Cross Off (11 page)

He rang Reuben again and got him.

'Contact has been made,' the lawyer said.

'And?'

'A reason has been stated.'

'Don't piss me around. What reason?'

'Revenge. Something to do with a child.'

'Shit!'

'The fee is requested, the lesser fee.'

Vance closed his eyes. Not dead. Okay. Probably better. But scared, she'd better be good and scared. 'Pay it,' he said.

'We'll just have to await developments.'

Vance hung up and signalled to the guard that he was finished. He turned and saw George Frost walking towards him. He lit a cigarette and stood his ground.

'So?' Frost said.

Vance shrugged. 'We have to wait and see.'

'I thought that's what we've been doing.'

PART II

12

'T
ricky,' Burton said. 'Very tricky indeed.'

Peters nodded. 'Unprecedented, I should say.'

Dunlop was exasperated. He was sitting in a room of the office in Redfern occupied by the State's Counter Corruption Authority, one of the many organisations with which the NBCI was associated. He had been recruited after an interview in this building following his dismissal from the New South Wales police force. Peters, now sitting opposite him and exchanging observations with Burton, a senior NBCI functionary from Canberra, had done the recruiting. Dunlop never knew whether to feel gratitude or resentment. He enjoyed some aspects of the work—the intricacies of new identities and relocation, the travel, the personality clashes—but he disliked the too-frequent meetings and despised the overdeveloped bureaucracy.

'You say she is contrite?' Burton, a pale creature, seemed to regard Dunlop's still-fresh north Queensland tan with suspicion.

Dunlop was willing to play the fencing game a little longer. 'Very.'

Peters arranged three pencils on the table in a
triangle. 'The CCA are dithering. We've indicated to them that Mrs Belfante's evidence is . . . ah, suspect. One faction wishes to drop the case against Belfante and Frost, another holds that the physical evidence is sufficient to proceed.'

The meeting had been going on for almost an hour and Dunlop's head was spinning as the desk men simply restated the facts in different words, adding and subtracting emphases. He was an underling who hadn't carried out his tasks satisfactorily. Low man on the totem pole. Only there as a conduit of information, or so they would have him think. His patience gave out and he expressed it by snapping a pencil in half. That got their attention.

'They can't proceed,' he said. 'If it comes to the point, Ava will alibi Belfante and Frost. She'll admit they were with her and that she planted the evidence.'

'She might not be believed,' Peters murmured.

'You don't know Ava,' Dunlop said. 'She's impressive. A jury'd believe her.'

Burton poured a glass of water. 'And she'd do this in spite of the fact that her husband put out a contract on her?'

'There's no proof of that.'

Burton sipped. 'It's highly likely.'

'She's confused about a lot of things.'

Peters could not resist his impulse for tidiness. He reached across and collected the pieces of broken pencil, arranging them neatly. 'She faces perjury and public nuisance charges. A lot of money has been wasted on her.'

Burton nodded. The nod seemed to imply that much of the responsibility for the waste was
Dunlop's. 'She must be made to see that she is in an invidious situation.'

'She wouldn't understand what that means,' Dunlop said. 'I'm not sure that I do, either. I've listened for an hour. Can I say something?'

Neither Burton nor Peters spoke and Dunlop went on regardless. He said, 'Ava's willing to be a bait. She's willing to do that for having caused so much trouble for us.'

Peters snorted. 'In return for an indemnity against her own prosecution, you mean.'

Dunlop shrugged. 'The guy that went after her will come again. He
has
to. She saw him. When the word gets around that she can identify him, he tries again and we get him.'

'Escapadism,' Burton said. 'How does it profit us?'

'We catch him and he tells us who hired him—almost certainly Belfante and Frost, as you said. The go-between was probably Belfante's lawyer, Reuben. We net him, too.'

Burton shook his head but Peters leaned forward interestedly. 'Are you suggesting we mount this as an NBCI operation?'

'Why not?' Dunlop said.

'Because if it goes wrong,' Burton said, 'we are in the shit with the New South Wales authorities.'

'And if it goes right,' Dunlop insisted, 'we deliver them a neat package of bastards—two organised crime figures, a crooked lawyer and a hit man.'

'Point,' Peters said, looking at Burton. 'And we could use the prestige in these straitened times. The new administration in Canberra is in cost-cutting mode. You said so yourself.'

Burton's negative expression did not change. He
particularly disliked having his own statements used against him.

Dunlop took a tape recorder from his pocket, placed it on the table and pressed the
PLAY
button. Ava's tearful, distressed voice was loud in the quiet room:

'He knew I was lying about Vance.
'

'What?
'

'I said I didn't know who killed Rankin. I thought that was what he was on about. But it wasn't. He laughed He
knew
I was lying about the evidence . . .
'

'You see,' Dunlop said. 'He
knew
she was lying. How did he know? Maybe because
he
killed Rankin.'

'Ah,' Burton said. 'Yes, that does make quite a difference, Mr Dunlop.'

Peters smiled. 'Officially, she'll no longer be under our protection.'

Dunlop looked at Burton. 'Officially speaking, that's right.'

Burton sighed. 'I'm afraid this will have to be very unofficial, very unofficial indeed.'

'Good,' Dunlop said.

Peters said, 'Do I sense a degree of personal involvement, Lucas?'

'You do. He raped her brutally, sliced her up, probably enjoyed it. He's a professional killer. I'd like to put him out of business.'

'You're not a vigilante, remember,' Peters murmured. 'Not even a policeman any longer.'

'What am I?' Dunlop said.

Burton was tapping his papers into a pile, reaching for his briefcase. He looked at Peters. 'You'd better start talking to the CCA people. I'm afraid the
nil prosecutam
faction will have to prevail for the time being.'

'That will make me popular with some, unpopular with others,' Peters said. 'The story of my life.'

Burton clicked the locks on his briefcase. 'One of the problems, as I see it, is assigning people to this . . . affair. Mr Dunlop will participate, of course, but I'm reluctant to expand this circle of
cognoscenti
However, we will need two teams of three, including a woman.'

'I know someone,' Dunlop said.

Tate felt his luck had changed when he picked up the package in Newtown. Fifteen grand in used fifties and hundreds. Very satisfactory. The Rankin business concluded. Pressure exerted, response forthcoming. Military thinking. Another thirty due for Mrs Belfante, although the principals were only thinking of another ten at the moment. They'd have to pay in full when the job was done to
his
satisfaction. His sugar level returned to normal as he got back into his routines—diet, exercise, insulin and regular testing. He had his eyes checked and was told his vision was still excellent. No need for correction.

The money went into his safety deposit box with the rest of his savings. Tate, indifferent to politics, admired Paul Keating's style, his head-kicking attitude. However, he bitterly resented Keating's introduction of the tax file number system and the monitoring of large financial transactions, which had forced him to store cash and forgo interest. He wasn't surprised that Keating had got the top job; he recognised another ruthless achiever when he saw one. He was confident that he could make the cash
talk the right language in Tasmania when the time came.

The job now was to find the woman. He recognised that on the last occasion he had got lucky, that this would be harder. He put the baits out in the same way but, as he expected, got no bites. He found a public phone and rang Reuben, and enjoyed hearing the nervousness in the lawyer's voice.

'You'll be paid. We were just . . .'

'You were waiting on results,' Tate said. 'That wasn't part of the deal.'

'Yeah, well, the results are in, or almost.'

'Meaning?'

'You did a good job. It looks like she's retracting. That's the word I'm getting.'

'Good.' Tate gave Reuben details on how the money was to be paid and hung up. His luck definitely had changed. Everyone knew what happened when protected witnesses backed out. They ceased to be protected. Tate read through his material on Ava again, noting the addresses of the flat, Belfante's club, her usual haunts. He paid particular attention to one piece of information—the name and address of the female doctor Ava had gone to for years. One thing was for sure—the way he'd left her she was going to need some doctoring now and for some time to come. There was also the question of Dunlop. But, first things first. He'd come running once, maybe he would again.

'What d'you mean, soon?' Vance Belfante gave Grant Reuben what he thought of as his hard look—jaw firm, slight sneer, unblinking eyes. The lawyer
touched his hair knot, turned his signet ring three times. He was losing weight through worry. The ring turned more easily than it used to.

'I'm getting whispers, nothing solid,' he said. 'The word is that Ava's not going to roll over, then she's thinking about it, or she's changed her mind on something. I don't fucking know for sure. But I'm expecting to hear soon, something official. And when I do, you're out of here.'

'Thanks for nothing,' Belfante said. 'This place is getting to me. I'm not sleeping. I'm putting on weight. I think I'm getting an ulcer. I'm up to three packets a day.'

'I brought you some Camels.'

'I don't want fucking Camels. I want out! George is putting pressure on me. Jesus, it's coming from all directions. How're things at the club and the shops?'

Reuben knew things were bad—that custom had fallen off and the managers were skimming. He'd taken a few substantial percentages himself. He debated whether to increase the pressure on Belfante by giving him an edited version of the facts, or to keep him sweet. He opted to hold the information in reserve for use later, if need be. He wanted to get clear of Belfante and his problems, taking as many of his assets as possible with him when he went. There were ways to do it. Already a good chunk of the property was held by dummy companies more under his control than Belfante's.

'Everything's quiet,' he said. 'But okay for the time being. There's a couple of things you should know.'

Vance lit a Camel from the pack Reuben had put on the table. He coughed at the thick, unfiltered smoke and didn't get the sweet hit at the back of his
throat the way he used to. He squashed it out and lit a Winfield red. He was hooked on the habit now, on having one burning. 'Like what?' he said.

Reuben had told Vance nothing about the attack on Ava except that she hadn't been killed. Partly because it wasn't safe to go into details over the telephone, partly for other reasons on his private agenda. He judged that this was the time. 'Ava got cut up a bit. Nothing too serious. Not her face or anything.'

'So?'

Reuben watched Vance closely, wanting to read his state of mind in his responses to this information. 'He raped her, too.'

That got to him, Reuben thought. He watched Belfante's slack, uninterested face turn pale and the muscles tighten. 'He raped my wife?'

'Yes. I'm sorry.'

'He goes. When I get out of this, he goes. He fucking-well goes.'

Or you do
, Reuben thought.
Or both of you go and leave me in peace to make a quiet serious quid and enjoy life
. He wasn't made for all this cops and robbers stuff, didn't get off on it. He reached across the table, slapped Belfante on the shoulder and gave him the big professional grin, the
LA Law
look. 'Don't worry, mate,' he said. 'Everything's going to be all right.'

'When?' Vance said.

'Soon.'

13

'W
ant to do it?' Ann Torrielli said. 'Luke, of course I want to do it. I can get leave and come down . . . When?'

Dunlop sat in his house in Marrickville. Rain was streaking the window, making tracks in the dust accumulated through a dry winter. He wanted to be back in North Queensland with Ann, walking along a beach. Bringing her down to Sydney, wet in the spring, was the next best thing. 'Great,' he said. 'There's one thing. He might have seen you. That could be a problem.'

'I can go blonde. Makes a hell of difference. I did it once.'

'Okay,' Dunlop said.

'You don't sound so sure all of a sudden.'

'I'm being bloody selfish. This is dangerous.'

'I
want
to do it. I'm selfish, too. It's so bloody dull up here. And I miss you.'

'Me, too.'

'How is she? Ava.'

'Getting cabin fever, she says. She's looking forward to swanning around again. When you know your flight, leave a message on the answering machine. I'll pick you up.'

'I hope you like blondes.'

'I like
you
,' Dunlop said.

The plan, painfully arrived at by Peters, selected high-level representatives of the CCA and Dunlop, was for the charges against Belfante and Frost to be reduced to conspiracy to commit murder and both men were to be bailed. Warrants had been secured to permit extensive phone taps, mail interceptions and other forms of surveillance covering Belfante, Frost and Grant Reuben. As far as the surveillance teams and monitors were concerned, the object was to secure further and stronger evidence connecting Belfante and Frost to the killing of David Rankin. The telephone in the house Ava was to occupy in Paddington was to be bugged, otherwise Ava's safety was the concern of Dunlop, a CCA officer named Roy Waterford, Ann Torrielli and a three-man CCA backup team.