Crucifixion Creek (17 page)

‘Well, let's start with Crucifixion Creek. I think you once indicated to me that
you were convinced something was going on there, Ms Pool? Is that right?'

‘Yes. I tried to get you interested and you didn't want to know. You referred me
to your media unit.'

‘So tell us now.'

‘Well, I think it's a lot bigger than the Crows. I think—'

But Bernie raises his hand. ‘Just a moment, Kelly. I can assure you that we have
no firm evidence of any criminal matters that we could pass on to you. We have suspicions,
but we're in a different position to you. We don't need proof of wrongdoing to raise
issues of public concern. We ask questions, that's all.'

‘Bullshit!' Deb bursts out. ‘You stated as a fact that methamphetamine was found
in the raid on the Crow clubhouse. That wasn't a question, it was a fact, and one
that wasn't in the public domain. By releasing that information you undermined our
enquiries. You did it again by releasing information about Kristich's computer.'

‘Ah yes,' Bernie sighs, but still with that twinkle in his eye, ‘I fear that the
court is annoyed with us about that. The matter was sub judice. We may have to pay—'

‘I'll make you pay big time, if you don't tell me how you came by that information.'

‘Oh now, inspector, please. There's no question of us revealing our sources, you
know that.'

‘I can make a case that you have materially obstructed a homicide investigation.
I can have you both arrested.'

Bernie sits back with the sort of benign smile worn in religious paintings by Christian
martyrs being flayed by barbarians. ‘You
may do your worst, inspector. The people
will decide on the justice of the matter.'

Harry tries again. ‘We're seeking your cooperation, Mr Westergard. You have seriously
pissed off the whole of the New South Wales police force and exposed yourself to
possible prosecution. A bit of cooperation would be timely for both of us.'

Bernie adopts a more serious expression. ‘Look, as far as the computer business is
concerned, let's just say that we have legal friends who are always on the look-out
for Nathaniel Horn's spoiling tactics. As for the meth, well, what else do outlaw
motorcycle gangs do? And there were the rumours, right, Kelly?'

‘Yes. People living in Mortimer Street complained of strange smells coming from the
clubhouse. Then the raid. We put two and two together.'

‘And what about your next revelations? Is there anything you'd like to share with
us?'

‘Well, we have an abiding interest in corruption. It is the poison that eats away
at our democracy from the inside.'

‘From your next editorial?' Harry says.

Bernie chuckles. ‘We believe there may be some kind of property scam going on in
our neck of the woods, centred on the Creek. One of our elected representatives,
Councillor Potgeiter, has been doing some odd things lately. We're hoping to prod
him into showing his hand.'

Potgeiter
, Harry thinks,
Pot, Pol Pot, Pol
—could that be it?

‘Nothing to do with Kristich, then?'

‘Oh, I didn't say that. We think he may have been involved in whatever's going on.
But we don't envisage any more murders, if that's what's bothering you.'

When they are gone, Kelly settles down to work on her fourth day of revelations.
For her it is the most important episode, but also the riskiest and most speculative.
It is The Great Creek Conspiracy, the
bee in her bonnet that has been buzzing around
ever since the siege and her first conversation with Phoebe Bulwer-Knight. The picture
of the ‘three kings' clinched it for her, and yet it is proof of nothing, and she
knows how dangerous bees in bonnets can be. All she can really do is raise questions.
Why was Kristich acquiring properties in the Creek? Why are properties in the Creek
being firebombed and evacuated? Could it be connected to the proposed new southwest
underground rail line? Everyone knows it will create a property bonanza wherever
the stations are located, but the announcement on the route has been delayed again
and again. The Kristich files might provide answers, but they are still in legal
limbo. So she has no proof of anything, only speculation, and a cast of characters,
which the three kings photograph has confirmed: the financial shark (Kristich), the
state government minister (Oldfield) and the property developer (Mansur), backed
up by a chorus of venal supporters, the local council (Potgeiter), the enforcers
(Crows), and, just possibly, the bent cops (Strike Force Gemini).

She spends the day trying to find something tangible. A tip-off from a member of
the public sends her down to Rose Bay where Mansur's yacht
Rashida
is moored. She
hires a small boat and goes out to it, but a crew member who appears to speak little
English tells her that no one else is on board. She goes on to Ozdevco Properties'
registered offices, but is refused entry. It's the same everywhere she tries. Everyone,
from Oldfield to Potgeiter, is unable or unwilling to speak to her.

In the end she makes what she can of the material she has, backed up by plans from
the Department of Infrastructure and Planning and other public documents. She shows
it to Bernie Westergard, who is uneasy. But there is a momentum now that they cannot
afford to lose. New advertisers have been pouring in and they are doubling the size
of the paper. He fiddles with this and that, changing the headline then changing
it back again, and finally agrees to let it go.

It is almost midnight when Kelly leaves the office. She is exhausted and calls a
cab, which drops her in the street outside her building. There is a light on in the
Greek couple's window on the second floor, but her own flat is in darkness. She puts
her key in the door and calls out ‘Hello' as she steps inside. There is no reply,
and she feels for the light switch. She sighs, glad to be back, looking forward to
bed, and drops her bag, pulls off her coat and steps into the living room. And stops.
Everything—the TV, the table, the paintings, the sofa and chairs—everything is smashed
and ripped and trashed and heaped in a ruined pile.

‘Jesus,' she whispers. ‘What happened?'

She turns towards the kitchenette and dining space and it's the same thing, smashed
crockery and appliances plastered with tomato sauce and milk and muesli and all the
other contents of the cupboards and the fridge, which lies gutted on its side.

‘Wendy!' she cries. ‘Wendy!'

She runs to Wendy's room, having trouble forcing the door open against the debris
inside, and there she sees her flatmate's bleeding legs extending from beneath the
broken bed frame.

She stumbles back to her bag and pulls out a phone and rings triple-O, calling for
an ambulance and police, then runs back to Wendy and tries to lift the bed off her.
It's impossible, an impossible weight, but she finally manages to heave it upright
against the wall, and turns back to look, and gives a loud wail as she sees what
they've done to her friend.

21

From a glimpse of window at the far end of the corridor she realises that it is light
outside. In here it is a timeless bright electric dazzle. Through the glass screen
she can see the swaddled figure of Wendy, still as a corpse on the intensive care
bed. She has been stabilised, the damage recorded, the coma monitored. They beat
her savagely, she has been told, probably with baseball bats. There are many shattered
bones and skull fractures. The doctors are concerned about swelling and permanent
damage to the brain.

The police officers who called at the hospital were routinely sympathetic and comforting
until she told them about Strike Force Gemini, the Crows and her work. Then they
became cautious and stepped away to make phone calls. ‘They were after
me
,' Kelly
tells them. ‘They made a stupid mistake.'

She gets to her feet, weary and aching from sitting there, and goes out to find a
coffee. At the shop they have the morning papers, the
Bankstown Chronicle
among them.
She picks it up, feeling sick with shame at the sight of her lead article. How glib,
how easy to write clever words. How remote and pathetic they are compared
to the
violent reality of the world they describe. It's her fault that Wendy is in here,
close to death. She imagines once again her terror, and throws the paper into the
bin.

Towards noon Bernie calls to find out where she is. He is shocked to hear what has
happened and says he'll come to the hospital, but she says no, Wendy's parents will
be here soon and then she'll leave and try to get some sleep. Bernie is concerned,
but she can hear something else in his voice too, a note of triumph. ‘Have you been
following the reports, Kelly?' he asks. She says no.

‘Well, I have to say the first reactions to the paper this morning were disappointing.
People were a bit dubious, starting to say we'd gone out on a limb, and then Oldfield
stands up in the house to answer questions on his conduct as police minister, and
he has to come clean that the Kristich records aren't going to be released to the
police after all. The hard drive is “digitally compromised”—that was the phrase he
used. Big uproar, people shouting across the floor that he's the one digitally compromised
and he has to resign. Then he says he'll be taking legal advice on recent scurrilous
reports in the press, but in the meantime he's spoken with the premier and agreed
to stand down as police minister.'

Bernie has forgotten about sounding concerned, and is getting excited. ‘I tell you,
Kelly, this is a big win for us. And now they've really done it. Attacking you in
your own home! I'll make sure the media all know about it. You'll get the evening
news, no worries.'

‘Jesus Bernie, Wendy's in a fucking
coma
. I don't want to talk to bloody Channel
9 news.'

‘Oh. Yeah, okay, I'll speak to them myself, shall I? Sorry, Kelly. It must be very
upsetting for you. You got anyone there with you? A friend?'

‘I just want some time to think about this, Bernie.'

‘Sure, sure. And your flat was ruined, was it? You'll need somewhere to stay. The
paper will pay, Kelly. Anywhere, the Hilton, the Sheraton, wherever you like.'

‘Thanks.'

‘You sound very tired. Go and get some rest.'

He hangs up and she heads for the lobby. As she approaches the doors she sees Harry
Belltree coming through.

‘Kelly!' He takes hold of her arm and moves them out of the way of the throng passing
in and out. ‘You're okay?'

It touches her that he seems really concerned. ‘I am, but my flatmate's nearly dead.'

‘I've only just heard. She going to be all right?'

‘They don't know.'

‘Hell. I looked in on your flat on the way. Looks like a Crow special.'

‘What, not your lot? Your Inspector Velasco seemed ready to smash a few chairs yesterday.'

‘No, Kelly. No, no.'

Was there a trace of doubt in his frown? ‘Anyway,' she says, ‘I'm done.'

‘Can I give you a lift?'

‘You don't want to be seen with me, Harry. You'll be compromised. And I just want
to be alone.'

When he gets back to the office he finds that another team meeting has been called.
Deb is in conference with Marshall, and when they emerge she looks sombre, Marshall
grim and dyspeptic. ‘Gentlemen,' he begins, then corrects himself quickly, ‘
Ladies
and gentlemen, I am instructed to stand down Strike Force Gemini.'

There is a murmur of surprise and unease. He ploughs on.

‘Inspector Velasco will draw up a final report for the coroner concerning the deaths
of Kristich and Lavulo, concluding that they killed each other with no other persons
involved. A full investigation of Kristich's financial dealings will be carried
out by the fraud squad. The gangs squad will take over all matters relating to the
Crow motorcycle gang. Any matters of possible corruption relating
to the activities
of Kristich and the Crows will be referred to the Independent Commission Against
Corruption. You will complete all reports and other paperwork and return to your
former duties. That is all.'

He wheels about and marches off, and a grumble of discussion breaks out across the
room. Deb gestures to Harry.

‘You can help me write the coroner's report,' she says, stiff with anger and hurt
pride.

‘I guess he's just doing what he's told,' he says.

‘It's a bloody mess. It's my first time to lead a strike force and it falls apart
in my hands.'

‘Not your fault. You just have to roll with the punches.'

‘Don't give me your bloody platitudes, Harry,' she snaps. ‘You're not going to come
out of this unscathed either. Come and see me in an hour with your notes and records.'

They work through the report for an hour, then Harry says, ‘You know about the attack
on Kelly Pool's flat last night?'

‘I heard.'

‘I went to the hospital this morning.'

‘Good of you.'

‘Her flatmate was beaten half to death.'

‘Yes, that's terrible, but there must have been quite a few people wanted to do that
to Kelly.' She snorts a laugh. ‘Me included. I was going on about her last night
to Damian, and he offered to go out there and do it himself.'

Harry stares at her, shocked. ‘And did he?'

‘What? No, of course not. It was a nice thought, though, that he'd kill someone for
me. It's his sensitive side. You're touchy about her, aren't you Harry?'

He just shakes his head, looking down at the pages in front of him without focusing.

‘Who's handling it?' Deb asks.