Crucifixion Creek (11 page)

Harry walks out into the sunshine with a feeling of cautious relief.

14

Kelly Pool slams on the brakes as the radio news comes on, leading with two men found
dead in a city office tower overnight. One identified as the financier Alexander
Kristich, police treating the deaths as suspicious, a task force formed to investigate.
She pulls into the kerb and checks the news feed on her phone. There is nothing more.
She swears softly to herself. It was only two days ago that Harry gave her Kristich's
name. After their meeting she did a search and came up with the link to Bluereef
Financial Services and an address in the Gipps Tower. She'd been planning to go there,
try for an interview, maybe trap Kristich on his way in or out. The paper wanted
her at the trial of a teenage car thief in the local magistrates court, then the
opening of a new wing in an Islamic primary school, and she'd left Kristich till
later.

Now this. It's as if she's caught up in a firestorm, with things exploding all around
her, unable to see where any of it's coming from. Tomorrow the big dailies will have
profiles of the dead man, maybe dig up a few angles, but they won't know what she
knows, all those tantalising connections—the couple at Balmoral Beach,
the Creek,
the homicide detectives sniffing around. Something big is hidden in all this, and
by rights it's bloody well hers. She throws a reckless U-turn and heads into the
city.

There is one police car parked up on the kerb outside the Gipps Tower, but otherwise
everything seems normal. She finds a parking station and walks into the foyer of
the tower, people coming and going to the lifts as if nothing unusual has happened.
She checks the tenant board and takes the lift up to the twenty-third-floor lobby;
she sees the name Bluereef Financial Services over to her right. Through the glass
screen there's a uniformed police officer sitting just inside the door. She hesitates,
and at that moment the door to one of the other suites opens and a man comes towards
her. ‘Can I help you?'

She recognises him immediately, the black slicked hair, the hatchet face, the clipped
phrasing—Nathaniel Horn, solicitor to the crims.

‘Oh, um, I was hoping to see Mr Kristich.'

‘I'm afraid that won't be possible. Are you a client?'

‘Not exactly. I heard a news report that suggested he was dead, and I thought I should
check.'

‘Why, may I ask?'

‘I'm a reporter, Mr Horn. Were you his solicitor?'

‘I think you should leave, Ms…?'

‘Only I have heard that he was mixed up in some pretty shady business deals and I
wondered if that could be why he was murdered.'

Horn's hand reaches out suddenly and grips her arm. He presses his face in close.
‘I don't know you. What is your name? Which paper do you represent?'

‘Let go of my arm or I'll call that cop.'

He releases his grip. ‘You're out of your league, whoever you are. Get out before
you get yourself into trouble.'

‘I can quote you on that, can I?' She turns on her heel and walks towards the Bluereef
door. She takes a photo through the glass: the
uniform, and behind him people removing
files and putting them into evidence bags. No sign of Harry Belltree. When the cop
gets to his feet she turns and heads back to the lift. As it descends she takes a
deep breath, a little unsettled by Horn's venom but pleased too. There's something
really big here. She needs to speak to Harry, but now is not the time. What else?
Speak to Phoebe Bulwer-Knight again? Maybe she's heard something.

As she pulls into the kerb she sees two men—bikies wearing colours on their leathers—carrying
a sideboard out of Phoebe's house to a small van. The lettering on the side of the
vehicle reads
U-Remove
. Kelly goes over to them and says, ‘What's going on?' They
glance at her through their Ray-Bans but don't reply or stop what they're doing.
At the back of the van they heave the sideboard up and its corner cracks against
the steel door. A piece of timber splits off and drops to the ground. Kelly goes
through the open door of the house and finds two more bikies in a front room, hurriedly
shoving the pieces of a fine china dinner service into a cardboard box while Phoebe
looks on, kneading her hands. She recognises Kelly with a smile of confused relief
but can't remember her name.

‘Kelly, Kelly Pool, the reporter, Phoebe. Remember?'

‘Oh, of course!'

The two men have stopped what they're doing, staring at Kelly, although the light
is so dim she wonders if they can see anything through their shades.

‘What's happening, Phoebe?'

‘Um, these gentlemen are helping me to move.'

‘Really? Where are you going?'

‘To stay with my sister in Lindfield, I think. I haven't seen her in twenty years.
We had a falling-out but we'll have to manage now, won't we? It's very convenient
where she lives, near the library.' Phoebe sounds doubtful.

‘But why? Why are you moving?'

‘My lease has been terminated, you see. I had a letter, and then these men came with
a van.'

‘Can I see the letter?'

Phoebe goes to her handbag and produces an envelope. The letter, dated two days ago,
is from Nathaniel Horn, solicitor, on behalf of Bluereef Financial Services, owners
of 8 Mortimer Street, demanding immediate evacuation of the property following nonpayment
of rent for a period in excess of six months.

‘Phoebe, I think you should stay where you are. The owner of this company died last
night and everything will be up in the air for a while. It will give you a chance
to work things out properly. You should get your own solicitor to advise you. I can
suggest someone local who—'

She is interrupted by one of the bikies, a huge wall of a man, who moves between
them, plucking the letter from her hand and sliding it into his jacket pocket. He
takes hold of Kelly's arm and bundles her out into the hallway.

When she yells for him to let go he growls, ‘You're trespassing, lady.' He pushes
her against the wall, pats her down and takes a business card from her wallet, then
shoves her through the front door.

She stumbles out into the street, furious, and grabs her phone. Takes a picture of
him standing there in the doorway, arms folded like a bodyguard in some ridiculous
cheap movie. ‘Bullies!' she yells. She can see the headline, BIKIE MOBSTERS: OLD
LADY THROWN INTO THE GUTTER.

When she gets back to her car she sits for a moment breathing hard. She is more shaken
by the encounter than she should be, and she wonders if she's getting too old for
this sort of thing. She drives out of Mortimer Street and pulls over again, willing
herself to calm down. But what the hell is going on? Those bikies seem to be taking
over the whole of Crucifixion Creek. She needs help; thinks
of Harry Belltree. It
occurs to her how involved he is in this—the siege, his knowledge of Kristich, the
connection to the murdered builder, the fire. Harry is involved
personally
, she thinks.
She has to get him to talk.

She starts the car again and heads back to the office, where she retrieves Greg March's
funeral notices, then searches company records, the phone book. Finally she grabs
her bag and heads out again. There is a florist on the corner, where she buys a forty-dollar
bunch of flowers before picking up her car.

The woman who answers her knock seems slightly uncoordinated, hair awry, a flush
in her cheeks. ‘Mrs March?'

‘Yes? Ooh…' Nicole stares at the flowers that Kelly thrusts at her. ‘They're lovely.'

She's started early, Kelly thinks, then feels she's being uncharitable. Probably
on sedatives.

‘I'm from the
Bankstown Chronicle
, Mrs March. Your husband worked in our area, and
we wanted to express our deepest sympathies. We're all so upset at what happened.'

‘Oh, thank you…' Nicole frowns at the flowers, as if having trouble focusing. ‘Would
you…?'

‘Maybe just for a minute, thank you. I don't want to intrude.' Kelly steps in and
closes the front door behind her. ‘My goodness, this is an amazing house. It's beautiful.'

‘Thank you. It was Greg's masterpiece.'

‘He built it himself?'

‘Oh yes.'

Kelly goes over to the top of the stairs. ‘And it goes down all those levels—and
wow, the views!'

‘Yes. Um, I'll show you if you like.'

‘Oh, I'd love to see. It's so original.'

They go down to the main living area, Nicole clutching the flowers, a little unsteady.
She puts them on a table and offers Kelly a seat.

Kelly says, ‘People are just so upset that this sort of thing could happen, with
the fire on top of everything else.'

‘I know.' Nicole shakes her head. ‘I can still hardly believe it.'

‘I suppose the police think the two things are linked?'

‘I…I'm not sure. I haven't spoken to them since the fire. My brother-in-law has handled
all that. He's with the police.'

‘Really? I know some of the cops in that area. What's his name?'

‘Belltree, Harry Belltree.'

Kelly feels the buzz of revelation. So that's the connection. ‘I wonder if they think
it could be to do with the bikies down there.'

‘Do you think so?' Nicole looks alarmed. ‘I hardly ever went over to Greg's depot,
but I remember once I picked him up there and one of the bikies came in to see him.
Greg was quite angry, and told him to go away. When I asked him about it afterwards
he said they were just troublemakers. Do you know something about them?'

‘There have been stories.'

‘You should speak to Harry. I'm sure he'd want to hear anything that might help them.'

‘Yes, maybe I should. Do you have his contact details?'

‘I'm not sure where he's based, but I could give you his phone number.' She gets
her mobile phone from her handbag and gives Kelly his home and mobile numbers. ‘He's
very nice, very approachable. I'm sure he'd like to talk to you.'

‘Right. I was wondering if there was a photo of Greg with the family that I might
use if I can persuade my editor to do a feature?'

Nicole obliges, and Kelly jots some notes on his life and work. When she gets up
to leave, Nicole says, ‘Of course, we had our ups and downs over the years. Being
a small builder isn't easy. I remember Greg saying that he sometimes felt there was
a conspiracy against him.'

‘Really? A conspiracy?' Damn. Too eager. Nicole's face shuts down.

‘That was just his way of putting it.'

Kelly thanks her and leaves.

15

When Harry returns to the homicide suite at Parramatta HQ, Deb is yelling into a
phone. He gets the idea that someone in authority is being uncooperative. She finally
slams the phone down and glares at Harry. ‘Bastard lawyer Horn—he's got an injunction
to prevent us accessing Kristich's computers or paperwork.'

‘What?' Harry pulls up a chair. ‘He can't do that, can he? With a homicide?'

‘Well he has. He's got a magistrate to put a forty-eight-hour block on access pending
a review by a higher court. Strike Force Gemini is stuffed before it's begun.'

‘That's very interesting, isn't it? Where are they now, the computers and paperwork?'

‘We brought them back here for analysis, but our lawyers have now got them secured
in a locked room that we can't get into.'

‘Okay, what's your theory?'

‘I think…Lavulo and his bikie mates were supplying Kristich with drugs, which he
was then distributing to his business and social contacts. Lavulo came to put the
squeeze on Kristich, up
the price or whatever, they quarrelled and knocked each other
off. Now Kristich's customers—“people of influence”, shall we say—are scared shitless
that he's kept records.'

Harry ponders. ‘Get tech support to hack into the computers?'

‘Come on, Harry.'

‘Start preparing a case for the Crime Commission to get involved?'

‘Sure, but that'll take time.'

‘Okay, another idea—Lavulo was a member of the Crows. That's where the drugs will
have come from. We should pay them a visit.'

‘Raid the Crows?' Deb thinks for a moment, then begins to nod. ‘If we can find a
link there to Kristich, then Horn's case will collapse. Let's go get the big man's
OK.'

‘There is one thing you should know, Deb. I have a previous involvement with Kristich.'

‘What?'

‘Well, indirectly. You know about my brother-in-law, of course. Well, I'm one of
his executors, and I've had to look into his business dealings. It seems his building
business was in financial trouble and he'd taken out a big loan from Kristich's company
Bluereef on crippling terms. It'll probably leave my sister-in-law on the breadline,
so I had a look into Kristich's background. He had a previous life as Sandi Krstić
in Queensland. Sailed pretty close to the wind—I spoke to one of the cops up there
who investigated him, and he was into fraud, dubious business practices. Implicated
in the death of his wife, who fell from a Surfers tower block, and a man he'd ripped
off who was causing trouble. Never charged. He fled to Vanuatu then reappeared down
here with a change of spelling. His pattern seems to be to ingratiate himself with
influential people who ease his way.'

Deb frowns, staring at him. ‘Jeez, Harry, why didn't you tell me this before? When
we were going to the Gipps Tower scene?'

‘Yeah, I was surprised when you mentioned his name. I wondered if there could be
another Kristich, so I didn't say anything until I was certain, but I'm telling you
now. It's him all right, and I'm sure there's plenty of dirt to be dug. Maybe we
should go up to Brisbane and talk to the guys there.'