Wyatt - 05 - Port Vila Blues (10 page)

Niekirk looked at his watch,
thinking that Riggs should be giving the all-clear about now. He waited, still
and silent, a shutdown so absolute that he might have been one of the living
dead. The city streets were deserted. There was a hint of dampness in the air,
a sheen of moisture glistening on the silent cars, on a beer can in the gutter,
on the Elizabeth Street tramtracks. Thirty seconds later, Niekirk heard the
heavy main door being unlocked, Riggs saying simply: Its a goer.

Niekirk nudged Mansell. Anything
from the boys in blue?

Not around here.

Lets go.

They got out, walked to the end of
the alley and across the street to Soreki 5, as unhurried as men who did this
sort of thing every night of the week. Riggs was waiting for them in the foyer.
The guard, his head hooded, was on his back, one wrist in the air, bracketed to
the rim of a fire hose. He was as rigid as a dead man and Niekirk looked hard
at Riggs. Riggs stared back unwaveringly, shook his head in denial.

Niekirk left it at that. There was
no point in asking the prone guard how he felt. That would only risk giving the
man another voice to describe to the cops and it would certainly irritate
Riggs.

He jerked his head. Riggs led the
way to a narrow door set flush into the wall behind the foyer desk. He opened
the door with the security guards keys and leaned forward to examine the bank
of switches behind it.

Niekirk watched Riggs. The big man
ran his finger and eyes rapidly across and down, seeking the isolation switches
to the alarms in the little gallery on the first floor. He identified three,
murmuring as he deactivated each one: Gallery door . . . electric eye . . .
pressure pads in the display cases . . .

Then he looked at Niekirk. All
clear.

Mansell went back outside to the
van. Niekirk led Riggs up the staircase in the corner of the building. There
were lifts, but Niekirk considered a lift to be a potential trap. You can fight
or run in a stairwell. The only way out of a lift is up, into another trapped
place, a shaft narrow, dark and deep and smelling of stale air and
grease-slicked cables.

The stairwell door on the first
floor released them into a vast room of womens dresses, mannequins and fashion
displays, all of it shadowy, the irregular shapes like islands in a dark sea.
Niekirk turned over a couple of price tags with his gloved fingers as they
passed through the room: $999, $1,200.

The gallery was a glassed-off area
at the far end of the first floor. He pushed the twin doors experimentally:
they swung open and no alarm that he knew about sounded or flashed where he
could see it.

They went in. The rings, necklaces
and bracelets were displayed on black velvet-covered blocks under heavy glass
domes. Niekirk and Riggs lifted off the first dome, revealing a pressure switch
under the rim. No lights, no sirens, no metal grilles sealing them off from
safety.

They were out of there in three
minutes. Niekirk carted the Asahi collection out of the building in a
photographers camera bag. Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth, and
it took up no room at all.

Mansell picked them up at the
entrance to the alley. He was mild, silent, grinning a little to see them. He
swung the van onto Elizabeth Street, they left into Flinders Street. At the top
end of Flinders Street he turned left again, past the Windsor Hotel, past the
solitary policeman on the steps of Parliament House, and finally away from the
city centre.

Relieved now, Riggs and Mansell
started to congratulate themselves. Niekirk had nothing to say. In his mind he
wouldnt be safe until he was alone again and the jewels were in the U-Store
locker. He asked Mansell to stop at the junction of Nicholson Street and
Johnston Street and watched the van drive away. A few minutes later he was in
his cab, turning toward Spencer Street and a date with the courier.

* * * *

Thirteen

Go
all right?

Piece of cake, Niekirk said.

Your boys off home?

Niekirk nodded. They took a
rostered day off work for this. Theyre on duty again tomorrow.

Springett grunted.

Niekirk leaned forward in Springetts
unmarked car. It was five-thirty in the morning and the city was beginning to
stir. Thats him, bloke in the blue uniform.

Springett murmured into his radio
and started the car. Niekirk saw Lillecrapp uncoil from the doorway of a
building adjacent to the U-Store and block the couriers path, grinning
inanely, showing crooked teeth, jerking his ill-cut hair out of his eyes. The
courier halted, turned to bolt, but by then the car was gliding to a stop
beside him, tyres scraping the kerb, Niekirk opening the rear door for Lillecrapp
to bundle him inside.

Then Springett was accelerating
along Spencer Street and Lillecrapp had cuffs on the mans bony wrists. Niekirk
fished inside the uniform jacket and pulled out a wallet.

Louis Crystal, Pacific Rim
Airlines. Well, Lou, guess why were here.

Ive kept my nose clean.

Sure you have.

Why dont you bastards lay off. I
do my job, I stay at home, Ive stopped all that other business.

Makes a bloke wonder what sort of
other business and how De Lisle got to hear about it, Niekirk said, and saw
Crystals spirit wither a little at the name.

Springett was racing the car toward
the docklands. He found an asphalt wasteground and parked between a rusty
shipping container and a weed-choked cyclone fence. He turned around, stared at
Crystal over the back of his seat. You must be feeling pretty sour at De
Lisle. Is that why you ripped him off?

Crystal opened his mouth, closed it
again, searching for the trap. Dont know what you mean.

Cards on the table, okay, Lou?
Three times since February youve picked up a tartan suitcase at the U-Store
and delivered it to De Lisle in Sydney. Todays delivery will be the fourth.

Niekirk took over. So, what went
wrong? De Lisle not paying you enough? Felt youd like to get back at him? Or
maybe you just got greedy?

I dont know what youre talking
about. I swear

Dont swear, Louis, its not nice.

Crystal squirmed, looked desperately
at his watch. My flight goes in an hour. Ill lose my job

You wont need a job, way youre
going, skimming a bit here and there so De Lisle wont notice, flogging it on
the sly.

I wouldnt know how. Drugs leave me
cold.

Niekirk glanced at Springett. The
cringe, the shudder, the heartfelt denial seemed real.

Drugs, eh?

Crystal stared miserably at his
hands. Look, I just deliver the cases, all right? We do it all the time in my
line of work. How am I supposed to know whats in them? You cant pin
trafficking on me.

Tiffanys more your style?

Again Crystal looked for the trick
in die question. Giving up, he said, Never met her.

Springett laughed. Good one, Lou.
Must remember that one.

Bewildered, Crystal said, Im going
to miss my flight.

Assuming for the moment that you
havent been pinching stuff from the cases, how do you work the delivery?
Niekirk demanded. Does De Lisle meet you in Sydney face to face? Maybe you put
the suitcase through with the other luggage and he collects it himself?

Not Sydney. Never Sydney.

Springett was surprised. Here in
Melbourne? Bit risky.

No, no, Crystal said, deeply
agitated. Vanuatu.

Vanuatu?

I put the case among the luggage
for one of the resorts, Reriki. De Lisle picks it up, takes it to his place.

Springett frowned at Niekirk. His
place,
Lou?

Crystal, sensing that he was being
let off the hook, said, Yeah. This mansion, kind of thing, overlooking the
harbour in Port Vila.

Mansion.

Yeah. I asked around; hes retiring
there.

Youve made every delivery to
Vanuatu?

Yes.

You suspected it was drugs?

Wouldnt you?

I want you to look at some photos,
Springett said.

They watched Crystal examine the
file snap of Frank Jardine and the blurry surveillance photograph of the man
they now knew was called Wyatt, with a woman on a park bench, the Arts Centre
behind them. Crystal looked up anxiously. Never seen these people before.
Should I know them?

Springett smiled a wide smile of
apparent warmth, reached over the seat, slapped Crystals knee. Lou, its time
you were gone. Wouldnt want you to miss your flight.

As Crystal got out at the U-Store,
visibly relieved, Springett said: A word to the wise, old son. Keep this to
yourself, all right? If I get the slightest hint that De Lisle knows youve
been talking to us, Ill be down on you like a ton of bricks.

Crystal swallowed, nodded, glanced
agitatedly at his watch, disappeared into the U-Store to collect the case.

They watched him go. Niekirk said, I
let you play it as you saw it, but I wouldve held onto the case, used it to
bargain with, find out what De Lisles up to.

One, Springett said, we dont
want to alert him. We dont want him closing down and shooting through on us
before we get whats owed to us. Two, I for one dont want to be stuck with a
suitcase load of hot jewellery I havent got a hope in hell of moving. I think
we agree Crystals in the clear? He wouldnt have the nerve to dip his hand in.

Youre saying De Lisles been
converting the stuff all this time, right? He should have paid us by now?

Think about it. Vanuatus one of
those places, no tax, no-questions-asked banking. Hes even got a house there.
I mean, what a set-up. We cant touch him.

Yeah, but he is a circuit judge in
the area.

Perfect cover, right? Bastard.

Okay, youve made your point. So
what do we do?

Tread very carefully, Springett
said. He could put me away for ten years, dont know about you.

Me, too, Niekirk said.

Whats he got on you, out of
interest?

About three years ago he came to
see me during an inquiry into police corruption, waving a deposition in my
face.

And you were mentioned.

Niekirk nodded. He could almost
remember the text of that deposition word for word:

My name is Bratton, Im a senior
constable with the New South Wales Police and I work with Sergeant Niekirk.
During the past three years we have used the police radio network and code
names to mount and coordinate break-and-enter operations against private homes
and small businesses around Sydney. We often use department equipment to force
entry. If necessary we manipulate fellow officers and the courts to our
advantage. A number of known burglars have owned up to our burglaries in return
for sentence consideration. The extent of our burglaries has therefore been
concealed, and at the same time the force appeared to have a good clear-up
rate. The system worked because we were eager to prove our loyalty and
toughness to one another.

And Niekirk could remember what De
Lisle had said:

Looks like the culture of secrecy
and protection in the force doesnt extend to you, eh, my little mate?

Then De Lisles face had sobered. Okay,
you dont need to be an Einstein to know youre fucked if I decide to table
this before the Commission. He cocked his head. Come on, Niekirk. This is the
point where youre supposed to ask: What do you want?

Niekirk had said it flatly: What do
you want.

Thats better, De Lisle had said. In
return for my not tabling this document, I want you to do the occasional little
favour for me.

And thats how Niekirk explained it
to Springett. I did bugger-all for him, really, he concluded. Couple of
small jobs. Information about a few people. Until now.

He paid well?

Yep.

In effect, you never felt threatened.
It felt like a working relationship, not blackmail.

Niekirk curled his lip. Springett,
the psychiatrist. Yeah, thats how it worked.

Springett turned one of his smiles
into a rare laugh. What happened to Bratton?

Niekirk shook his head. Hed sent
Riggs after Bratton, a nasty accident, but he wasnt about to tell Springett
that. Your turn.

Same kind of thing. I was working
Vice. A fair number of the Melbourne brothels are run by the Sydney Outfit. You
could say I was on a retainer and De Lisle found out about it.

What did you do for him?

Like you, information, leaned on a
couple of people, that type of thing.

He must have creamed his pants when
you joined the Armed Robbers. His very own green-light cop.

Springetts smile widened. Steering
my team away from your team.

Lillecrapp giggled. He was so stolid
and obliging that Niekirk had forgotten he was there.