“When are ya gonna start using your new name?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to think about it.” This afternoon, but you don’t need to know. I’ve still got time to open a bank account and get a debit card. And I’ll definitely be flying out as Osker. You don’t know it but this will be the last time I’ll see you, Mick.
“Ya got time for lunch?”
“Sure, Mick. I’m feeling a bit peckish.’
“Good. Ya can tell me how Candy performed.”
“Yeah.” As if you don’t already know.
Chapter 48
ASPINE HAD ONLY REMAINED in Melbourne to see the outcome of Raj George’s preliminary hearing and application for bail. He’d expected Raj to be bailed but nonetheless was still disappointed. Now it was time to get out and makes plans for a life in Paraguay or Brazil. He wasn’t totally happy with the havoc he had wreaked. His enemies had gotten off lightly, but he had the option of returning as Osker Schmitt and undertaking something far more serious. The thought of killing Jasmine Bartlett and her smartarse brother brought him enormous satisfaction, and having criminal contacts in two continents gave him the means.
He closed the bank account in the name of Charles Adderley by withdrawing nearly thirty thousand in cash. Because of the size of the cash transaction, he knew the bank would have to report it but he wasn’t worried – Charles Adderley was going to disappear without a trace, never to be found. With cash bulging in his jacket he walked two city blocks to a branch of the National Bank, presented his Osker Schmitt documentation, and deposited nine thousand in a newly created account. The bank wouldn’t have to report this amount. The teller assured him that his linked debit card could be picked up on Friday.
Five more days in Melbourne would see him out and he paid Flight Centre cash for a first class one way ticket to Bangkok on Royal Thai Airways, departing Monday at 3.35 P.M. He blamed Sonchai for being unable to travel to Paraguay or Brazil directly, but he didn’t want those beautiful South American women getting turned off by his love handles. He knew that he could have had liposuction in Melbourne, but as far as he was concerned, Sonchai really was the Da Vinci of plastic surgeons.
When Aspine returned to his apartment, he packed his suitcase, put the keys in an envelope and addressed it to the real estate agent. Once he found that Mick McHugh and The Executive Suite had his address, he’d had no choice but to leave the apartment. Had Mick asked he probably would’ve told him but he didn’t like being spied on or having his address on the books of a brothel. He would lose his rent bond of one month’s rent but wasn’t in the least concerned. I’m just taking a little insurance. Chin would be proud of me. After a cursory tidy up he drove to The Hilton on the Park, on the edge of the city and checked into a suite.
Fifteen minutes later, after unpacking he drove the hire car into the city and dropped it off, paying the balance owing in cash. When he returned to his room he destroyed Charles Adderley’s passport, driver’s licence, credit cards and other papers or invoices that bore his name. Vale Charles Adderley.
Candy phoned Muller in the morning and reluctantly agreed to come to his home at 10 P.M. that night. Muller had already teed up one of his former sketch artist mates. The only problem was that he was seventy-five, and there was no way Candy was going believe he was on the force.
Muller sat in his thinking chair looking out at his driveway while telling Bruce Billing to just agree with everything he said. Billing had long flowing white hair and his skin was brown and wrinkled from the many days he’d spent in his tinnie fishing. It was hard to imagine that he’d ever been a policeman. Headlights swung through the open gates and Muller grabbed the remote, strode to the garage and closed the roller door. “Thanks for coming, Candy.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Let’s get it over with. The longer I’m here, the more nervous I am.”
“No one knows you’re here. Your name’s not in any files and I’m not even using a police artist. This is Bruce. He’s a freelancer who owes me a few favours. When you leave here tonight he’ll erase you from his memory.”
“And that’ll really take some erasing.” Billing laughed as he took a sketch pad from his briefcase. “You’re stunning but, yeah, don’t worry, I’ll forget that I’ve ever seen you. Besides, this big lug says he’ll break my legs if I ever mention you.”
“Do we need to do this? Can’t I just tell you his name and give you his address? Then you can check him out yourself and we can forget this sketching bullshit.”
“Yeah, but what if he’s done a runner. We better get a facial while we can.” Far out. She never said anything about going to his place. I thought he’d gone to the brothel. She’s right, but I still want to question her while she’s giving Bruce details.
“He was there a week ago. Why would he have left? Get real.”
“Candy, you know what the deal is. You’ll be gone and forgotten in less than an hour. Let’s get on with it,” Muller said sternly. “Tell me about this guy and what makes you think he’s behind getting Jack hooked.”
She sighed. “He kept asking me if I had been with many young guys. It was creepy. I didn’t say much but as I was leaving he shouted something about Jack.”
“What?”
“It’s not important.”
“Tell me what he said.”
“I told you it’s not important,” Candy snapped. “I’m out of here.”
“Have a look at these noses,” Bruce interrupted. “What do you think?”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. He mentioned Jack. What else did he say?” Muller asked.
“I was a gift from Mick, and he asked me how well I knew him. He made my skin crawl and got really upset when I called him a John.”
“Did he have a large forehead?” Bruce asked.
“No, but it was obvious that he’d had extensive facial surgery. I’d say a full face lift and crowns or implants. His teeth were just too perfect.”
“What colour were his eyes?” Muller asked.
“I don’t really know. I thought they were black but you can’t have black pupils can you?”
Muller ignored her question. “Did he have any strange mannerisms, you know, eccentricities?”
“When he opened the front door he was wearing black leather gloves. I was taken aback. He told me that his hands and lower arms had been mangled in a factory accident and he didn’t like people seeing them. The scars on his palms and the back of his hands were terrible and it looked like the bottom of his fingers had been sliced off.”
“Fingertips?”
“Yeah, they’re hard to describe but the skin looked new and shiny. His hands are ugly and maybe the surgeon was trying to improve their appearance. If he was, he failed.”
Bruce showed his sketch to Candy. “Are we getting close?”
“Yes, but his hair is a darker brown and his eyes are larger. I suspect he’s probably had eye surgery as well. Oh, and his ears are smaller.”
Muller looked at the sketch. It was nothing like Aspine. The face he was looking at was thinner, the Grecian nose was gone, the jaw didn’t jut and the full jet black mane had been replaced with short brown hair. Is it possible? Perhaps this guy is an intermediary for Aspine, while he’s safe and sound and pulling the strings from an overseas hideaway.
Bruce made the changes to the sketch and then passed it to Candy. “What do you think?”
“That’s him. It’s perfect. This has been such a waste of time as you’ll see for yourself in the morning, detective. Can you open the roller door? I’m going now.”
“Yeah, you’ve done your part,” Muller said, as he walked her to the garage. “Can you think of anything else, birthmarks, moles or tattoos?”
She laughed. “Yes, he had a scar across his lower stomach, obviously a tummy tuck. Anyhow he thinks his plastic surgeon is God but was really annoyed because he hadn’t removed his love handles. This guy is incredibly vain. He wouldn’t tel
l me who the surgeon is but he practises in Bangkok and the creep said he was going to see him in the next few weeks for liposuction.”
“Thanks Candy. You’ve been a big help. I’ll be seeing you.”
“No, you won’t. I never want to lay eyes on you again. Stay away from me,” she said, climbing into the Merc.
Bruce was tidying up his crayons when Muller returned. “How’d you like to earn a thousand bucks tomorrow? It might take you one hour but it could take ten.” Jeez it’s easy spending Raj’s money.
“What do I have to do?”
“Just knock on a door and when it’s opened say, ‘Are you Mr Brown?’ I want you to check if the guy matches your sketch.”
“I’d love to pick up an easy grand, but why can’t you do it?”
“Because it just might be someone who knows me. The sketch looks nothing like the guy I’m thinking of, so I doubt it’s him. However, on the off-chance it is, there’s no point telegraphing that I’m onto him.”
After Bruce left, Muller scanned the sketch, attached it to a short covering email and sent it to Jasmine, Raj, Fiona, Harry and Sir Edwin.
Chapter 49
IT WAS 8.30 A.M. WHEN Bruce Billing knocked on the front door of the apartment in St Kilda Road. There was no answer and he took an elevator back down to the foyer and settled in. He cursed, knowing that he wasn’t going to pick up a grand for ten minutes work.
Bill Muller had provided his mate on the force with the details of Mary Denton’s credit card and bank account. In less than two hours he had phoned to say he’d located her in a one bedroom apartment in Richmond. Muller thanked him and asked him to find out all he could about Charles Adderley. Harry was elated when Muller phoned him with the good news about Mary.
“Thanks Bill. I’m on my way to beg forgiveness and get her to come back home.”
“Good luck, Harry. Did you look at that pic I sent you?”
“Yeah, I’ve never seen that guy before, and I doubt it’s Aspine.”
“Yeah. Me too. I know surgeons can worker wonders with plastic surgery but surely they can’t change every feature. The eyes are different, the nose is different, the ears are different and the jawline is different.”
“Bill, sorry. Can’t talk. I have to rush.”
“Yeah, you go, Harry, and I sure hope things work out. Keep tonight free though. We’re going to have another get together.”
It didn’t take long before Muller’s contact phoned to say he had nothing on Charles Adderley and he was getting concerned about the Office of Police Integrity finding out that he was using the force’s resources for personal reasons. Muller promised not to ask for anymore favours in the near term and hoped that Bruce Billing would have better luck. He didn’t and at 5 P.M. phoned to say there’d been no sign of life at the apartment all day. He suspected Adderley had done a runner.
The meeting at Jasmine’s was sombre although everyone was pleased to see Mary with Harry. Raj took the chair at the head of table and much to Muller’s annoyance, assumed control of the meeting. “I’ve been on the phone all day and I can you tell that no one named Charles Adderley has left the country in the past week. However, that is not to say that he didn’t leave using another name, even though that too is doubtful. I’ve had the airport’s CCTV footage checked and no one resembling the identikit has boarded an international flight. That said, I’m concerned that the identikit might not be an accurate portrayal, and, if that’s the case, this Adderley person might already be in Bangkok. Bill had his apartment staked out today and it appears that he has vacated.”
“That’s right,” Muller said. “My contact wasn’t able to dig anything up on him. I’m going to see the real estate agent in the morning as Adderley had to have provided proof of identification before entering into the lease. With luck I’ll get to see a photocopy of his passport or driver’s licence.”
“You’ve all looked at the sketch Bill emailed. Are you positive you’ve never seen this man?” Raj asked.
There were murmured assents before Mary said, “I haven’t seen it.”
“I haven’t seen him, but I’ve got Craig scanning footage of the audience the night I interviewed William Elmore to see if he can come up with a match,” Fiona said.
Muller hastily opened his briefcase and slid the original of the sketch across the table to Mary. “Do you know him?”
“He’s familiar,” she replied, putting her fingers on her temples. “It’s vague but I’m nearly certain I’ve seen this man.”
“Think,” Raj said. “Think.”
“Don’t pressure her,” Harry snapped.
“Be quiet, Harry. You’ve had me wrapped in cotton wool for the past six months. I can cope with pressure when it’s positive.”
Mary picked the sketch up and held it close to her face. “I’ve got it. Harry, don’t you remember that fellow admiring our garden? He asked if he could take photos of the shrubs and trees. I said ‘yes’. Don’t you remember?”
“I…I’m sorry.”
“And I’m the one with dementia.” Mary laughed. “Think, Harry. He was wearing gloves.”
“What?” Muller said.
“Yes. Yes,” Harry yelled. “I remember now. I didn’t like him. I had a bad feeling about him. I saw him again. I couldn’t remember, but he was at the back of the court on the day the shoplifting charge was heard. I’m so sorry, Mary.”
“Tell me about the gloves,” Muller said.
“I thought it was a little strange,” Mary said. “It was warm and around midday, yet this fellow was wearing black leather gloves.”
“Was he tall?” Muller asked.
“He had a slight hunch, but yes, he was about the same height as Aspine, but nowhere near as heavy,” Harry said.
“According to the escort, his hands and lower arms were mangled in a factory accident and he’s very self-conscious. You know what I think? He’s had his fingertips removed and his lower arms scarred to make it look like an accident. I think it’s Aspine,” Muller said. “Sir Edwin, he must’ve been at the kindergarten the day you were arrested. Are you sure you didn’t see him?”
Sir Edwin sighed. “Positive. That image is locked in my mind and I didn’t see that man.”
The buzzing of Fiona’s mobile interrupted the meeting and she answered it in the kitchen. When she returned she was grim faced. “According to Craig, he was in the very back row. He has a still of the image that he’s trying to define. He’ll email us later tonight and we’ll have something better to go on than the sketch.”
“What do we do now?” Jasmine asked.
“If he’s still here, my little sister, we make sure we put him back in jail. Bill, when you talk to the real estate agent, see if you can get bank details, too.”
“Of course,” Muller snapped.
It was clear to everyone that Raj was now in charge and calling the shots.
After the meeting broke up, Mary left in her own car. “She’s talking to me again, Fiona,” Harry said. “But she’s staying in her apartment. She said she’s not sure whether she wants to live with a man who doesn’t trust her. That bastard’s ruined my life. As God is my witness, if I knew where he was, I would kill him.”
“She’ll come back, Harry. She still loves you. Give her time.”
Chapter 50
IT WAS FRIDAY AND in three days’ time Aspine would be on his way to Bangkok. He sat at his desk in the Hilton and looked out across the magnificent parkland, pondering the past six months. He wasn’t a killer but just the thought of killing Jasmine and Raj made him feel warm and fuzzy. It was a strange but satisfying feeling.
He was pleased that he’d managed to conceal his identity and had new legal identification documents. Even more pleasing was that they would know he was the cause of their grief, but have no idea what he looked like. When the time was right he would return from South America and put Jasmine and Raj through another round of hell. He had hoped that when he left the payback would be complete but it wasn’t. He
looked at the notes he had typed and knew that there was a small risk in sending them, but the desire to drive in a few more barbs was overwhelming.
Fiona’s note read; I’m sorry your drunken old man died, bitch, I had a nice bottle of Johnny Walker to give him.
Harry’s read; Harry, do you remember signing my bonus cheque for a million bucks? That was satisfying, but not as satisfying as fucking up your marriage.
Sir Edwin’s note read; When you die, they’ll carve Sir Edwin Paedophile on your tombstone.
Before he knew he was going to jail, Jasmine had said to him on a number of occasions, “I do hope you get everything you so richly deserve.” Her note read; “Jasmine, you got everything you so richly deserve and there’s more to come. Give Jack my best.
Raj’s note read; “You’ll still have money and power but the prestige and status you crave has gone forever.”
Aspine bought a cheap hoody in the city, and despite the heat, put it on and pulled the hood over his head. Ten minutes later still wearing the hoody and having added sunglasses, he entered the office of a small courier, carrying five envelopes. “I want each of these delivered at exactly 4 P.M. on Monday.”
“We’ll have to use five couriers, sir. That will be expensive. If−”
Aspine cut the young sales assistant off. “I know. I’m not worried. Now listen to me. They have to be delivered at 4 P.M. If the recipients aren’t home you can leave them in their letterboxes. Is that clear?”
“Yes, yes, I understand.”
Aspine paid cash and nonchalantly strolled through the gardens on the way back to the Hilton. I’d love to see their faces when they open those envelopes.
Bill Muller knew he was treading on dangerous ground when he flashed his wallet at the real estate agent and started questioning him. Luckily the agent didn’t ask to check his identification and a few minutes later told him that Charles Adderley had sent the keys back, had vacated the apartment, had not claimed his bond money and had not left a forwarding address. When Muller asked about bank details, they were provided with surprising alacrity. The copy of Adderley’s passport was black and white and of poor quality, but it matched the sketch. Muller’s ploy of wearing an open suit coat which allowed glimpses of his shoulder holster was paying dividends.