Bad Seed (39 page)

David Mundine was under observation and armed guard in Margaret River hospital and would be transferred back to Perth at the earliest opportunity. His ear had taken the brunt of the blow and that may have helped avert catastrophic brain damage, but the hot poker had left an ugly mushy wound badly in need of plastic surgery. From the little Cato had gleaned from Hutchens during the ambulance ride to the airstrip, Major Crime would hopefully be enjoying a conversation with Mundine about the remains in John Forrest National Park.

TRG Dave and his crew had already been summoned back to Perth for another crisis and the plane would be leaving the airstrip in half an hour if Cato wanted a lift. He did, although a few days holiday in Augusta seemed very appealing right now. The river had a hypnotic, calming quality and the air was clean and crisp. The dolphin pod surfaced again and the baby did a little leap. For no good reason, it seemed, except that maybe it was just good to be alive.

After landing at Jandakot, Cato was dropped off at home. He caught up on sleep for the rest of the morning, surfacing around 1 p.m. There were some missed calls on his phone: Deb Hassan, Chris Thornton, Rory Driscoll, and Jane. He spooned some bircher muesli into a bowl, added milk and called Jane.

‘Jake broke his grounding.'

‘How?'

‘He went to Stef's house after school yesterday. Didn't get home until nearly seven.'

‘What did you say to him?'

‘I asked him his reasons. He gave none. I said I'd be talking to you.'

‘What did he say about that?'

‘Nothing. Shrugs. Who cares. That kind of stuff.'

‘So we extend the grounding and withdraw more privileges.'

‘Like?'

‘I don't know. Guitar lessons? Weekend basketball? Take them away from him.'

‘The only positive things he does with his spare time. Is that a good idea?'

‘Good point.' Cato didn't have any magic solutions, neither did Jane. ‘How about two weeks added on to the grounding and I'll talk to him again over the weekend.'

‘What about?'

‘Dunno. I'll try to find out what he values in life so I can snatch it away from him.'

Jane laughed. ‘Don't forget it's Father's Day next week. You might
want to be careful or you won't get any new socks.'

They signed off. He finished his muesli, downed a coffee, and caught the CAT bus into work. He didn't need parking hassles or anything else challenging today. He intended to tread water for the afternoon and have an early night tonight.

At the office his first port of call was DI Spittle to update him on the events of the last twenty-four hours.

‘You made the right decision, even if the TRG weren't needed in the end.' Spittle spun his chair away from his laptop to give full attention. ‘Is Mick okay?'

‘They seem pretty confident he will be. His father-in-law's a different matter. His guts got pretty messed up by the bullet apparently. We'll know soon enough.'

‘How about you?'

‘Tired. Got a couple of hours this morning.'

‘Everything's pretty much under control here. Usual stuff overnight plus a cabbie got robbed and bashed. Tamil bloke, he'd just finished a twelve-hour shift. But we've got the likely culprits on cab-cam and we're picking them up this arvo.'

‘How bad is he?'

‘The driver? In hospital, may lose an eye. That's what you get for working hard and trying to provide for your family. The ones who did it have a history, white trash scumbags from way back.'

‘Judging by the polls, their day is at hand, apparently.'

Spittle smiled grimly. ‘That's politics, son. None of my business.'

They parted ways and got on with their respective days. Chris Thornton was hovering by Cato's desk. Yes, said Cato, the boss is going to be okay. And me too. Thornton was glad to hear it. He had more good news.

‘Lisa Gangemi is alive and well and living in Sydney.'

‘How did you find her?'

‘She found us. She phoned in after she heard from family that we were looking for her.'

Lisa Gangemi was petrified of David Mundine and had kept
moving and changing her identity even though, as far as could be ascertained from his travel movements, he hadn't tried very hard to find her. But she badly missed her home and family and had ABC WA news bookmarked on her computer. That morning's report of Mundine's arrest was the best news she'd had in years.

‘Anything else new?' said Cato.

‘Guido Caletti would like a word.'

‘Urgent?'

‘At your convenience.'

Cato took that as a no.

‘And there was a call this morning.' Thornton waved his pen at a post-it note on Cato's computer. ‘Left a number and a name but didn't say what it was about.'

Cato peered at the note. Driscoll.

He tried the number but it rang out. Rory was probably out on the assault course yomping it with the SAS. Cato made himself a coffee, sat down at his desk and logged on: circulars, statistics, budgets, timesheets, training courses. He'd been a sergeant before, a long time ago, and didn't recall the job being quite this bureaucratic. He deleted as much of it as he could. He returned Caletti's call and they agreed that Guido would do the commute to Fremantle this arvo, the coffees were on him.

‘So what's it about?' Cato wanted to know.

‘Chinese whispers,' said Caletti, with a gravelly chuckle.

That reminded Cato. He needed to call in and see his dad sometime today.

Cato was beginning to feel antsy. The serenity he felt overlooking the Blackwood that morning had evaporated. Maybe that had all just been relief at a not too bloody end to the siege. He'd returned to a diminished workload: Mundine was in custody, the Tan murders had been archived on DI Pavlou's instructions, and the daily caseload had been delegated away courtesy of DI Spittle. He had what he'd been hoping for, the opportunity to tread water for the afternoon and get an early night. He should have known he was kidding himself. He needed purpose.

The Tan case had been put to bed but he needed to wake it up and give it a good shake. For Francis. For Genevieve. For those kids. And for Lara too. He went into the database and extracted the files he needed onto a thumb drive. He did likewise with the information on Suzhou Dragon and Wongan Enterprises, Yu's and O'Neill's business entities. For the sake of spin and expediency, some of those ill-fitting pieces in the Tan jigsaw had been hammered into place and any remaining gaps ignored. The result was Mona Lisa in the hands of Picasso. Cato intended to take it all apart and put it back together again. Maybe he would make an enemy of Pavlou and she would be a powerful, vengeful person to cross. But it was purposeful. He was beginning to feel good again.

Cato met Guido Caletti at Gino's on the Cappuccino Strip later that afternoon. The minders were nowhere in sight and he'd toned down his ‘gangsta' wardrobe to blend in with the South Terrace crowd. Maybe the Northbridge underworld identity thing was all just for show. Was this genial middle-aged man the real Guido? They shook hands and there was little of the handgrip gameplay in evidence. The smile seemed genuine. What was going on?

‘I heard about what happened to Officer Sumich. Terrible thing, a real shame.'

‘Yes,' said Cato. ‘It was.' Guido had secured a table under the pergola and out of the wind. Cato's flat white was waiting for him. He removed the saucer lid which had been holding the heat in. Took a sip. Perfect.

‘And that stuff overnight, down south. Was that you?'

Cato nodded. ‘You wanted to tell me something?'

Guido leaned forward, lowering his voice, taking Cato into his confidence. ‘I was talking to Matthew Tan yesterday.'

‘Yeah?'

‘We've sorted out a new repayment schedule on the loans. All sweet.'

‘Glad to hear it.'

‘He's been through a lot, I didn't want to add to his burden.'

‘That must have set his mind at ease. So Lily's cocaine debts are in hand?'

‘You don't like me, do you?'

‘Should I?'

‘No.' Caletti shook his head. ‘I don't need you to. But you should know that her habit is not my doing. I don't know or care where she gets her shit from. Matthew's debts weren't for drugs, they were to cover his lifestyle. Champagne tastes, a winding back of parental support, and the little prick too lazy and useless to get a job. People like him are the backbone of my business.'

‘So why are we here?'

‘Matthew told me that the case has now been closed. You know who did his family. This Yu bloke. Dead now. That right?'

‘That's right.'

‘And Tommy Li is out of the frame?'

‘We have no evidence to keep him in it.'

Caletti took a sip of his coffee. ‘What did you think of Shanghai?'

‘Big. Busy. Murders and beatings aside, a nice place to visit. Not sure I could live there.'

‘Yeah, same with me. I was there a couple of years back. Couldn't wait to get out.'

‘Was that when you and Li were still friends?'

Guido sniffed. ‘Ever meet that daughter of his? Tasty, if you like a good back scratch.'

Guido and Phoebe. The mind boggled. ‘Was that why you and Li fell out? Fingers in the till?'

A rueful smile. ‘Partly. I'd like to be able to say she was worth it but she was a bit like you say about Shanghai. Nice to visit but you wouldn't want to hang around.'

‘And that's what you wanted to tell me?'

Guido shook his head. ‘Phoebe had someone else on the scene. Possessive, jealous type, he came to warn me off in my hotel the next day. He played the part well.'

‘Yu Guangming?'

‘That's right.' He grinned. ‘How'd you guess?' He lifted his eyes to
someone standing behind Cato. ‘Can I help you, mate?'

It was Driscoll. He stuck out a hand. ‘Rory.'

‘Guido.'

‘Have we met before? You seem familiar.'

‘Always possible,' Guido smiled. ‘I get around.' He made his excuses and left, but not so quickly that it looked personal.

‘Is this a coincidence?' said Cato.

‘I'm tracking your phone.' Driscoll winked. ‘I know exactly where you are at all times.'

Cato's face darkened.

‘Joke,' said Driscoll. ‘I phoned your office. They told me.' He gestured at Cato's empty cup. ‘Another?'

The answer was yes. Driscoll went to the counter to order while Cato thought about the pairing of Yu Guangming and Phoebe Li. Did Daddy know anything about his darling daughter having it away with his, his what? Rival, business associate as needs be, occasional ally. Here again was the complex and shifting world of guanxi, connections. Maybe it was an arranged pairing to shore up alliances. Or maybe Phoebe was not as filial as she presented. So was Guido suggesting that Phoebe might have something to do with the Tan murders, independent of her father?

Driscoll returned with two coffees and a plate of Florentines. ‘It's that time of day. Sugar hit or nanna nap, it could go either way.'