d invented to throw suspicion away from himself and onto Daniel and even Michaela. But Coberg’s were damn good and would eventually see through the ruses to the truth. He had to revoke the order to audit. To accomplish that he had to control the board. Warren was weak and had made it clear that he would protect his job at all costs; the MD would do whatever was asked of him. Ditto with Murray Peterson.

  There were three, no four places if you counted Michaela’s position on the board, to fill. Mark, his younger brother, had agreed to accept a directorship, as had his sister, Angela. Both were pliant, and he couldn’t care less about staff mutterings of nepotism. He could do what he liked, he was the CEO. Tania Wildman, D
aniel’s secretary who now worked for him, could be elevated to the board, and he wouldn’t bother to fill Michaela’s position.

  He stopped pacing and stood still, pleased that he’d worked it out. He could do it! A grin lightened his stolid, serious expression. The new board would rescind the order to audit and, if Markhams objected, which no doubt they would on the Beaumonts’ behalf, he would tie the matter up in the court long enough for him to go over the paperwork again to make sure he couldn’t be incriminated. Yes, it was all slipping into place … Next week would be soon enough to get all that in hand.

  He glanced around his office. He had had it redecorated to his taste. Neil McRae could and would prevail …

  Michaela, Fern and Lenny sat in the Piper Cub waiting for the control tower to give the okay to take off. Today they were going to Coffs Harbour and would be returning very late in the afternoon.

  Michaela glanced across at Lenny. He looked pensive. ‘Everything okay?’ she asked her passengers.

  ‘Yes, Michaela,’ Fern piped up from the back seat.

  ‘Of course. No problems. Just thinking about the business meeting,’ Lenny lied. In truth there had never been any business meetings at any of the destinations she’d flown him to. However, he was deep in thought. The close shave at Ashworths with the security guard continued to play on his mind, as well as Danvers’ botched car accident. Rocco and Ferdie had screwed up. His temper rose to simmering point just thinking about it. Damned incompetents. The accident was intended to finish Danvers off, not just injure him. Earl should have handled it, or he should have done it himself.