Blood at Yellow Water (28 page)

Gertrude had a small office in the north
side of the city. She welcomed him and asked if he wanted tea or
coffee. He requested tea and she invited him to take a seat in the
office. She was a big cheerful woman in her middle fifties and
after chatting to her about Barry’s case, Bill sensed that she was
a professional who would take no nonsense from anyone. She advised
him that she had made some enquiries about Shoni’s detention and
had arranged an appointment to see the Officer-in-Charge of the
Police Remand Centre at noon. Bill said he would meet her then at
the Police Remand Centre. He left a message on Jake’s phone
bringing him up to date. He wandered around the city centre killing
time for an hour, bought a local newspaper and sat in a coffee shop
until it was time to go to the Remand Centre.

Bill waited outside the Remand Centre till
he saw the familiar bulk of Gertrude arrive and they walked into
the Centre together. The Officer-in-Charge was expecting them and
told them to sit in his office. He excused himself, left the room
and returned a few minutes later with Shoni.

Shoni rushed over to see Bill. Tears were
rolling down her cheeks as she hugged him.

The officer said to Gertrude. “She’s free to
go. You must have friends in high places. Sam Popolo, the Assistant
Commissioner, rang me half an hour ago to say that her arrest was a
mistake and no charges would be laid.”

Relief flooded over Shoni’s body when she
heard the officer’s words. He handed over her handbag and passport
which had been confiscated when she had been locked up. She signed
some release documents and walked out of the office hanging onto
Bill’s arm as if she would never let go. Gertrude drove them back
to her office and served them tea and coffee. Bill rang Jake, said
a few words and passed the phone over to Shoni.

Shoni sobbed into the phone. “Jake, it’s so
good to hear your voice. The police have released me. I’m so glad
to be out of that awful place.”

“Shoni, I was so worried about you. Are you
safe now?”

“Yes, I’m free to go. Oh, Jake, it was
terrible. I miss you so much. “

“What happened to you Shoni?”

“These two men came to the hotel and just
said I was under arrest and they were taking me to Darwin. They
wouldn’t even let me pack my things. All I could take with me was
my handbag and passport.”

“Listen, Shoni. You’ve been through an
ordeal. The best thing is to fly back to Japan as soon as you can.
I will meet you there in a few days’ time.”

“O.K. Jake, I just want to get out of this
place.”

“I’ll fix it for you Shoni. Can you pass the
phone back to Bill.”

Bill came onto the phone. “Bill, there’s a
Qantas flight from Darwin to Tokyo going out tonight at 10 p.m. Can
you arrange for Shoni to be on it? I’ll book the flight and she can
pick up the ticket at the airport.”

“No problem Jake. I’ll drive her out there
in my truck. I’ve got her luggage in the back.”

“I’m indebted to you Dad. Could you let me
know once she has flown out?”

“Will do, don’t worry son. I’ll make sure
she’s on the flight.” Bill disconnected the phone.

*

FRIDAY - CANBERRA

Percy Usifail was having trouble staying awake. He’d
been sitting on a park bench with his camera on his knee for four
hours watching people coming and going into the post box area at
the Manuka Post Office. He had picked a location where he had a
good view of the foot traffic going into the area but wouldn’t be
noticed himself. So far he hadn’t recognised anyone and was
beginning to think that Helen Kwang had sent him on a wild goose
chase. It was now getting dark and, although the area was well lit,
it was becoming more difficult to recognise faces.

Suddenly, a large black Holden Commodore
pulled up outside the post office and Percy noticed the car had
government registration plates. A large ruddy-faced man got out of
the car. Percy started clicking his camera. The man disappeared
into the post box area and came back a few minutes later with a
large green envelope in his hand. The addressee on the envelope in
big bold letters was “Ruby Resources” and was clearly visible.
Percy smiled as he recognised the man. He took some more shots as
the car drove away.

As Percy walked triumphantly into the
Canberra offices of the National he could see Helen in earnest
discussions in the boardroom talking to senior management.

Helen was explaining to senior managers and
the editorial team the contents of her first article on
‘Jabirugate’ as she called it. She had submitted it to her editor
earlier in the day and had provided copies for each of the people
around the table. In view of the explosive nature of the
allegations, the Editor-in-Chief had involved senior management and
the paper’s legal team. Initially she had wanted to run with the
story on the rare earths contract in the same edition but because
of its sensitivity the Editor-in-Chief wanted to check with top
levels of government before agreeing to publish it. However they
were prepared to run immediately with the story over corruption in
the Kakadu Land Council and the link to the hit-run murder of Barry
Buckstone. In the article she outlined the payments made by
Northern Consulting to a trustee company owned by Bert O’Shea, the
President of the Land Council. There was enough evidence to suggest
that the O’Shea had been bribed to secure his support for the
development of the Jabiru mine. The article also made a link to the
death of Barry Buckstone who had threatened to expose the bribery
payments. After some questions, the meeting broke up, having agreed
to run the article in the next day’s edition.

Helen returned to her office to see Percy
sitting in her office grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Take a look at these beauties.” Percy
thrust his camera at her.

Helen eyes widened as she clicked through
the view finder and saw the familiar face of Malcolm Crichton
holding an envelope with Ruby Resources written across it.

“Wow, so Jake was right. Crichton’s involved
with Ruby Resources. These photos don’t prove anything in
themselves but they sure cast suspicion over Crichton.”

She looked up at Percy. “You’ve done well
Percy. You might have another photo on the front page of the paper
shortly.”

Percy beamed at the praise from Helen. He
reckoned he was already a chance to get a Walkley award, the
premier Australian awards for journalism and photography, for his
pictures of the train wreck at Jabiru. He waddled out of the room
as she picked up her phone to dial her contact at the post
office.

FRIDAY - DARWIN

After days of extensive but unsuccessful
investigations trying to locate the vehicle that had run down Barry
Buckstone, the N.T police received their first real clue as the
whereabouts of the vehicle. A car mechanic from an auto workshop in
Palmerston, an outer suburb of Darwin, had reported to the local
police that he had seen a vehicle matching the description of the
wanted car being driven into the panel beater shop next door. A
police car was promptly despatched to the premises and two
uniformed policemen interviewed the mechanic. He pointed to the
adjacent shop which had an old sign on the roof saying ‘Mick’s Auto
Repair Shop’. The officers walked over to the building and, as no
one was in the office, they stepped into the workshop. They saw a
4WD in the process of being spray painted blue by a bearded
middle-aged man in grey overalls. They signalled to him to stop and
he turned off his spray gun at the auto shop and removed his
protective goggles. He identified himself as Mick, the owner of the
shop.

On being questioned, Mick advised that a
tall skinny guy calling himself Stringer had come in the previous
day and had asked for an immediate re-paint of the duco of the 4WD
and paid cash in advance for the job. He was in a hurry and didn’t
want to wait for the usual four coats that would be required to
make a good finish. He left a contact number and told the painter
to ring him as soon as the vehicle was ready.

The police found the spare wheel of the 4WD
which had been unbolted and was lying on the workshop floor. The
design on the cover was of a crocodile and fitted the description
provided by the owner of the petrol station in Jabiru. One of the
policemen checked the registration number and established that the
vehicle had been stolen two weeks previously. They advised Mick
that the vehicle was stolen and that they wanted to arrest the man
who had brought the car in. He was in trouble himself for helping
with the theft of a stolen vehicle. Mick protested his innocence
and said he had never met the guy before.

They called their sergeant and worked up a
plan to capture the man. Police reinforcements were called in and
hidden around the workshop. Then the sergeant ordered Mick to call
Stringer and tell him the vehicle was ready to pick up.

An hour later, two men arrived in a utility
truck and drove into a parking space outside the workshop. They got
out and went into the office where Mick was waiting. Mick nodded
his head and suddenly the office was full of policemen.

The two men were taken to the Darwin Police
Station and interrogated. They were placed in separate rooms and
questioned individually. The tall thin man who called himself
Stringer refused to answer any questions other than giving his name
and address. His younger companion however succumbed to the
pressure after two hours of interrogation and started talking. He
admitted to stealing the vehicle but swore he was paid to do it by
Stringer. He hadn’t seen the vehicle since he delivered it to
Stringer.

Assistant Commissioner Popolo was informed
of the arrest and the lack of cooperation by Stringer. He decided
to interview Stringer himself. Popolo was a huge man and his bulk
and shaven head could be intimidating even to the most hardened
criminal. He let himself into the room where Stringer was being
interrogated and asked the interviewing officers to leave. He
switched off the recording device.

He sat opposite Stringer who stayed slumped
in his chair.

“You’re in big trouble Stringer. Your real
name is Brett Anstey and you’ve spent time in prison for assault
and various felonies. Now you’re up for a hit and run murder.”

Stringer sat up and spat straight in
Popolo’s face.

“That’s bullshit, you’ve got nothing on
me.”

Popolo slowly wiped the spittle off his
face. Then he leaned over the table and shoved Stringer so hard
that he fell backwards in his chair hitting his head on the floor.
Popolo knelt over him and sunk his knee hard into his solar plexus.
Stringer doubled up in pain and started dry-retching. Popolo pulled
him back into his chair.

“You’re gonna pay for this copper. I want a
lawyer. You don’t have shit on me.” Stringer struggled to get the
words out but he’d lost his bravado.

“Oh yes we do. Your colleague has dumped on
you big time. Says he stole the 4WD for you and that you drove it
down to Jabiru the day before the hit-run. You returned the next
day and hid the vehicle in his garage until you could get it
spray-painted. We’ve found traces of the victim’s blood on the
bumper bar and under the mud-guard. You’ll go for a life sentence
here.”

“You’re bluffing, you can’t prove
anything.”

“You’re responsible for a black death here
and I’ve got a bunch of aboriginals and politicians screaming for
justice. Someone’s gotta pay and you’re all we’ve got.”

Popolo continued “Look we know that someone
paid you to do this. If you tell us who hired you we can go easy on
you and you’ll get a lighter sentence.”

Stringer shifted uneasily on the seat. “What
guarantees have I got that I’ll get a lighter sentence?”

“None, but if you help us I can assure you
that I’ll do my best to mitigate your sentence. If you don’t,
you’ll be held in gaol with some blackfellas until your trial comes
up. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes in those
circumstances.”

Stringer turned pale. “Orright, I’ll tell
you what I know.”

Popolo turned on the recorder.

“O.K. speak up.”

“I had a call from a mate who asked me if I
was interested in doing a job. He said he’d been contacted by a guy
who would pay $50,000 for a hit-run job. $10,000 in advance, the
rest once the hit was made. I said yes, but I wanted half up front
in cash. My mate rings me back and said I was to meet the guy at
the gardens at 5 p.m. that day. I front up at 5 and this aboriginal
guy comes up. He was wearing a hoodie covering half his face but I
knew I’d seen him before. He discusses details of the hit and asks
me if I can do the job. I say yes if I can see the money and he
passes over a small plastic bag. I count up $25,000. He also gives
me a description of the guy he wants whacked and details of his
whereabouts.”

Popolo said “O.K. who was the guy that
contacted you?”

“He didn’t say his name, but I think it was
that aboriginal guy who heads up the Land Council. I’ve seen him on
T.V.”

“Holy shit, you mean Bert O’Shea?”

“Yeah.”

“Just a minute.”

Popolo dashed out the room and came back a
minute later with a photo of O’Shea. He showed it to Stringer.

“Is that the man?”

“Yep, that’s him orright.”

Popolo opened the door and beckoned the two
interviewers.

“O.K. Stringer here wants to make a
confession. You can take his statement.”

Popolo left the room and went back to his
office. A few minutes later a constable knocked on his door.

“The forensics people are just about to
check the vehicle over to see if there are any blood samples or
other evidence to link up with Buckstone’s death.”

Popolo smiled to himself, “Good, let me know
if you find anything?”