‘What the hell’s that?’ asked Thomas.
‘Most commonly described in my circles as a slap over the wrist with a wet bus ticket. Maybe some hours of community service. The best part is you get to admit the charge but have no criminal conviction. You’ve led a blameless life up to this point. Another significant point in your favour, along with love from a supportive family.’
Warming to the barrister, Thomas said, ‘If I don’t get diversion, what do you reckon I’m up for, Fitzy?’
‘I think it quite unseemly for a man of your age and reputation to be facing a stretch, even a small one. I’d hope a few months’ periodic detention would put a full stop on it. Is there anything else I should know?’
‘Nothing relevant.’
Fitzpatrick spotted the evasion. ‘What about the irrelevant, Trevor?’
Thomas rubbed his chin. ‘Confidentially?’
Fitzpatrick scowled. ‘Please don’t insult me.’
‘Just before Derk died, bloody Black was sniffing around.
He found an email Derk sent to Neil Apsley and wanted to know what it was about.’
‘You’d better tell me. Is this the same Apsley who was in charge of The People?
Thomas nodded. ‘Turns out he was also an expert in digital photography. Could put things into a photo, take ’em out – that sort of thing. You need a special computer or something.’
‘What would you need with digital photos?’
‘Derk’s idea was to blacken Dench’s reputation. Spread a few dodgy pictures of him dressed as a Nazi, fornicating with whores.’
‘I don’t want to know any more. It’s a bit difficult to see how that plan would help you in the circumstances.’
‘Well, you did ask.’
Thomas left Fitzpatrick’s office disconsolate. People envied his ability to crawl out of shit, smelling of roses. Fitzpatrick might have come up with some bloody defence. After all, he was supposed to be good. He flirted with the idea of sacking the Irishman and going to the bitch who’d rolled him. But he couldn’t face Stace, not after that rape trial. Explaining himself to her would be a fate worse than death.
He hadn’t told Fitzpatrick the whole story – still too many missing pieces. How could he get the rest of his bloody money back? He couldn’t confide in the leech or the parasite. He might need their alibis, and there was no way they’d cooperate if he’d become insolvent.
Back in his office he told Jenny, ‘No interruptions.’ The envelope he’d got from his letter box revealed copies of bank cheques to former clients, computer records showing internet porn purchases with a credit card in his name, similar purchases for gambling and payments to O’Farrell & Associates, a company he’d never heard of. Jenny told him they were mortgage brokers.
He rang and asked to speak to the person handling his business, said he had a mental block about his broker’s name. The receptionist consulted the company database. ‘It was Kent Sligh that saw you.’
‘Of course,’ said Thomas.
****
‘Mr Thomas. I’ve just concluded some business with another person of that name. How can I help you?’ Sligh beamed and thrust out his right hand.
‘Giving back my money would be a good start, you thieving bastard.’
Sligh’s jaw dropped and he took a step back. ‘Look, there’s no call for abuse like that. What are you talking about?’
Thomas waved the documents in front of Sligh’s nose. ‘I have evidence you’ve established a revolving credit loan using my property in Park Terrace as security and you’ve pocketed more than thirty pieces of silver for your treachery.’
Sligh felt a familiar sinking feeling in his guts. There’d been no fraud allegations for five years. Back then, it had been a lucrative deal that blew up in his face. He’d recovered, but it had cost him his business relationship with his partners. And triggered an IRD audit. He felt his legs wouldn’t hold him up for much longer and became conscious of standing with his mouth open.
‘So you’re saying you’re Trevor Thomas?’ he managed.
‘Pity you didn’t realise that several days ago, you idiot. Did you get your qualifications off the back of a bloody Weet-bix packet?’
‘The man I dealt with established his identity as Trevor Ivan Thomas. He had all the right information.’
‘Except that he wasn’t me, was he?’ Did the poser look like this?’ Thomas produced a photo of Dench.
‘No, not at all. He looked nothing like that. He was much younger and had black hair.’
‘You have a photo of him, or any security cameras?’ Thomas snapped.
‘No.’
‘Well, here’s how I see it, Sligh. You’ve helped rip me off for the thick end of a million bucks. And you’ve been paid a very fat fee for doing so. Which tells me, and I daresay the police would agree, that you’re as bent as a two bob Rolex. You’re lookin’ at serious time. At the very least, Serious Fraud Office charges. Now I don’t give a shit whether you go to prison or not as long as I get my money back. But you’ve got twenty-four hours to make that happen.’
Sligh regained some equilibrium. ‘Look, as far as I know my business was with the real Mr Thomas. You could be any conman trying to extort a large sum of money from me. You could even be in cahoots with the real Mr Thomas, for all I know. I’m comfortable with what’s happened here. My fee, although large, was for pulling out all the stops to meet the urgency required and ensure this funding application leap-frogged others. That’s a legitimate business practice. Nothing to do with fraud or anything else that pops into your wild imagination.’
Thomas pointed his finger at Sligh. ‘Listen, you bullshit artist. I am the real Thomas. Don’t cross me or you’ll regret it for a very long time.’ He turned and walked towards the door. ‘Twenty-four hours. Not a minute more or you start packing your toothbrush and butt plugs for the big house.’
‘Mr Thomas,’ called Sligh. As Thomas turned around, Sligh snapped him with a Polaroid camera.
‘Too late for that now, you idiot,’ he shouted.
After he’d left, Sligh said, ‘I don’t think so, Mr Thomas, I don’t think so.
Chapter 25
‘I didn’t expect to see you back so soon, Freddie.’ Sasha had permitted an unscheduled appointment after her PA Heather initially turned him down when he appeared in chambers. He’d sounded frightened. ‘What did you do to your arm?’ She smiled and pointed to a leather two-seater.
Still standing, he glanced down at the sling. ‘I busted it last night when I took a fall.’
‘Not really my line of work, Freddie.’ She looked perplexed. ‘Anyway, why would that panic you into demanding to see me?’
‘Jack Dench, local businessman I’ve been doing some admin and IT work for. Looks like he’s topped himself. I found him hanging out of his bedroom window. The other end of the rope was tied to his bed.’
Sasha adopted her trademark ‘What the hell have I got here’ pose – one arm across her chest, supporting the other elbow, which in turn propped up her chin. ‘You’d better sit down.’ She sat opposite him, the coffee table between them. ‘Tell all.’
‘It was last night. I’d forgotten to send some emails that needed to go. Dench had managed to pinch a few clients from Trevor Thomas. You remember my accuser?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘How could we forget?’
‘I knew Dench would be pissed with me if I didn’t get them done. They were letters confirming the deals. I’ve been working out of his apartment the last few weeks, I guess because he didn’t want anyone to know what he’s been up to. Admittedly, I’d had a few beers but figured he wouldn’t care. He’s a piss-head himself. Anyway, I get there and his door’s open. I called out, no answer. I wandered around and saw him dangling. I called the cops.’
‘A bit grim finding him like that but you don’t sound in trouble so far.’
‘Yeah, but think about it. I turn up late at night at Dench’s apartment?’ Fowler
shook his head as if disbelieving his own tale. ‘I’d been drinking. And who do the cops suspect first if there’s any sign of foul play? And who just beat the shit out of them in court?’
‘Why would they think foul play?’
‘’Cause I can’t think of a single reason why Dench would commit suicide. He was having a ball at Tit… Thomas’s expense and there was no note I could see. Doesn’t smell right to me, Sasha. Besides, any trace forensics that aren’t his will probably be mine, won’t they?’
‘But why you? Why would the police come looking for you?’
‘Last to see him alive, didn’t stick around after calling the cops. That’s not a good look, is it?’
Sasha nodded at the sling. ‘What about that?’
‘One of the reasons I was so late getting there.’ He looked down at his arm. ‘I had it fixed at the hospital but I was supposed to have been at his place by then.’
‘You didn’t think of leaving him a phone message? I mean, you weren’t up to much with that, were you?’
‘I could have, but all I had to do was turn his computer on, open some files and click “Send”.’
‘I’m assuming this Dench guy is the same one who paid for your defence?’
Fowler nodded.
Sasha smiled again. ‘To be honest, I don’t think losing the prosecution against you will motivate the police to come looking for you again. Not in respect of Mr Dench’s death. If you had a motive to go with the opportunity, it might be different. What happens to your paid employment now?’
A look of concern came over Fowler’s face. ‘Jesus, I hadn’t thought about that. I guess I’ll find something.’
‘Well, that’s my point, Freddie. Not only is there no reason to kill Dench and make it look like suicide, but you’re actually harmed, albeit temporarily we hope, by his death.’
Fowler said nothing, seemingly weighing this up.
Sasha continued, ‘You think your arm was being seen to while your boss was committing suicide?’
‘Yeah, at ED.’
‘Well, they’ll have records of that and I’m sure the police will be able to verify the circumstances. I don’t see how anyone could see you as a threat.’
****
Thomas arrived at the office to find Detective Hart standing in front of his desk. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘Executing this.’ Hart handed him the warrant. Speechless, Thomas read it twice, then said, ‘So you got old Billy Brown sober enough to sign his name. How much coffee did that take, Detective?’
Hart ignored the gratuitous slap and pointed to the outdated Playboy calendar. ‘She must be special to you, eh. A few forensic checks under the desk might be in order.’ He smiled as he called to his assistant the model and serial numbers of Thomas’s computer.
‘Your time’ll come, you prick,’ Thomas said with a sneer.
‘I reckon time is something you’re looking at, Mr Thomas. Lots of it spare, if I’m not mistaken,’ said Hart, still grinning.
While the policemen worked their way through the office, Thomas got on the phone. ‘Finn, it’s Trevor Thomas. Yeah mate, been better. Bloody cops are taking stuff out of my office. Yeah, I read it. Something about just grounds for believing I’m involved in one or more suspected homicides. Now the dopey pricks think I’m a murderer.’ He listened to his lawyer’s response. ‘Is that right? Bastards. I’ll get round there straight away.’
Thomas had missed a call on his mobile while he was talking to his lawyer. It was from Michelle. No doubt to confirm what Fitzpatrick had already told him: the cops were all over his house.
****
Black could hear Thomas yelling before he even got in the door. He offered the warrant for inspection but Thomas brushed it away, insisting there’d been no need to bust into the shed.
Black replied, ‘Mrs Thomas didn’t know where the key was kept.’
‘You could’ve waited. I’ve got the only key on my set.’
‘What do you do with all this stuff?’ Black waved his arm in the direction of the shelves and benches.
‘Nothing. None of it’s mine. Christine’s a food techie, into pharmacology.’
Hart, who had followed Thomas to his property, emerged from behind the shed. ‘These of interest to us, Blackie?’
Black looked at the briefcase, phone and damaged hard drive, then popped the latches on the case. ‘Looks a bit good to throw out, Trevor. Whose is this?’
‘Mine. It’s old-fashioned and I’m over it. Had it twenty years.
‘Anyone else use the case apart from you?’
‘No.’
‘So there’ll only be your fingerprints on it, then.’
‘Who knows who might have handled it for whatever reason? It’s never been with me all the time.’
Black used a pen to prise open tight leather pockets on the inside of the lid. ‘Two business cards. Jack Dench’s.’ He looked up to see Thomas with his head down, kneading his eyes. Black grinned. ‘You’ll tell me that being such good mates after you split, you held onto his cards to promote his business.’
‘It was originally his case, years ago. I took it over. Never used those pockets. I had no idea those were still in there.’
Black smiled as he noted Dench’s mobile number on the cards. ‘How long have you had it then?’
Thomas’s eyes darted left, and he rubbed his chin. ‘About five years, maybe longer?’
Black knew that would date his ownership before mobile phones were operating in New Zealand. ‘What about this phone?’
‘Also mine. I took the first upgrade available from the old brick model. That’s the old one. No use to anyone now.’
‘So none of this gear is Dench’s then, right?’
‘I wouldn’t touch anything that prick owned with a barge pole.’
‘Where’s Dench at the moment?’
‘On his way to hell, I hope.’
Black paused. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I don’t give a rat’s arse about that prick. He made Derk’s and my life a misery.’
‘But you implied he was dead.’
‘What of it? He could be for all I know.’
‘Where were you between 9.00 PM and midnight last night?’
‘Here, at home. My family will vouch for that.’
‘Your suspicion’s correct. Dench is dead. He was found hanging in his apartment. You know anything about that?’
Thomas smiled. ‘At last, something to celebrate. But you can’t thank me, unfortunately. I’m not involved.’
‘What about this?’ asked Black, pointing to the hard drive.
‘Six months out of warranty. Nothing but a piece of shit.’
‘You didn’t pull this out of the casing looking like this?’
‘It took a ride outa my office window, okay? Came to a sudden halt when it met a concrete slab in the car park.’
Black spotted the beer fridge. Opening the door, he bent down and pulled out the bag. He whistled when he saw the bundles of fifty-dollar notes inside. ‘Christ, how much is in here?’
‘I haven’t counted it.’ Thomas sounded belligerent. ‘I’m told twenty to twenty-five thousand. I’m looking after it for a mate who’s gone to Aussie.’
Black shot him a disbelieving look. ‘Yeah, right. Who would this mate be?’
‘I’d rather not say. It’s the result of gambling and debt collection.’
‘I’ve always heard the garden shed was safer than the bank.’ Black chuckled at his own joke.
One of the constables called out. ‘Brown envelope here containing several syringes and needles.’
Black looked at Thomas. ‘Not mine. Must be Christine’s.’
Black returned to the fridge. Holding each beer bottle upside down, he tested the security of the caps. Then he pulled out the jar of clear liquid, looking at Thomas with raised eyebrows.
‘No idea, not mine either.’
‘The constable wil
l provide a receipt for all of this. We’re going to need a van to take it all away.’
Thomas folded his arms. ‘You’re taking Christine’s stuff, not mine. What’s she accused of?’
‘You told me just a couple of minutes ago that you had the only key to this shed. That makes you in control of whatever’s out here, no matter who owns it. There’s some stuff here we need to check out. And I’ve reason to believe that this money is the proceeds of pornography trading, so in the meantime, I’ll take this for safe keeping. We’ll issue you a receipt for that as well.’
Thomas protested but paled as Hart approached Black with a large evidence bag full of black paper ash. ‘Distinct whiff of petrol around that Barbie plate, Blackie, where I got this.’
‘Well,’ said Black, smiling. ‘First the computer and now the records to go with it, Mr Thomas. A nice clean-up job. We’ll see what forensics make of it all, eh?’
****
‘Arseholes.’ Turning to his wife, who was standing on the other side of their bed, Thomas said, ‘They think I killed Dench, Derk and some other guy.’
‘Well?’ Michelle’s look was completely devoid of emotion.
‘Jesus Christ, woman. I do what I can to keep you in the demanding lifestyle you’re accustomed to. But I’m not a murderer. Surely you know that?’ Michelle said nothing. ‘I need your help.’
Detective Matt Woods was on his way out of the house but, hearing Thomas’s raised voice, returned to the other side of the bedroom door.
‘I don’t know you anymore.’ Michelle’s voice was high and harsh. ‘Why would I help someone who’s become a monster, a virtual stranger who treats me like something the cat dragged in the door?’
‘Listen up, you dopey bitch. If you don’t give me the alibi I need, you’ll be living off nothing but rolled oats that I’ll personally piss in every chance I get.’
Woods, his left ear hard against the door, struggled to keep pace with his note-taking. ‘Not if you’re in the big house you won’t, Titman. You’ll be too busy fending off sexual predators. I hear they’re not as fussy in there as I am.’
Thomas was stunned into silence. Looking contrite, he whispered, ‘Look, I’m sorry, Michelle. I shouldn’t have said that. You can see I’m really stressed here.’ He held his arms out towards her. ‘I know I shouldn’t take it out on you.’