Peter Temple - White Dog

‘Cyril,’ I said, ‘I suggest you go easy on the terminal interrogative phrases.’

‘What?’ he said, coming upright in his chair, alarm in his eyes, eyebrows risen. ‘What’s that mean?’

‘Interrogatives again,’ I said. ‘To business. The person’s phone calls for a month or so.’

Wootton sat back, adjusted his tie, smoothed his oiled hair, sniffed. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘I think you forget who is employer and whom is employed.’

‘Always uppermost in my mind, Cyril,’ I said. ‘That and grammar.’

‘It’ll take a day or two,’ he said. ‘It’s become more difficult. Apparently every Tom, Dick and Harry wants this sensitive information now.’

‘It is annoying when the agencies of law enforcement jump the queue,’ I said. ‘Speaking of which, is that records clerk dog of yours still in place?’

Wootton had suborned a civilian in the police force, a grudge-bearer of some kind, the public service was full of them — evolutionary losers in the Darwinian in-fights, political suck-ups beached a mile inland by the tsunamis of change in government, ordinary incompetents embittered by being ignored for promotion. These people needed little encouragement to defame their superiors. A few long lunches, a day at the races, dinner with a prepaid harlot or two, and they were groomed and ready for service.

‘I assume so,’ said Wootton.

I reached across for one of his pads and wrote the name Janene Ballich.

Cyril put on his new glasses, round and gold-rimmed. ‘What’s this?’ he said.

‘Some connection with the deceased. She may be in the jacks’ database.’

Cyril gave me his banker’s look again. ‘One conserves one’s resources for the truly important,’ he said. ‘One begins with the newspaper files.’

I’d had enough prudent bank manager. ‘Really? One could also easily find oneself bereft of one’s only employee remotely capable of dealing with one’s titled clientele. With me, sunshine?’

‘I’ll make the request,’ he said, not happy.

‘An answer today would be nice.’

‘That is not within my control.’

‘Pull on the chokechain,’ I said. ‘What’s the point of having dogs if you can’t command them?’

A knock on the door.

‘Enter,’ said Cyril.

I turned. It was Mrs Davenport, Wootton’s receptionist. In the innocent pre-AIDS days, she had been the front-of-house person for a specialist in social complaints who ministered to the big end of town. It was perfect training for her job with Cyril. Through his parlour too passed people burdened with painful and embarrassing afflictions which they did not wish to become common knowledge. Mrs Davenport treated these clients as she had her earlier ones — with an air of frigid disdain.

‘Your next appointee will be here in fifteen minutes, Mr Wootton,’ she said. ‘As you know, the person does not wish to be kept waiting.’

‘Thank you,’ said Wootton.

She withdrew.

‘If I get anything, I’ll send it around,’ said Wootton. ‘To which of the places you flit among?’

‘Between, Cyril. I flit between. It’s thieves I’m among.’

His eyebrows rose again.

‘Charlie’s,’ I said. ‘Put it in the box at Charlie’s.’

In the reception room, I said goodbye to Mrs Davenport. ‘I can’t promise when I’ll be back,’ I said. ‘Can you endure that uncertainty?’

She gazed at me, unblinking, no emotion disturbing her white marble countenance. I longed to reach out and touch her hair, disturb its frozen waves like an icebreaker piercing the Arctic sea.

‘In future, please ring before seeking to see Mr Wootton,’ she said.

‘But it’s really you, you, you I want to see.’

‘Good-day, Mr Irish.’

At the door, I turned and said, ‘Mrs Davenport, have you any idea of the effect your icy demeanour has on men?’

She didn’t look at me. ‘I understand there are telephone counselling services for those unable to seek professional help in the normal way,’ she said. ‘Good-day again.’

‘God,’ I said, ‘you just keep tightening the screw, don’t you?’

I went down to the street with birdsong in my heart.

Peter Temple

White Dog (Jack Irish Thriller 4)

‘In your hands, Mr Irish,’ he said, a plump face under slick hair, a brisk voice. I knew him, he’d delivered before.

I said thank you. There was no signing for envelopes from D. J. Olivier. I went back to my table and opened this one with a sharpened bicycle spoke I’d found in the alley and sterilised. A wad of A4 sheets of paper, some photographs, laser-printed. A sticky yellow square was attached to the first page. One handwritten sentence: ‘Care might be in order.’

A stranger to care, I returned to my chair behind the tailor’s table. I read:

MICHAEL RAIMOND FRANKLIN

Born 1962, Brisbane. Father Gianfranco Francesca, labourer, mother Alessandra Francesca, nee Cometti, household duties. Only child. St Patrick’s College, graduated 1979. Engineering University of Queensland 1980-81. First-class honours, passes all subjects.

Passport information: First use, 1982. Stamps, in sequence, for United Kingdom, France, Spain, Italy, France, Italy, Switzerland, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, France, United Kingdom, Australia, September 1986.

Registered as employee of Casterton Construction, Brisbane [see below for Casterton] in December 1986. Position: supervisor.

I skimmed pages about apartment rentals, two property purchases, car leases, a boat purchase, air travel, hotel and restaurant bills, traffic fines.

Employed by MassiBild, Melbourne, 1989–1995. Occupation given as ‘executive’.

Tax details followed. Mickey had done well in Brisbane; Melbourne was also good to him. D. J. Olivier had seen the tax returns Alexander Marti Partners of Brisbane filed for Mickey.

Married Corin Grace Sleeman 1996. Sleeman is an architect whose firm, French, Marconi amp; Kinane, has worked on many MassiBild projects. She was photographed with Steven Massiani

at the Melbourne Cup in 1995.

Director Yardlive Pty Ltd, registered 1992. Other director is Bernard Karl Paech [see below]. Six properties registered in company name. Yardlive, trading as Joinville Developments, has put up two medium-size apartment blocks, one built by MassiBild, and been engaged in a number of inner-city redevelopment projects.

Credit card and customs information followed, six pages. I was too weak to read it.

Nothing else known. Subject mentioned in document leaked to Sydney Morning Herald in July 1999 but not published. Source unknown, possibly National Crime Authority. (Part of document attached.) The document refers to Casterton Construction as a company with links to Anthony Kendall Haig and gives details about Haig.

RELEVANT PART OF LEAKED DOCUMENT

Anthony Kendall Haig. Born 1952, Sydney. Mother Felicity Lorraine Kendall Haig, no father recorded. Haig has married twice. Divorced Catherine Jean Kelly, 1989, son by her lives in US. Seeks company of much younger women.

First income tax paid in 1985-86, occupation given as ‘investor’. Gross income $78,472, taxable $32,863. Return filed by Alexander Marti Partners, Brisbane, filed all subsequent returns. [For Marti, see AI/674/87 continuing.] Huge income growth since, presented as commissions and trading in commercial and residential property. For 2000, gross of Saint Charles Holdings was $17,783,000.

Audited by Tax in 1996, 1998. No action. File note 1998 says: ‘Transactions continue to be complex in the extreme and, as repeatedly noted, worthy of full-scale investigation.’ (This officer, shifted from Audit in August 1998, will not co-operate.)

Subject’s company Saint Charles involved in hundreds of property dealings, usually arranger of loan finance but often buyer and seller. Deals with dozens of developers, construction companies and private companies all over country. Finance generally offshore. Frequent provider is First Crusader Finance, Monaco. This entity run by Charles Robert Hartfield, once partner in Melbourne solicitors Alan Duchard, Gaitelband, legal advisor to property developer Tendram, part owned by Hartfield’s wife’s cousin, Selwyn Howard Cornell. Tendram into receivership in 1990, debts of $260 million. Estimate is upwards $30 million sent offshore in 18 months before collapse. Hartfield now has Polish passport, resident of Monaco. [Wife, now of Noosa, is attempting to sue Hartfield.] Haig is close to Hartfield and spends time in Monaco. [See Attachment 3B.]