ThornyDevils (22 page)

The media pack didn’t have to wait long. Police Commissioner Stapelton appeared from a side door followed by two uniformed minions. Where was McCracken? Peter was expecting a gloating, preening McCracken to be there bathing in the glory, but Dale was a no-show. Jack Stapelton got down to the nitty gritty, pronto and presto.

‘You may have heard that Thomas and Robert O’Leary were arrested today on suspicion of the murder of Aldo Morosto and the attempted murder of Anthony Donarto at Footscray Market,’ Stapelton announced. ‘They were questioned and later released without charge.’

‘What in the hell?’ Peter exploded.

‘Please restrain yourself, Mister Clancy, or I’ll have you removed,’ Stapelton growled back.

‘Sorry Commissioner,’ Peter replied sheepishly, causing the media pack to titter.

‘I’ll continue and without interruption. In a late development, two men known to police, James Machowicz and Rodney Eastern, were taken into police custody and confessed to the murder of Aldo Morosto and the attempted murder of Anthony Donarto. I’ll take a few questions,’ Stapelton concluded.

The room erupted into a series of shouts but Peter was able to get his heard first: ‘Are you sure that these men are the culprits, Commissioner?’

‘A confession is fairly conclusive, don’t you think, Mister Clancy? Another question,’ Jack asked as he surveyed the room.

‘Did these men work for the O’Learys?’ a female journalist behind Peter asked.
Good question
, Peter thought.

‘No comment. But, as I said, these men are well known to the police. One more question.’ Jack looked around the room.

‘Are the police getting any closer to solving the O’Leary murders?’ Peter shouted above the throng.

‘You seem to be the squeaky wheel today, don’t you, Mister Clancy?’ Stapelton shook his head. The pack laughed as per usual. ‘Yes. We are confident we are getting close to solving those murders. We are pursuing several lines of enquiry at present.’

‘Blah, blah, blah, ad nauseam,’ Peter muttered to himself. ‘This press conference is over.’

Stapelton grabbed some sheets of paper from the lectern and made to leave.

‘Tell me, Commissioner,’ Peter called out, as Stapelton tried to ignore him and head towards a side door, ‘why has Melbourne been turned into a shooting gallery by a bunch of thugs? Why has this been allowed to happen?’

Jack Stapelton spun on his heel and glared at Peter. He was crimson.
Don’t have a stroke, Jack. At least, not before making a comment, please.

‘The damn impertinence of you, Mister Clancy,’ Stapelton barked, shaking the papers in his hand at Peter. A minion opened the door and Stapelton was gone.

‘I didn’t mean to upset the old bugger,’ Peter remarked to another journalist.

He loitered around the police station for another fifteen minutes, hoping that Poppy might appear or just float out of an office or down a corridor. Dejected, he returned to his office. He had just thrown his coat on the desk when he heard Bob summoning him.

Stapelton. The dobber
.

‘I’ve had a phone call from the police commissioner,’ Bob announced, even before Peter could grab a chair. ‘I thought he was going to have a frigging heart attack on the phone this time.’

‘Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that Melbourne was a shooting gallery for thugs. Too late to apologise?’

‘He wants to ban you from all press conferences,’ Bob shook his head.

‘Can he do that?’

‘Well, I said that it was against the principles of press freedom, so we made an arrangement,’ Bob replied.

‘What is it?’ Peter asked dryly.

‘You can go to the press conferences but you can’t ask any questions.’ ‘What the fuck?’ he roared. ‘You didn’t agree?’

‘For the moment,’ Bob exhaled, ‘we need to start having a friendlier relationship with the police.’

‘None of those journos there ask the hard questions,’ Peter complained. ‘They expect me to do it because I work for
The Truth
. Remember, we don’t give a shit who we upset.’

‘I hate to say it, Peter, but this time you’re wrong. Try to remember that we’re not in the business of pure sleaze anymore,’ Bob countered. ‘We can’t go around antagonising everyone. Some people, but not everyone. We have to be in with the police, or at least seen to be. When I was in New York I’d hang out with them at their watering hole. The information I picked up during those drinking sessions was immeasurable.’

‘Why the change of heart?’ Peter asked.

‘Because we’re getting close to getting the biggest story this paper has ever had. I can bloody feel it. And I don’t want you to stuff it up because you have a problem with authority.’

‘I have a problem with authority?’ he chuckled.

‘You do.’

‘Okay,’ he said throwing up his hands. ‘Blame the fucking sadistic Christian Brothers then, all right?’

‘Let it go, Peter,’ Bob replied calmly. ‘Let it go. You work with authority, not against it. Or bloody pretend to.’

‘What do I have to do, take Dale McCracken out for dinner? Send Jack a bouquet of flowers?’

‘Of course not,’ Bob rolled his eyes. ‘Just be less abrasive. Act more BBC.’

‘I can do that.’ Peter replied in a mock upper class English accent. He rose from the chair.

‘About the…’ Bob said awkwardly.

Peter paused. ‘It’s fine, Bob. No more said.’

‘You don’t want to talk about it?’

‘Of course fucking not. I don’t even want to think about it. I’m not a pervert.’

‘Our secret?’

‘You don’t have to worry about me telling everyone. You have enough dirt on me. I’ve got to have at least one on you.’

Peter had hoped to get home early but it was a bad day. And this time he needed a drink. He arrived back at the flat before seven to find his dinner—a plate of lamb chops and boiled vegetables—on the table.
I miss my Greek takeaway
, Peter thought as he eyed the meal with disinterest. Sam and Dave were crashed on the couch, watching the television.

‘Thanks for cooking again. Looks like you’ve had dinner,’ he said as he sat down at the dinner table. He picked up a knife and fork and commenced eating. ‘It’s cold!’ Peter put down his utensils.

‘If you had a microwave,’ Dave replied, ‘or you could just warm it up in the oven.’

‘Can’t be bothered,’ Peter grumbled between mouthfuls. He felt too hungry to worry about how cold it was.

‘Where were you, anyway?’ Sam asked without diverting his eyes from the television.

‘I was at the Tote,’ he responded. ‘I had a bad day. I needed a drink.’

‘Good days. Bad days. You always need to have a drink,’ Sam observed. ‘Maybe you should have a drink-free day.’

Not again.
‘Maybe I should have a hot dinner,’ he retorted angrily.

‘Quiet, you two,’ Dave interrupted. ‘It’s the news.’ Dave got off the couch to turn up the volume. ‘The O’Leary arrests.’

‘I can tell you all about that,’ Peter interjected.

‘Shush,’ Sam said. ‘I want to see myself on the TV. I reckon I’ll look like that bloke in the Shaft movie.’

‘Thomas and Robert O’Leary were arrested today,’ the newsreader began.

‘That’s me with Babs,’ Sam said cheerfully pointing at the television screen. ‘Never been on the tellie.’

‘And in a dramatic twist, they were later released without charge after two men stepped forward, admitting they had murdered Aldo Morosto at Footscray Market and attempted to kill Anthony Donarto.’

‘What!’ Dave exclaimed. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘I could have told you,’ Peter said as he picked up a chop with his hands and gnawed on it. ‘Did you think the O’Learys were going to do the dirty work?’

‘Quiet,’ Sam pleaded.

‘The two men, whose names are Rodney Eastern and James Machowicz, were detained at St Kilda Police Station and will be charged,’ the newsreader continued.

‘It’s them,’ Sam shouted at the screen and bounded off the couch to point at the television. ‘It’s those blokes.’

‘Who?’ Peter asked.

Dave jumped off the couch to turn down the volume.

‘Those blokes,’ Sam stammered, grabbing hold of Dave, ‘the ones I was telling you about. The hairy ones.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Peter said impatiently pushing his meal aside.

‘Those bikie looking blokes I saw with Tommy and Robbie in their office the other day. The ones they were all friendly with.’

‘I frigging knew it!’ Peter exclaimed as he stood up so quickly that he nearly knocked over the chair. ‘I knew this was going to happen.’

***

The morning found Stella, Peter and Bob huddled again in Bob’s smoky office. Planning the next move.

‘That guy found me again,’ Stella shivered as she reached for a cigarette from Bob’s packet on the desk. Peter noticed her hands were shaking as she lit one and inhaled deeply. ‘I needed that.’

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ Peter remarked.

‘I’d given up for two years before last night.’

‘Did the informer come back?’ Bob asked with concern.

‘I’m getting softer,’ she exhaled loudly. ‘Last night I went out for a walk along the river and he grabbed me again.’

‘In a ski mask again?’ Peter asked.

‘You bet ya,’ she replied as she stubbed the cigarette. ‘It was the same guy. Tall, well built, Aussie accent.’

‘Did he hurt you?’

‘Sort of,’ she shrugged. ‘He pulled me into a bush from behind then made me lie on the ground, face down with my arms by my side. Even though he was wearing a ski mask he still didn’t want me to look at him. That was kind of creepy.’

‘What did he say this time?’ Bob questioned.

‘Same thing; he has a lot of dirt on Dale McCracken. I wonder if the ski mask is in the police force.’

‘I’ve heard some interesting rumours about what happens down at St Kilda Road,’ Peter added.

‘Yeah,’ Bob added, ‘I’ve heard them too.’

‘All of the top brass are bugging each other, apparently,’ Peter chuckled. ‘They go outside to talk.’

‘Sounds toxic.’ Stella shook her head, ‘Sounds like the New York police.’

‘So he didn’t add any more?’ Bob tapped the desk.

‘He gave me another envelope.’ Stella took another plain, yellow A4 envelope out of her handbag and handed it to Bob.

‘Okay,’ Bob took out three photographs from the envelope, spread them across his desk and examined them closely. He shook his head and dropped them back on the desk. Peter picked up one, Stella another.

‘Bloody hell,’ Peter spoke first. ‘It looks like Led Zeppelin on tour.’

‘Urrgh,’ Stella squirmed. ‘It’s a sex orgy.’

‘Looks like McCracken’s fu… sorry, I mean, having intercourse with the woman wearing the leather mask. From the angle, I’d say the photos were taken through the window.’ Peter took a closer look.’ That mask hasn’t got any holes for the eyes, only the mouth. I guess the reason’s obvious. That’s creepy.’

‘What the?’ Stella commented, as she looked at the same photo. ‘Oh that! It’s called a dog mask, which is exactly what it looks like. Notice the lacing along the side? That mask would cost a lot of money. This guy’s a real S&M devotee.’

‘So how do you…’ Peter began.

‘Not what you think, buddy boy. I was a crime reporter in New York,’ Stella laughed. ‘Give me a break.’

Peter continued to examine the photograph. ‘And she’s giving the other guy a blowjob. I don’t recognise him. All you can see is his lower torso. Shit, this woman’s a real multi-tasker. From the looks of it, I’d say she’s a high class pro.’

‘I’m surprised how detailed the photos are,’ Bob cut in as he continued to look them over. ‘I agree they’ve been taken from outside. The photographer’s got in really close, though. I wonder how they didn’t notice him? Still, they look pretty professional to me.’

‘Do you recognise this man?’ Stella interrupted, holding one of the photographs in front of Peter and pointing a red lacquered fingernail at a naked man.

Peter examined it closely, turning it around. ‘Difficult to tell,’ he said. ‘His head’s bent head down over that naked woman. Looks like he’s snorting lines of coke off her back. I have to say, the hairline does seem familiar.’

‘Who do you think it is, then?’ Bob asked.

‘Well, I’ve never seen him naked, thank God,’ Peter sighed, ‘but I hazard a guess that it’s Tony Donarto. That’s just pure speculation.’

‘Tony and Dale,’ Bob stated, ‘But none of the O’Learys.’

‘Not invited?’

‘Maybe it’s just not their scene. I wonder if my guy’s one of their associates, then?’ Stella theorised.

Bob gathered up the photographs and returned them to the envelope. ‘Shame we won’t be able to publish these photos uncensored. It’d make one hell of a story.’

Stella pushed the envelope back across the desk to Peter. He reluctantly picked it up.

‘Add them to the others. You have put them in a safe place, haven’t you?’

‘Of course,’ Peter hesitated, suddenly realising that the last place he’d seen the previous photographs was when he had thrown them onto the rear seat of the Stag.
Why am I being entrusted with these? I can’t even find a clean pair of socks on a good day.
‘But, shouldn’t they be put in a safe or somewhere really secure?’

‘If someone wants those photos,’ Bob remarked, ‘they’ll come after Stella or me first. By that time, you would have found another safe pozzie for them.’

‘Fine. Fine,’ Peter repeated as he threw up his hands. ‘It looks like I’m the guardian of the porn.’

‘Whatever you do, don’t leave them lying around in your car,’ Bob said as he looked Peter in the eye. ‘And for fuck’s sake, don’t lose them.’

Peter wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and put the handkerchief back in his replacement suit pocket. His third suit so far. ‘Why do you think Stella was the one chosen?’ he changed topic.

‘I’m a woman,’ she began. ‘I look vulnerable. Or so he thinks.’

‘I have another thought. You’re new to town. Any other journo might recognise his voice. Just a theory.’

‘Nice theory,’ Bob thought, ‘but let’s move on. You said Sam saw Machowicz and Eastern at the wharf having a group hug with the O’Learys? They won’t do a full stretch in Pentridge, that’s for certain. Frank Galbally will make sure of that. The O’Learys would have rung Frank as soon as they were regarded as suspects.’