Crucifixion Creek (23 page)

‘Oh yes.'

‘His name is Gunardi, and he is a member of the Polri, the national police.'

‘Well, that makes sense. Oldfield said that his trip to Indonesia was to liaise with
your police.'

‘Yes, but as a government minister Mr Oldfield would surely meet with senior officers,
police generals. Gunardi is only of middle rank, a kompol, a police commissioner.'

‘Perhaps he was assigned to look after the visitors outside of the official meetings?'

‘Maybe, but this Gunardi has a reputation, Kelly. That's why I recognise him.'

‘What kind of reputation?'

‘Shady. Nothing bad enough to get him into trouble, so far.
Rumours of bribes, leaning
on crooks for protection. Okay, let me follow it up. Is it mainly Oldfield you are
interested in?'

‘I suppose so. I'd like to know if they met up there just that one time or if they
went elsewhere together. Potgeiter is the odd one out.'

‘The ugly little man on the right?'

‘That's him. He's a small-time local councillor, and Kristich paid for his airfare
and hotel bill at Le Meridien for six nights. I'd like to know why.'

‘I'll see what I can do.'

She goes through a similar process with their contact in Vanuatu, sending him the
three kings photo and asking him to find out what he can about Kristich, Oldfield
and Mansur during their period there.

She is beginning to feel more confident, energised by the sense of common industry.
She phones her insurance company to get an assessment made of the damage to her flat,
something she should have done days ago. She also phones the hospital to check on
Wendy, and is relieved by the news that she has come out of her coma and is out of
danger. She goes over there during the lunchbreak, and though her friend is still
pitifully weak, and the doctor warns of a long road ahead, Kelly maintains her new
feeling of optimism and purpose.

When she returns she sits down with Hannah and they work through the whistleblowers
and complainants. ‘This one's a bit different,' Hannah says, referring to a record
of a phone call taken at the
Chronicle
reception when Kelly was out. ‘All he would
say was that he used to work at the Department of Immigration, Multicultural and
Indigenous Affairs.'

‘Is that what it's called?'

‘Not anymore. They called it that between 2001 and 2006. Out of date, maybe?'

‘Well, give it a try.'

‘He also said he would only speak to you.'

‘Okay.' Kelly takes the note, a Sydney phone number. There is an answering machine
and she leaves a message, then gets onto the next person on Hannah's list.

By late afternoon she has spoken to sixteen unhappy people who have been overshadowed,
built out, bullied and threatened by Ozdevco, and a further desperate three who were
almost ruined by taking loans on extortionate terms from Kristich. She's feeling
wrung out when Anton rings from Jakarta.

‘I've made a start, Kelly. I've established that they all stayed at Le Meridien for
those six days, and that they had several meals together there. The concierge says
they were picked up each day in a minibus with a local driver, and accompanied by
another Indonesian, probably Gunardi. I'm afraid I don't know where they went.'

‘Okay. Is it possible to find out more, do you think?'

‘Do you want me to approach Gunardi?'

‘What do you think?'

‘I would assume that he was either escorting them on police orders, or they were
paying him well. Either way he won't talk to me.'

‘Yes, and it would tip them off. What else?'

‘I could try to find the driver, find out where they went?'

‘That would be good.'

‘It would mean bribing him. You okay with that?'

Kelly has no idea what the paper's policy might be. ‘I'll check and call you back.
Many thanks, Anton.'

She rings Catherine.

‘No bribes, absolutely not. However, Anton might hire him for a day, at a generous
rate.'

‘Thanks.' Kelly rings Anton back and tells him.

She is about to leave to keep her appointment with the insurance assessor when her
phone rings again, the number of the former immigration staffer.

‘You left a message on my phone.' The voice sounds hesitant, as if on the point of
hanging up.

‘Yes. I'm sorry it's taken so long to get back to you. Was there something you wanted
to pass on to me?'

‘Not on the phone. In person.'

‘I see. I don't usually do that unless I have some indication…'

There is a silence on the line. Then, ‘Oldfield overrode his department's advice
that Potgeiter's visa application ought to be rejected.'

‘I see. All right, where would you like to meet?'

‘The Domain, Mrs Macquarie's Chair. In an hour.'

‘I can't do that. Make it two hours.'

‘Okay.' Reluctant.

‘Give me your mobile number,' Kelly says, but the line is dead.

She hurries home just in time for her appointment, filled again with a sense of violation
and despair at the chaos, but also now with anger. The assessor raises a pained eyebrow
as they pick through the debris, and makes notes. ‘Have you got sales dockets for
any of this?' he asks. Kelly shakes her head. ‘So…' he shows her a list, ‘these items
of furniture and equipment?'

She agrees, and they talk figures. She really has no idea what things cost now. He's
patient. ‘Any jewellery taken? Cash?'

She says not. He seems surprised that she doesn't want to claim for more.

As soon as he's gone she heads back into the city to keep her other appointment.
She finds a parking spot for her car on the loop road around the Domain and walks
through the trees to the convict-carved bench in the sandstone outcrop. There's a
dark figure sitting in the shadows. This was a bad idea, meeting in such a place
after dusk. There appears to be no one else around. She hesitates and almost turns
back, but then decides to draw on her new sense of purpose and go on. She stops about
ten metres away. ‘Hello?'

‘Ms Pool?'

‘That's me.'

He gets off the bench and comes towards her. ‘Sorry, this is a bit spooky, isn't
it?'

‘Yes, it is a bit.'

‘Most appropriate,' and he gives a high-pitched laugh, almost a giggle. He lurches
towards her, sticking out his hand. ‘Not quite sure of the etiquette.'

She shakes it, realising that he's even more nervous than she is. ‘What can you tell
me?'

‘I was encouraged to contact you when you mentioned Joost Potgeiter in connection
with Derryn Oldfield. Ten years ago I was working in the office that vets applications
for permanent residency in Australia. I got an instruction from the departmental
head to approve Potgeiter's application, although we had previously recommended refusal.
When I queried it, I was told that further information had come to hand. Well, normally
that would have been that, but this time I persisted, and my supervisor told me,
off the record, that a senior diplomat had used influence. His name was Oldfield.'

Kelly can see that the man has become agitated, rocking from foot to foot, gripping
and ungripping his hands. ‘I see. Why did you persist in this case?'

‘Well, because of what we had learned about him. The reason for refusing the visa…I
was abused too as a boy.'

‘He had abused a child?'

‘A maid in a cheap hotel in Johannesburg found him in bed with two little Indian
boys, aged six and eight. She reported him to the authorities but he'd registered
under a false name and there was some confusion. By the time the police had positively
identified him he'd left the country and come here.'

‘What did you do?'

‘I went to see the departmental head. I told him it wasn't right, and that I would
make a formal complaint if something wasn't done. He told me I didn't know all the
facts, that there had been a
mix-up over identity and the maid had withdrawn her
statement. He also said that if I made a formal complaint to the appeals tribunal
and they found against me, it would probably end my career in the service. So I did
nothing.' He's scratching the back of his hand, agitated. ‘I became sick. I had a
breakdown, and I took a separation package a year later.'

And you're still a mess, Kelly thinks. ‘Is there any documentary evidence you can
give me about this?'

‘No. And I won't go on the record. I simply can't go through it all again. Will you
act?'

‘It's difficult. I don't really know who you are. If I take this to my editor she'll
need more.'

‘Then it's up to you to get it. I've done what I can.' He spins away and hurries
off into the darkness. Kelly remains for a moment, thinking of Phoebe's words,
Little
faces at the windows, like ghosts
.

She shakes her head. After the business with the underground rail route she is more
cautious. This may be just another red herring. But later that sense of optimism
returns. Wendy is out of danger and at the weekend Kelly will arrange for the rubbish
to be removed from their place and she will start again. Maybe things will work out.

31

On Friday Anton rings from Jakarta.

‘I found the driver,' he says. ‘Nice chap, short of money, wife sick. The first two
days he took them out to Bogor, sixty kilometres inland from here. They call Bogor
Rain City, because it's always raining, even in the dry season. It's very crowded,
the second highest population density in the world, and bad slums. That's where
they went.'

‘To the slums?'

‘Yes, on the north side of the city. The driver stayed on the highway outside, and
Gunardi took them in on foot. Each time they were gone for several hours. He doesn't
know what they were doing. They had cameras.

‘On the other days he took them to townships on the edge of Jakarta—Bekasi and Depok—more
slums, very crowded, poor people coming to the city from the countryside.

‘So, slums, all slums. Are they working for a charity maybe? Or Australian foreign
aid?'

‘First I've heard of it, Anton. Could the driver tell you anything else?'

‘Not much. Commissioner Gunardi made him nervous. One day the Australians were counting
out money on the back seat. Gunardi took them to nice restaurants for their lunches.
That's about it. They only used the driver during the day. If they went out in the
evenings they would get taxis. According to the concierge they went out one night
to Taman Lawang, red light district, famous for ladyboys, and another night to Star
Luck Disco. It's kind of notorious, ladyboys again, and other things.'

‘I get the picture.'

‘Just your usual Australian tourists, Kelly.' He laughs. ‘Do you want me to go on
with this?'

‘What more can you do?'

‘I don't know. I could talk some more to the driver, see if he remembers any conversations
about the slums. It would mean more money. He's worried about Gunardi, as I said.
Five hundred dollars might get him to remember more.'

‘Okay. Do your best.'

Kelly puts the phone down and sits for a while, doodling on her pad, then looks across
at Hannah, head down, checking a list. ‘Fancy a reporter's assignment, Hannah?'

‘Totally.'

‘Why don't you ring Counsellor Potgeiter and ask him for an interview today. Say
you're writing an article on cutting planning red tape, and you believe he has some
interesting ideas.'

‘Okay. Am I interested in his ideas?'

‘Absolutely fascinated. Just don't mention my name.'

Kelly listens as Hannah makes the call. She has a lovely telephone voice, very feminine
and flattering. She rings off and grins at Kelly.

‘Twelve-thirty. I think he wants to take me to lunch.'

‘Perfect.'

*

Potgeiter advances on them across the bright green carpet of the town hall foyer.
He has a pugnacious thrust to his jaw and an unpleasant curl on his lips, impersonating
a smile. Kelly hangs back, brandishing the largest camera she could find in the office.
Potgeiter barely spares her a glance as he takes Hannah's arm and steers her towards
the lifts.

As the lift doors close he looks pointedly at his watch and says, ‘Tight schedule
of course. But if this is going to take more than ten minutes we could continue in
the coffee shop next door over a sandwich.' He says this to Hannah, who smiles and
says, ‘Lovely.' He beams at her, then flicks a glance at Kelly, who mumbles about
having to get back to the office. That cheers him up, and Kelly reflects ruefully
that it wasn't that hard to turn herself into a frumpy inarticulate lump.

When they get inside his office she gets him to pose in the oversized leather chair
at his desk, pretending to answer the phone and writing in his diary. With a fountain
pen, the wanker. Then she takes a chair over to the side and fiddles with the camera
controls.

‘Councillor Potgeiter,' Hannah begins. ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to see me.'
She switches on her recording device.

‘Not at all. Always happy to talk to the press. How did you come to think of interviewing
me?'

‘I understand you raised some very interesting points in the recent council debates
on DCP 86 and the Local Environmental Plan. I'd really like to get at the philosophy
that obviously underpins your arguments. Could you tell me about that?'

Potgeiter puffs out his cheeks. ‘Philosophy, eh? Well, it's quite simple really.
We live in a capitalist country, and it's up to public organisations like ours to
facilitate the workings of a free market economy and not get in its way.' He beams
and continues to develop the argument.