A Necessary Evil

by Bruce Venables

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ John held out his cup.

  ‘Mind you,’ she said, enjoying his attention, ‘the infamous attended as well.’

  ‘Really?’ John settled back in his chair.

  ‘Oh yes!’ She laughed girlishly. ‘Neddy Glover the gangster came here once. Of course I voiced my disapproval, but Kenneth used to say that everyone had the right to vote, even criminals. This is, after all, a democracy we live in, Mr Buck.’

  ‘It certainly is,’ John replied, keeping his tone light.

  ‘Actually,’ she confided, leaning over and placing her hand on his knee, ‘Pat Morgan came here twice with none other than Jane Smart! I’m sure you know who she is?’

  ‘I know her.’ John felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘She’s quite a woman.’

  ‘Strikingly beautiful, I must admit,’ Jean Folling raised her eyes to heaven, ‘but rather common, don’t you think?’

  ‘Obvious would be a better word.’

  ‘Quite.’ Jean sipped her tea preciously.

  ‘What on earth would Pat Morgan be doing mixing with her?’ Buck asked conversationally.

  ‘Well,’ she tilted her head to one side, ‘I believe my husband was involved with her and Pat in some sort of investment business.’

  ‘Really?’

  The hand went to his knee again. ‘I hasten to add, Mr Buck, that it would all have been above board. My husband was an honourable man. He was a very well-respected accountant.’

  Buck nodded gravely. ‘I’ve got no doubt on that score, Jean. People speak very highly of him.’

  ‘I don’t think their business venture was any great shakes.’ She looked out over the view and frowned. ‘It had a funny name. Kenneth mentioned it once. Tim-Tam, or Tip-Top, or something equally silly.’

  John Buck’s blood froze in his veins. He tried to sound nonchalant. ‘Was it Tip-Toe?’

  ‘I believe it was!’ She smiled again. ‘Yes. Tip-Toe Investments. That was it! What a foolish name.’

  ‘Tell me,’ John cleared his throat, ‘Old Johnny Birmingham was involved in that, wasn’t he? That’s where I’ve heard the name Tip-Toe before, from Johnny.’

  ‘I believe he was,’ Joan replied, ‘now that you mention it.’ She sighed. ‘There’s another one gone to God.’

  ‘Yep, ‘fraid so.’ He smiled. ‘He was an old mate.’ John had heard more than enough. He finished his tea and made his excuses. ‘Crime can’t wait,’ he said, by way of an excuse, and felt really stupid.

  Jean Folling let her disappointment show as she led him to the door. She turned and looked at him demurely. ‘Perhaps you could call again, Mr Buck—’ she touched his arm, ‘when you’re less busy. We could have a drink. I’d like that.’

  ‘I just might do that, Jean,’ he replied and hurried off up the driveway to his car.

  Shayne had been shocked to the core when John had relayed the latest information. They both knew they’d stumbled onto something bigger than they could handle. Shayne had suggested they tell his father and wash their hands of the matter, but something had made John Buck reluctant to confide in the police department. He couldn’t specify what, exactly, just a sense of unease. Eventually they’d argued. John had won out about not telling Everard, but, as a condition to Shayne, he’d agreed to a two-week deadline during which he had to confront Jane with what he knew. Then, at the end of the fortnight, and regardless of the extent of Jane’s involvement, they’d go to Harold Everard and tell him all.

  That had been two weeks ago. John had done nothing since then, except endlessly mull over the events in his mind. The fact that Jane Smart had known all of the deceased was really coincidental. She was, after all, a well-known woman about town and the dead had all been very influential people. It was natural that they’d know each other. There was nothing sinister in that. Buck had been prepared to accept that fact, until he’d heard the name Tip-Toe Investments. That was when the shit really hit the fan.

  Molly Stergen had said that ‘the Tip-Toe boys’ had got Birmingham and Folling and, John had to assume, Morgan as well. Jane Smart had been involved in an investment scheme called Tip-Toe Investments with all three of those dead men.

  He lit another cigarette, inhaled deeply and leaned on the balcony rail. ‘Okay, Johnny,’ he whispered into the warm night breeze, ‘calm down and think clearly. Look at the facts.’

  But the more he thought about it, the more it smelled like a conspiracy. There was only one conclusion he could reach: a conspiracy to murder.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ he murmured as he realised he was trembling. ‘You’re shaking like a dog fucking a football, Johnny boy—get a hold of yourself.’ He breathed deeply and stared out over the moonlit ocean.

  Okay, he thought. Conclusion number two. Three other men were killed that night: Grainger Bertram, Henry Lovell and Gustav Jergens. But their deaths couldn’t be disguised as accidents. They’d been ripped apart by machine-gun fire. Jane Smart knew Grainger Bertram—he knew that already—and it was a pretty safe bet that she knew Lovell and Jergens. He had a sudden, paralysing thought. What if they’d been involved in Tip-Toe Investments as well? It certainly wasn’t illogical. In fact, the more he thought about it, and considered the connections he’d already made, the more probable it became.

  Six murders. No, seven if you include the society sheila Pippa Ramsey who went up in smoke with Morgan. She could have been involved in Tip-Toe as well. And the old waiter who was caught in the machine-gun cross-fire made eight. Eight fucking murders! John Buck gripped the steel balcony rail until his knuckles ached. And what was the common denominator? Jane Smart. No! Wait a minute! John rubbed his hands together. Jane Smart and ‘the Tip-Toe boys’. Yes, he knew that at least two other males were involved.

  John walked back into the flat and carefully slid closed the balcony door. He sat on his bed with his head in his hands. What do I do? What in fuck’s name do I do?

  His gaze fell upon the telephone on the bedside table. He picked up the receiver and dialled. The phone rang for thirty seconds before he heard a sleepy voice.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Jane?’

  ‘Johnny? Is that you?’ Her voice was instantly alert.

  ‘I’ve got to see you.’

  ‘What, now? It’s four in the morning.’

  ‘I know.’ He sighed.

  ‘What is it, love? What’s the matter?’

  ‘I know about Tip-Toe Investments.’ Always try to catch them off-guard. He was a good cop. It was the perfect question for an unsuspecting suspect.

  ‘Oh, Jesus!’ she whispered and he closed his eyes. Her reaction confirmed his worst fears. ‘Have you said anything to anyone about it?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Should I have?’ John stared at his service revolver lying next to the telephone.

  ‘Christ no!’ There was terror in Jane’s voice. ‘Listen carefully! You come here immediately, do you understand? And don’t breath a word to a soul! I’ll be waiting at the main gates to let you in.’ The line went dead.

  Buck sat on the bed for a few moments, staring sightlessly at the wall. Will you be there on your own, Jane, he wondered. Or will the Tip-Toe boys be with you?

  She was there on her own. It had surprised him. Her look of concern had surprised him even more. She’d taken him into her lounge room, given him a large snifter of cognac and sat directly opposite him. She was as white as a sheet.

  ‘All right,’ she’d said shakily, ‘now just what do you know?’

  ‘Enough I think,’ John had replied, and talked for over half an hour. All the time he’d been acutely aware of the windows and doorways. Any place from which an ambush might come. He wished he’d woken Shayne and told him where he was going. But despite his fears, the night had remained warm and silent.

  When he’d finished, he got up and helped himself to the cognac. He kept his back to her, unable to look her in the eye.

  ‘You’re a good policeman, Johnny,’ Jane said after a full minute of silenc
e. ‘One of a rare breed. An honest cop.’ He turned and looked at her. ‘Now I’ll tell you what you don’t know, John. If you think you can handle it.’

  John resumed his seat and stared at her. ‘No lies, Jane.’

  ‘I don’t tell lies, Johnny. I never have,’ she answered steadily, looking back at him. Then she began to talk. She told him the story of Tip-Toe Investments. She was careful not to mention any names, except of those who were already dead, but she told him how it worked, how far its tentacles had spread and how powerful it had been. It took her the best part of an hour. At one stage, she began to shiver and John had poured her a large cognac. But it hadn’t stopped her trembling.

  By the time Jane finished, the first hint of morning was showing through the window. During the first part of her story, John had interrupted her, asking questions for clarification, but as the enormity of what she was telling him sank in, he withdrew into total silence. He remained that way after she’d finished.

  Jane got up and went into the kitchen. She put on a fresh brew of coffee, made two cups and returned with them. They sat in silence for some time.

  Eventually, John looked at her and slowly shook his head in disbelief. He knew without doubt that she’d told him the truth, but his mind was struggling with the magnitude of it all.

  ‘Now you know,’ she stated calmly. ‘The thing is, what are you going to do about it?’

  John continued to shake his head. ‘Premiers, judges, union officials, lawyers, politicians, the army, navy, contracts, deals, bribes—even the fucking Mafia! It sounds like a George Orwell novel.’

  ‘Believe it, John,’ Jane said softly. ‘If you’ve got enough money you can buy anyone or anything. Tip-Toe Investments was that big. That’s why the Chairman closed it down.’ She got up and sat next to him. ‘That’s what you have to understand, Johnny! It’s closed down. Gone forever. Tip-Toe Investments no longer exists, so there’s no reason for you to do anything. Let sleeping dogs lie!’ He threw her a sharp look and she grabbed his face in her hands. ‘You listen to me, John Buck! You will do nothing! The game may have stopped, but the players—the most powerful of them anyway—still exist and they’ll snuff you out like a match!’

  ‘Jesus, Jane!’ He pulled away and stood up. ‘You’ve just told me that my whole society is fucked and you want me to forget it?’

  ‘Yes!’ She went to his side and took his arm. ‘I told you for a reason. I told you because I love you, Johnny, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.’ He turned to her. ‘You’re the nice young man I never had in my youth,’ she continued, her voice breaking. ‘You’re my knight in shining armour. You’re the only person who ever came into my life and didn’t want something, apart from me.’

  ‘Jane …’

  ‘No! You listen to me.’ Jane took him by the shoulders. You and I are going away. Overseas. On our own.’

  ‘I can’t—’

  ‘Listen!’ Jane snapped at him. ‘I want you out of this city. Out of this country for at least six months. Don’t you understand? You may not have covered your tracks. They might know that someone has been sniffing around, investigating them. They could be after you right now!’

  ‘I don’t care!’

  ‘Shut up!’ There was anger and fear in her voice. ‘You’re sounding like some soap opera hero! This is not a bloody game!’

  John took her face gently in his hands. ‘Okay, okay! Calm down. Just calm down for a minute.’

  Jane took a deep breath and stepped back. ‘If you’re with me, they won’t touch you.’ She began to pace around the room. ‘I have a hold over them all. They wouldn’t dare do anything to you, if they know you’re under my protection.’

  ‘I understand your concern, Jane, but I can’t just leave.’

  ‘Do you mean Penny Everard?’

  ‘Well, yes. And Shayne.’

  ‘Shayne?’ She looked at him and he looked away. Jane knew instantly that he was keeping something from her. ‘Shayne? Jesus, John, you haven’t told him any of this, have you?’ His refusal to answer her sent a chill up her spine. ‘You have, haven’t you?’ He nodded. ‘Oh Christ!’

  He gestured helplessly. ‘I needed someone to go over it with. What’s wrong with that? I’d trust him with my life.’

  Jane laughed contemptuously. ‘His bloody father’s involved in it up to his eyeballs!’

  ‘The Commissioner’s involved?’ John turned to her in disbelief.

  ‘Involved?’ she spat. ‘He’s the Chairman of the fucking Board!’

  ‘Oh no!’ The blood drained out of Buck’s face.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Jane wrung her hands. ‘How much does Shayne know?’

  ‘Only what I knew, before you and I talked just now.’

  ‘Does he know of Tip-Toe Investments?’

  ‘Only the name, that’s all.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘At home asleep. He’s working nightshifts.’

  ‘Get him on the phone and tell him to come here straight away. Tell him I need to see him now.’

  John got onto the phone and did as she wanted. ‘He’s on his way over, but he’s pissed off,’ he said as he put down the receiver. Pissed off, John thought. How’s he going to feel when he hears the whole story? I’ll have to tie him down. ‘What are you going to tell him?’

  ‘I’m going to tell him the truth,’ Jane said simply.

  ‘About his old man as well?’

  ‘Of course!’ she nodded. ‘Not all of it, but enough to make him realise how dangerous this all is.’

  ‘I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,’ John muttered, thinking out loud. ‘You don’t know him like I do. He can be a volatile bastard.’

  Jane smiled briefly. ‘Just like his grandfather.’

  ‘I never knew him.’

  Jane began pacing again. ‘I could handle George and I’ll handle Shayne. This whole business must stop tonight. Just because it happened a year ago doesn’t mean the alarms aren’t still in place. They’ll know the minute anyone starts asking questions. You and Shayne won’t last ten minutes if you stick your noses any further into it. He’s got to promise me he’ll forget the whole thing. If he does that, he’ll be all right. And you are coming away with me!’

  ‘But what about Penny?’

  ‘What about her?!’ Jane stopped her pacing and looked at him. Her shoulders drooped and she shook her head. ‘I know, I know! You love her, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, take her away then. No! Better still,’ she said urgently. ‘Go and stay with her in Melbourne. It’s perfect—Harold will never go near you if his daughter’s around. That is, of course, assuming he already knows you’ve been snooping around asking questions about Tip-Toe Investments. He probably doesn’t, or you’d already be dead.’

  John raised a hand.

  ‘I couldn’t get six months off the job, anyway.’

  ‘You won’t get six months off,’ Jane answered with a hint of impatience. ‘I’ll have you transferred to Melbourne on interchange duty with the Victoria Police—it’s done all the time. I’ve got lots of friends in the police force besides Harold.’ Jane went to his side. ‘Six months out of town, just to be on the safe side. What do you say?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ He looked at her, then kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thanks.’

  She smiled shakily. ‘Stop it! You’re making me feel like your mother.’

  ‘Will you keep an eye on Shayne?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Don’t you worry, John, nothing will happen to Shayne.’

  ‘He’s not going to like what he hears,’ he warned. ‘Especially about his old man. I don’t think Shayne likes him very much as it is. I know Penny doesn’t.’

  Jane nodded. ‘All Shayne has to do is realise the seriousness of the situation and keep his mouth shut. I’ll make sure Zoe stays put in Sydney. She’ll keep him occupied.’

  ‘Hell.’ John watched the morning light creep across the harbour. ‘Eight murders and we�
��re just going to pretend they didn’t happen. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Is this city …’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Is this country that corrupt?’

  Jane stood next to him and put her arm around his waist. ‘I’m afraid it is, Johnny. What you hear and what you read in the newspapers is only the tip of the iceberg. I think it’s about time you and young Shayne grew up. Don’t you?’

  She’s right, John thought. This business is way out of my league.

  Together they sat in silence and waited for Shayne Everard.

  BOOK THREE

  RE-EXAMINATION

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Cops see themselves as heroes.

  Criminals look upon them as bastards.

  Honest citizens regard them from a distance,

  as a necessary evil.

  George Arthur Everard

  Sydney. 1980

  ‘Which one of you men is Stuart Charles Watts?’ The voice was deep and resonant, and smacked of authority.

  There were only five men in the bar of the Celtic Hotel in the innercity suburb of Redfern. They turned as one and stared at the speaker, as the barman eased himself down behind the counter. The speaker was a cop, a very big cop. Nothing like the two young constables they’d had a bit of fun with earlier. This one was the real McCoy. A mean, dangerous-looking bastard, sure of his power and totally unafraid.

  He had entered the bar unnoticed. He stood there imposingly, rain water from the storm raging outside cascading down the black Balmoral policeman’s coat he wore over his uniform.

  ‘I’m Stu Watts,’ grunted a big florid man seated on a stool. ‘What are you going to do about it?’ He turned and grinned at the other men gathered around him. The men shuffled into a semicircle on either side of Watts in an intimidatory manner.

  ‘My name is Everard. I’m a sergeant of police and I have a warrant for your arrest.’ Shayne Everard stood alone in the middle of the bar-room. He stared back at the men, not one flicker of emotion showing in his face. At twenty-eight years of age, six feet three inches, and fifteen stone, he was an impressive sight, but it was his eyes that drew the most attention. They were light, icy blue, and as cold as the Arctic sun. They were eyes to be feared.