Edward Brownlow stretched, turned over and tried to focus his scratchy and bloodshot eyes. Lying next to him on the 1,200 thread count pure Egyptian cotton sheets, face down, was a naked woman who, given the perfect skin covering a backside completely free of cellulite, was probably about the same age as his youngest daughter. This didn’t immediately occur to Edward, who was more interested in trying to recall salient details of last night’s dinner and working out where he was. It was obviously a 5 star hotel somewhere on the harbour as he could hear the special clinking sound made only by million-dollar yachts as they bumped gently into the wharf just outside his bedroom window. Sitting right next to his wallet on the bedside table, partially covered in white crystalline powder, was a room key with a large ‘W’ on the face.
“Guess I didn’t make it that far from the restaurant then,” he muttered to himself, “and this must be one of those hookers that James hired when we were finishing our cigars”
Getting up from the bed, he gave the woman a shove hard enough that she fell onto the floor. As she swore under her breath, he threw her $500 in fifties.
“That’s not going to cover it.”
“I realise that you silly little cow - you came on account. The $500’s a tip. If you don’t want it though….”
The young woman grabbed at the cash, scrabbled around for her dress and shoes, threw the heels in her enormous handbag and pulled out a pair of cheap rubber thongs that clashed wildly with the gold Herve Leger bandage dress. Muttering a sullen “Thanks”, she walked quickly out of the room, before the punter changed his mind.
Edward dragged his hangover to the shower, smiling to himself as he slowly recalled last night’s dinner. It had started out as a celebration of a new major contract and had rapidly morphed into a wild drunken and cocaine-fuelled romp in the famous steak restaurant on the Woolloomooloo Wharf downstairs. They had been in a private room, so the owners had been quite happy to let the boys party, even when it got quite rowdy. Edward was a regular there, and they were confident that all damages would be paid for - all they had to do was bill them under ‘beverages’. Stepping out onto the warm fluffy bathmat, Edward came back to reality with a thump as he heard the ringtone on his phone that was a signal that his wife was trying to get hold of him. Probably to give him grief about why he hadn’t come home. Again. He threw the bath towel at the phone, which muffled the sound a bit. As it rang for the third time, he debated turning it off, but as it was now 8am, he needed it on in case the office were trying to get hold of him. The last thing he needed was one of his underlings thinking that they could make a decision without clearing it with him first, just because he hadn’t answered their call!
He really was sick of Marianne and her demands. For years he had supported her and their four children, working exceptionally hard to give his family a lifestyle that most people could only dream of. All she’d had to do was make sure that their kids were suitably fed, educated and clothed while she had filled her days with whatever she wanted to do. It was just luck when that stupid little fundraising dinner she set up with her tennis-playing girlfriends had turned into one of Australia’s most high-profile charities, raising millions of dollars for underprivileged children. Being the husband of the CEO of Mums4PoorKids certainly helped him with his public reputation – it was hard at times being the ‘Mr Fixit’ of the construction industry and keeping out of jail. The publicity that Marianne got for her charity work softened his public image no end. He wondered what had happened to the beautiful and exciting young lawyer he had married and how their life now had all the trappings they had wanted, but none of the love remained. He realised that a fair bit of this fault laid with him, but seriously, he thought, women just want it all these days from their husbands: great wealth; and a man around whenever they wanted for entertainment, childcare or sex. Problem is, there are only so many hours in the day and he hadn’t been born with the proverbial silver spoon.
Now that the children had left home, Marianne seemed to want to spend more and more time with him. At the same time, Edward was starting to enjoy the freedom to do whatever he wanted, funded by his insanely large paycheck, supplemented regularly with payments from construction firms, unions and the like. His role in negotiating multi-million dollar contracts had allowed him to siphon off a number of special ‘consultant fees’ into shelf companies and the Trade Unions were always happy to supplement his income as long as he kept his construction sites staff only by Union members. The dinner and ‘entertainment’ he had enjoyed the previous evening were rapidly becoming his primary after-hours pursuit. He was not at all interested in spending his nights in the company of his middle-aged wife with her sagging body and attempts to drag him into her boring life. He no longer cared if people thought he was a thug and a villain – in any case, he was old news. Years ago the Australian public had just accepted that the construction industry was corrupt and had now moved its focus onto celebrity lives, drug-smugglers and Masterchef.
That morning, he decided to get divorced. The following week, after a difficult meeting with Helen Spencer, divorce lawyer to many of Sydney’s wealthy elite, he changed his mind. Helen, despite living up to her reputation of fighting tooth and nail for every dollar for her clients, gave him the bad news on how much this divorce would cost him.
“What do you mean, half of everything? Are you kidding? The cow hasn’t worked a day in her life, apart from that stupid charity thing! I’ve paid all the bills from day dot and now you tell me that I will lose half of all my money?” He stormed around Helen’s palatial office, spitting and cursing.
“Well, Edward, there are of course things you can do if you are prepared to take a bit of time to properly secure some of your assets away from prying eyes, but realistically, even if you do that, she is going to get a few hundred mill. In any case, how closely do you want the court prying into your income and history?” Helen was well aware of who she was dealing with. “I’m pretty sure some of your business associates would not welcome any case that might shine light on your transactions with them.”
Edward was furious. He managed billions of dollars every day on construction jobs with ruthless and dangerous people and this woman couldn’t even take on his stupid fat cow of a blood-sucking wife!
“What’s more, Edward, she is a very well-known and well-respected person due to her ‘stupid charity thing’. There’s hardly a week goes by without a picture of Marianne in the social pages kissing an underprivileged snotty kid in the company of the Prime Minister or a rock star. The public love her and you will be crucified if you try to screw her in the Family Court.”
Edward started to realise he was on a hiding to nothing with this divorce. Even though he could pay Marianne off and still be a very wealthy man, his greed and stubbornness was making sure he didn’t give her a penny. He decided to go home and come up with another plan. He shook Helen’s hand, told her to send him her bill and left. Helen was very glad to see him go. She had experience of dealing with the Sydney underworld, and much preferred to keep her practice to super-wealthy celebrities and executives without Edward’s links to organised crime.
Edward walked through the door of his Point Piper mansion to be greeted by an exasperated Marianne.
“Had you forgotten dear? We are entertaining Father Josephson and Sister Andrea tonight – we are about to sit down to dinner to talk about Mums4PoorKids latest project. You’ve missed cocktails, perhaps Imelda can pour you a beer while you change.”
“You can shove your dinner up your arse!” Was Edwards shouted reply as he stormed upstairs to his bedroom, “I’m going out to eat somewhere I don’t have to deal with pious wankers who are just sucking up to you so they can piss more money away on dole bludgers and their kids.”
Marianne returned to the dining room where her guests were more relieved than offended, having had plenty of experience of the ‘real’ Edward Brownlow in the past.
Edward headed out in his Bentley to B
otany, where nobody knew him and he could have some space to think. He pulled up in the car park of the Sir Joseph Banks Hotel beside a ten-year-old BMW and a shiny bright green ute. He hadn’t been around this part of Sydney for years, but it looked like it hadn’t changed much. “I could kill the bitch!” he muttered into his beer once inside, “She knows I hate those religious zealots and their so-called caring for the poor while their church is the richest institution in the world.”
He stopped. Actually that was quite a good idea. In over 30 years in the construction industry he had amassed plenty of dodgy contacts and he could think of at least three that would be quite happy to do the job for a reasonable fee. Certainly it would be less than the hundreds of millions of dollars that his lawyer had spoken of. The risk was pretty low – these guys had done a few similar jobs for him in the past and none of them had ever been linked back to Edward. He would probably just have to pay a bit more for a killing than a broken leg or arm. He realised he was hungry and asked the barmaid if they were still serving food.
“Our special tonight love, is $10 steak – pepper or Diane sauce. Chef reckons it’s really nice – fancy one?”
Edward was initially a bit turned off – this was not quite Kingsleys at The Wharf, but he was famished. “Okay, steak – no sauce - and another Carlton please.”
When it turned up, the steak proved to be terrific.
Having made the decision to kill Marianne, Edward now started to plan how to do it. Whilst it would have given him the greatest satisfaction to take one of the hideous statuettes that adorned their lounge room with inscriptions from poor kids from all over Australia, he had no intention of spending a single day in police custody, let alone jail. He had to satisfy himself with a mental image of pounding on her head until she stopped nagging. In the tradition of the construction industry that had financed his wealth, he clearly needed to outsource this task.
The construction industry was rife with thugs. Rarely did a day pass without the press reporting on Union standover tactics; harassment of worksite inspectors; workers being killed in ‘accidents’, contract bribery and extortion. And that was just the stuff that got into the papers. The truth is that whilst large companies like Crowning Constructions Limited appeared squeaky clean, they maintained this image by operating at arms length from the thuggery through a range of partnerships, joint ventures and subcontract arrangements. Edward, as a senior executive with years of experience in the industry, knew exactly what was going on in the construction sites, but was careful to preserve a veneer of deniability. The Unions and organised crime figures that peppered the game were quite happy with the arrangements and made regular payments to Edward and his cohorts to ensure that the status quo was maintained. As a result of these long-term associations, Edward knew just who to call to help him with his latest problem.
He made a short phone call to a man he hadn’t seen in person for several years, but who regularly sent Edward Christmas and birthday cards so that Edward knew that he was keeping an eye on his ‘asset’.
“I have a problem that I need someone to solve for me. One that needs your particular touch. Can you help?”
The person at the other end hung up. Edward was not worried. He knew enough about his contact to accept that he was not going to incriminate himself on the phone. Sure enough, the following day Edward received a call from an unknown number.
“3 o’clock at The Empire.” Then a click.
At 3pm, Edward dutifully presented himself at the iconic Kings Cross Bar. Sitting among the usual clientele of bikies, aboriginal locals and drug dealers was his contact.
“Don’t worry about this mob, they’re deaf and blind. Tell me what you want.”
Edward explained that he wanted his wife knocked off and that he would like it done while he was far away. He was heading off on a tour of a number of construction jobs across Asia the following month, so it would be particularly good if he could arrange it for somewhere towards the end of the trip. That way he could still get most of his work done before he was inevitably called back to Australia to do the grieving husband act.
His contact nodded. “Do you want her done nice and quiet, or do you need it messy?”
Edward was nonplussed. His contact continued, “Look, do I just get someone to knock her over the head or do you want her raped and mutilated as well?”
Edward was horrified. “No, no! I don’t want any of that! I just want her dead with the minimum of fuss. How much will this cost?”
His contact smiled. “I reckon we can do this on tick. I’m sure we will have plenty of opportunities to make good in the future. That okay?”
Edward, still shaken from the last offer, nodded in agreement. He shook his contact’s hand and left hurriedly to get back to the safety and security of his city office. All he had to do now was wait.
CHAPTER THREE
Tony