On Cringila Hill (23 page)

Chapter Thirty

‘The procedure has been brought forward,' Gordon says. ‘It will be next Friday. I'll go in on Thursday night.'

‘Today's Tuesday.'

‘There's another thing.'

‘Another thing.' May has turned away. She stops, then, and in a while turns and frowns at Gordon.

‘Yes. I have to see Michael Laecey. I'll ring him now and tell him I'm coming. There's something I have to do and I find that I can't do it without having told him. If I don't move on this now I don't know when it will happen. I have to write a thing for Edna, while I have her. I can be sure she'll read it. Someone else might not. I'm running out of time.'

‘So, what, you'll ring Michael?'

‘Yes.'

‘And then will David take you?'

‘I can't do that, May. What I'm going to do is most irregular. In fact it might be illegal.'

‘You. Illegal.'

‘There's never ever just one motive, May.'

‘Oh, well,' she sighs. ‘I'll have to take you. What's the alternative? A taxi fare?'

Gordon shaves with care, puts on a suit and a tie. His preparations take a long time. They drive all the way to the Jamberoo Mountain Pass in silence.

Michael Laecey comes out to greet them, notes Gordon's slow, painful shuffle, exchanges cheek kisses with May. Neither he nor Gordon extend a hand for shaking.

‘It seems that your husband and I are to discuss a matter of great weight,' Michael says to May. ‘I assume he'll want privacy. We'll sit over there.
Your place is in the sunroom where it's deliciously warm. The tea things are set on the table. I have only to reboil water and pour it over the leaves in the pot and your morning tea is available for you. There are some rather lovely little biscuits on a stand, they have little raisins in them and a coffee-flavoured icing. Delicious!' He smiles his usual, confident smile. ‘Be sure of this, I'd rather be in there with you, munching biscuits and gossiping, than be over there with your rather grim-looking husband.'

‘Thank you, Michael. I'm sure it will all be lovely.'

The two go into the house, chatting happily. The Terrier approaches Gordon, sniffs a leg of his trousers, snuffles and sits, watching the detective. Gordon makes his way across the spongy lawn, seats himself, props his cane under the palms of both of his hands. The dog trots after him, settles itself next to the chair that Michael will occupy. Cold from the earth chills Gordon's feet. Through a window, he can see May settle at a small table. He sees how relaxed she looks, how happy. Gordon looks at the neat manicuring of the lawn and garden beds, the crush of the nearby forest, relishes this moment knowing he'll never be back.

Michael Laecey crosses the dewy lawns. He rubs his hands together in the brisk morning air, settles himself in the chair.

‘Detective Sergeant O'Shea was on the telephone,' Michael says and smiles, ‘immediately after your call. He was wanting to chat. Well, wanting to boast, actually, I'd say. Have you noticed that, where you've worked with people, perhaps been a little jealous of them, you retain a need to tell them of your success? It seems that O'Shea sees himself at the brink of a
major
success.'

‘Does he?'

‘It's the Abdul Hijazi matter. This will interest you. O'Shea's been given information of a boy of interest. After twenty-four hours of surveillance they have already had a breakthrough as to the names of the men who may have organised the kill.'

‘Where did they get the tip?'

‘It came from down here, apparently. There's a hero of the hour. Peter Grace sent information up.'

‘Peter Grace?'

‘Yes. He's been wonderfully modest, I'm told, about all of this out-of-hours sleuthing he's done, but he's given them enough to identify a young man who's then, inadvertently, given them lots more. Matters going beyond the original crime, drug matters, possible next moves of a criminal. There's to be a task force. O'Shea predicts there'll be major kudos all around, including Peter. Which is fascinating because he himself was in touch with me recently, dejected and all cast down. He was under pressure to avoid charges. Now he's the hero of the hour. Seems young Abdul's death was quite a boon to Peter Grace.'

‘Anything on the man who pulled the trigger?'

‘They don't have that and they are not very confident about getting much. The theory is that this was a fly-in fly-out from somewhere in Europe or Asia, organised through intermediaries. They suspect he would have no idea who Abdul was, why he was killed, who employed him. He was at two or three removes from the planning.'

‘O'Shea know anything about Edna?'

‘He has an opinion. Those who claim to know about these things say that there'll be no charges, but her image is sufficiently damaged that she'll be moved up to head office in Sydney. And, do you know, it may well suit her. In years to come she may look back and think, “Well, that's where my
big
breakthrough started.” Sometimes a lot of time has to pass before you can tell whether something was the worst thing that could have happened, or the best thing.'

‘If you're right about Edna, perhaps we're going to be able to mark another major success resulting from the death of poor old Abdul.'

‘Well.' Michael smiles. ‘Perhaps.'

Gordon draws a deep breath. ‘Michael,' he says, ‘I'm going to do something.'

‘I see.'

‘And I should just do it without telling you, but I find that I can't.'

‘Ah.'

‘I'm going to write a report and give it to Edna before she leaves. I'm going to make some recommendations that she put some resources together to investigate a death, one from quite a while ago.'

Michael now has a small smile. He watches Gordon carefully. ‘And I take it that this has something to do with me?'

‘It has to do with a death that you investigated. Were
supposed
to investigate. I read a file last Saturday.'

‘A file.'

‘A missing persons file. The man involved was a Tonio Rodriguez.'

Michael's eyebrows rise. ‘
That
file is still alive! I'd have thought it would have been closed down years ago.'

‘The person who had the task to re-read it, twice, was Peter Grace. He's twice initiated a new investigation but he's refused to close it down.'

‘And why has that been his position?'

‘I'd be guessing.'

‘And what do you guess?'

‘He's thought the matter stinks. And he hasn't been prepared to call the whole thing into question, but he also wouldn't condone the conclusion reached.'

‘And what conclusion have
you
reached?'

‘That Tonio Rodriguez was murdered.'

‘We have a body? A confession? Witnesses?'

‘No. Local gossip, now very, very old. The attitude of the son of Rodriguez. And this – the version accepted made no sense. A man has gone to Queensland. No drunken telephone calls home when he's lonely. No birthday letters to his son. No income tax returns, arrests, social security registrations. The obvious thing to do was to investigate – where did he drink? When was he last seen there? Who else was in the bar at that time? What were the circumstances of his leaving? Who went with him?
You
were the investigating officer. None of those things, those basic things, was done. And I can only think of one reason for that.'

Michael smiles at Gordon, but the smile is just around the mouth, not around the eyes. ‘You give me a motive. Why did I not perform those basic tasks? Why was I so inefficient?'

‘Because you believed what I believe – that Lupce Valeski killed his son-in-law. And knowing the nature of life on Cringila Hill, you thought that, in Lupce's circumstance, you probably would have done the same thing. So you decided enough harm had been done, and the best way forward was to shut the whole matter down, and let the people involved sort it out.'

‘You think I was a poor policeman?'

‘No. You were always a very superior policeman, that's never been an issue for me. But I believe you were an accessory after the fact of murder.'

Gordon looks towards the house through the sunroom
window, to May, who is watching them. She is holding a saucer in one hand. Gordon watches her as she lifts a cup to her lips.

‘Gordon, you do understand that there comes a time when people cross a bridge, stand on the other side of a torrent, and look back and see that the bridge has collapsed and there's no going back to how things were before.'

‘Yes, I do understand that.'

With a stab of emotion Gordon remembers how fond he has been of his friend. Michael is smiling and frowning at the same time, an expression Gordon has seen before.

‘Of course, I won't attempt to influence you out of self-interest.'

‘I know that. You're too proud to do such a thing.'

‘Thank you – well, I
think
that was a compliment. In any case … let me play Devil's advocate for a minute. You have confronted me with this accusation knowing of where it leaves a friendship that I, for one, have valued. Do I take it that you're here to arrest me?'

‘You know perfectly well that I don't have the power to do that. You know as well as anyone how the system works. I make a case to a superior. If sufficient weight is given to what I've written resources are allocated. If they make a case the thing might go to The Department of Public Prosecutions, who'd need to be satisfied of the possibility of a conviction on the basis of what was provided. That's the system. Beautiful system. I'm proud to be a part of it.'

‘And what chance, do you think, is there that that process will be gone through and something might come of this … gesture of yours?'

‘That's the point, Michael. The outcome is not for me to decide. I've got my place in it all. Just as you had your place.'

‘
Gordon!
' Michael says, and he says it quietly, but with intensity. For a moment Gordon realises that he is looking into the eyes of a very dangerous man.

‘So,' Gordon says, ‘you did what you did. I intend to do what
my responsibilities dictate.'

‘You do understand that the first thing you have to establish is that your Mr Rodriguez actually is
dead
. Not comfortably at home in Portugal somewhere, using an assumed name, drinking his fill of cheap wine every night and happily beating his wife and children. The DPP would need to be satisfied
that
could be established to convince a jury beyond a reasonable doubt.
Then
that he was murdered.
Then
you need to establish that I
knew
he'd been murdered, and prevented investigation. Gordon, I'm very fond of you. I'm deeply fond of your family. Truly, all I can see of this quixotic gesture is deep personal conflict, which will cost you considerable professional embarrassment. I do hope that you'll think very, very deeply before continuing. I have nothing to fear. I have nothing to lose. But I suspect that you may have a very great
deal
to lose. I do very, very strongly urge you to think deeply.'

‘You're saying to me things I've said to myself. I lie awake at night and think this over. And this is where I get to: Tonio Rodriguez was murdered. A man called Lupce Valeski said to me, “Who says there was a murder?” I've tried not to know it, but that hasn't worked for me. I've spent a few days on Cringila Hill all these years later and I know there was a murder. You are a far better detective than I would ever imagine I could be. If I know it, so did you.'

‘Well, I'd have to say that the way you describe my position sounds pretty reasonable.'

‘But a man was
killed
. I'm in agreement with his son – he was not, probably, much of a man. But our system says he is worthy of the same concern as anybody else. We play our part in the process. If we set ourselves up as …' Gordon tries to reject the word that comes to him but eventually can't find a replacement, and goes with it, ‘… God, then society won't work.'

‘What? It works now, does it? Let's, for the sake of discussion, believe your basic hypothesis: who would have been better off if your Mr Valeski had been prosecuted and gone to jail? The little boy who'd have lost the financial support and guidance of his grandfather? The community, the disadvantaged, worthy, underprivileged community who'd have lost the support provided by a pretty effective leader? The widow who at least then would have not to experience a life of degradation and fear? Mr Rodriguez, who, may I point out, was dead, and somewhat beyond caring what was done on his behalf? Who's to say that what we've got isn't the best available outcome from a very disturbing situation?'
Michael leans back in his chair, his knees comfortably crossed, his folded hands on a thigh. ‘Anyway, you've made your decision, I take it?'

‘I'm going to do what I've got to do.'

‘Very well. Now we'd best let your wife get back to the demands of her day. I'll give you this undertaking: I'll mention this conversation to no one. Good luck, Gordon. Not just with this, with everything. Best wishes for the rest of your life. I've been very, very fond of you.'

May is waiting for them at the car. Michael gives her a cheery smile, reaches out a hand, squeezes the one she offers him in return.

‘Now, May,' he says. ‘Remember this – you are always welcome here. Always, whatever transpires. Never forget that. I will always get a start of joy in my heart if ever you ring to say you're coming.'