Geoffrey Cousins - The Butcherbird

He felt the dog sniffing him again and tried to reach out a hand to pull it near him, for its warmth. But as he did so, he felt the whole body step over him and lower itself gently onto his body, with its face below his chin.

Frank found them that way after dawn, one on the other.

There were four of them this time. The three who’d come to Bonny’s apartment and a newcomer. He looked different, the new one. Not just because he wasn’t in a grey suit; the navy blue jacket, white shirt and the black shoes weren’t enough in themselves to make a difference. There was something else Mac couldn’t pin down. He was polished at the edges somehow, someone to watch, someone to fear.

‘Good morning, Mr Biddulph, Mr Lacy. My name is Todd Gamble. I’m assisting the Australian Securities and Investments Commission in this investigation.’

There it was-an American accent. Gerry Lacy leaned forward immediately. ‘Assisting? What is this? Are you an employee of ASIC, a lawyer assisting-what is your status?’

The nerd who had been the leader in the search, the nerd who’d had Bonny’s knickers nestling in his suit pocket, interrupted. ‘Mr Gamble is a consultant who’s been employed by ASIC under the terms of the Act. We have a right to seek expert advice from wherever we choose. Mr Gamble was formerly a senior investigator with the FBI.’

Mac felt a shiver run down his spine. Shivers actually ran down spines? He’d only read about that in books or heard about it in movies. But it happened. He’d heard plenty about FBI agents in movies. And now they’d sent one after him. Jesus.

‘My client reserves the right to object to the admissibility of any evidence obtained in this examination. It seems quite improper to have outside persons, people from other jurisdictions, involved in an Australian process.’

The nerd just smiled. ‘This isn’t a court hearing, Mr Lacy. There’s no judge to object to. Now can we get on?’

Gerry placed a sheet of notepaper in front of Mac with one word handwritten on it in black letters. In their briefings Gerry had said: ‘We’re claiming legal privilege for each answer you give, Mac. That positions us better in any subsequent court proceedings, but you have to claim it yourself before each answer. You have to say the word privilege before each and every answer, otherwise that particular answer doesn’t have legal privilege attached to it. You understand?’

Gerry could see him nodding now at the word on the notepaper. ‘My client will be claiming privilege for each of his answers. This is not an admission of any guilt but merely the result of legal advice.’

The nerd gestured to the ex-FBI man and switched on a tape recorder.

There was no way they’d make him sweat, not even for a minute; Mac had sworn that to himself. He’d been in training in the Kimberley for weeks after Gerry had left, leading a monastic life, in training to beat the bastards. At first he’d been embarrassed when there was only bruising from the fall, but then he’d risen with the dawn every day, ridden before breakfast, eaten well, drunk only water and coffee, lost three kilos. He was fit and alert. He was Mac Biddulph. He’d been playing in the big time when these bastards were still on the teat. There was no way they’d make him sweat.

But it was stifling in the interview room. There were no windows and the air-conditioning, if they had any, wasn’t working. After the first hour, he was dry in the mouth, even though the questions had all been anticipated in his sessions with Gerry. He gulped more water from the paper cup and tried to focus on the FBI guy. He was asking something about Renton Healey.

‘Did you instruct Renton Healey, the chief financial officer at HOA, to initiate discussion with Global Re regarding a new form of reinsurance contract?’

This wasn’t something they’d covered in the briefings. How could they know about the Global Re contract? Well, of course they’d know about it, it’d be listed in the company’s filings with APRA. But that’s all they’d know. They couldn’t know about the side letter and they certainly couldn’t know what he had or hadn’t said to Renton Healey.

‘Privilege. No.’ He smiled at the FBI man. It was a ‘fuck you’ smile.

‘Did you discuss with Renton Healey the subject of a hole in the balance sheet that would have to be filled?’

‘Privilege. No.’

‘Did you suggest to Mr Healey that the profit and loss account for last year needed short-term support?’

‘Privilege. No.’

‘Did Laurence Treadmore inquire of you whether you had had such discussions with Renton Healey and did you give him assurances that the Global Re contract was kosher?’

‘Privilege. No.’ A wider smile spread across Mac’s face. They had nothing. But the FBI man just stared blankly at him.

‘Let me play you this recording, Mr Biddulph.’ Gerry Lacy was on his feet in an instant. Gerry seemed to have been in training also, as if he sensed a second breath in his legal career. Maybe he could be a killer if he wanted to and, suddenly, he wanted to. ‘Recording? What recording? I object most strenuously. Is this a recording made without Mr Biddulph’s knowledge or consent? This is outrageous.’

‘You’re objecting to a recording you haven’t heard, Mr Lacy. Why don’t you listen?’

The FBI man pushed the button on the tape recorder. Laurence Treadmore’s voice squeaked thinly from the machine followed, unmistakably, by Mac’s. Gerry stepped forward and punched the stop button.

‘We’re not participating any further in this discussion until you explain the nature of this recording, the circumstances in which it was made, whether Mr Biddulph had knowledge that he was being recorded, and by what authority you are in possession of the tape.’ He glared at the FBI man, but it was a faint glare.

Mac cut in. ‘I never authorised anyone to tape me-not even you bastards.’

‘Privilege, Mac. Privilege.’

Now it was the FBI man’s turn to smile. ‘This is a recording made in the boardroom of HOA of a meeting between Sir Laurence Treadmore and Macquarie James Biddulph on September eighteenth last year. It was made with your permission, Mr Biddulph.’

Mac rocked back in his chair and was about to respond but Gerry Lacy spoke first. ‘Leave this to me, Mac. My client had no knowledge of any such recording being made. You’re perfectly well aware you can’t use material obtained in this way.’ And then, as an added thrust, ‘Even the FBI can’t use illegally obtained recordings, can they, Mr Gamble?’

The FBI man resumed his expressionless mask and placed a document before Mac. ‘Are you familiar with this document, Mr Biddulph?’

‘What is this? What document? We object to the document-’ but Mac cut him off.

‘Shut up, Gerry. Let me look at the fucking document for Christ’s sake.’

He reached for the paper. It was headed ‘HOA. Corporate Governance Committee. Policy for Security and Integrity of Information.’

‘I’ve never seen this before in my life.’

‘Privilege, Mac.’

‘Really, Mr Biddulph. Would you turn to the last page, please. Is that your signature?’

Gerry was poised over Mac’s shoulder. ‘We object, most strenuously. This meeting is at an end.’

‘It’s not a meeting, Mr Lacy. You’re here in response to a legal notice to attend, and the examination is just beginning. Now, is that your signature, Mr Biddulph?’

‘Don’t answer, Mac, I instruct you not to answer.’

‘Shut up, Gerry. Privilege. If it is my signature, I never read the document.’

‘Do you sign many documents you don’t read, Mr Biddulph?’

‘Sometimes. Fucking privilege. Sometimes. When they’re crap like this. What does it say, anyway?’