Leaving Bondi Read online

  ‘Les Norton. Cox Avenue, Bondi?’ said the dark-haired detective.

  ‘That’s me,’ nodded Les.

  ‘I’m Detective Caccano. This is Detective Tait and Sergeant Plackett. We have a warrant to search your premises for explosives.’

  Les stood back from the door. ‘Go for your life.’ He turned to the cop with the dog. ‘You won’t find nothing, mate, so try not to wreck the place will you? There’s a tool shed out the backyard too. It’s unlocked.’

  ‘Righto, mate,’ said the uniform cop indifferently. ‘Come on, Oscar. Good boy.’

  Les watched as Sergeant Plackett and his sniffer dog started searching round his bedroom, then motioned to the two other cops. ‘The lounge is through there. You want to sit down?’

  ‘We’ll follow you,’ said Detective Caccano.

  They went into the lounge room and sat down. Les on the lounge, the two cops facing him on the loungechairs.

  ‘You live here on your own?’ asked Detective Caccano.

  Les shook his head. ‘No. I got a flatmate. A bloke called Warren Edwards. He works for MM and B Advertising.’

  ‘Where’s he?’ asked Detective Tait.

  ‘Down the south coast with a girl. At Ulladulla. I don’t know when he’ll be back. About Thursday, I think.’

  ‘You work at the Kelly Club, don’t you?’ said Detective Tait.

  ‘That’s right,’ answered Les.

  ‘With a bloke called Billy Dunne.’

  ‘Yeah. We work on the door.’

  ‘Price Galese has gone very respectable these days,’ said Detective Caccano.

  Les looked at the two detectives expressionlessly. ‘I was under the impression he always was.’

  The two detectives looked expressionlessly back at Les as Sergeant Plackett and his dog gave the house a swift but thorough going-over. The dog sniffed all over the lounge and kitchen, then they went out into the backyard. Les offered the two detectives some coffee. They declined. There was a modicum of chit-chat then Sergeant Plackett came back into the lounge and shook his head.

  ‘Nothing out there,’ he said to the two detectives. He turned to Les. ‘How do I get up in the roof?’

  ‘There’s a manhole cover in the kitchen. Above the sideboard next to the fridge. The stepladder’s in the shed.’

  ‘I won’t need it.’

  Les watched the cop go into the kitchen then heard him push the dog up through the manhole cover. The dog barked a couple of times as Les heard it running about in the roof. Well, there goes Warren’s pot. Now they’ll get me for supply. As well as murder, arson, and whatever fuckin else they’re going to charge me with. Fuck it, cursed Les.

  Les heard the manhole cover being replaced, then Sergeant Plackett and his dog came back into the lounge room empty handed.

  Sergeant Plackett shook his head. ‘Nothing in there, either,’ he said. ‘The place appears to be clean.’

  ‘I had a feeling it would be,’ said Detective Tait.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Go back to the yard. We’ll give you a call if we need you again.’

  Les had nearly fallen through the back of the lounge. He knew he had to say something. Anything. Or his facial expressions would give him away.

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking,’ Les said to Sergeant Plackett, ‘that’s a funny-looking police dog. I thought they were all German Shepherds. Or Rottweilers.’

  ‘Oscar?’ replied Sergeant Plackett. ‘Oscar’s okay. Oscar used to be with Customs. But he accidentally snorted a big pile of pure heroin one night and nearly died from an overdose. He’s been useless with drugs ever since. Couldn’t tell dope from donuts. But he’s the best in the business when it comes to explosives. Aren’t you, Oscar?’ The dog panted and smiled up at his handler. ‘He’s a good boy.’ Sergeant Plackett turned to the two detectives. ‘Okay. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Righto. Thanks for your help, Geoff,’ said Detective Tait.

  Les heard Sergeant Plackett and his dog leave and studied Caccano and Tait pretty much the same way they were studying him. From his dealings with police in the past, their attitude and body language told him these two knew what they were doing. They hadn’t carried on with any great drama so far and they’d obviously done their homework on him. They were probably mystified why Les would want to set a bomb off on a film set. But by the company Les kept, where he worked and his past form, it wouldn’t have surprised them. Up to this point, they’d been very low key. Now Les was waiting for the penny to drop. Though Les had to admit, luck had certainly been on his side so far. Detective Caccano spoke first.

  ‘Well, I imagine you know what this is all about, Les?’ he said quietly.

  Les made a small gesture with his hands. ‘Not … really. Maybe you’d better fill me in.’

  ‘An explosive device was set off on a film set in Bondi early this afternoon,’ continued Detective Caccano. ‘In which one person was killed and a number of other people were injured.’

  Les nodded. ‘Yeah. I heard it on the news earlier.’

  ‘You’ve been identified by at least five people leaving a parcel in the catering canteen at the precise time of the blast,’ said Detective Tait.

  ‘You’ve been positively identified by the film’s director,’ Detective Caccano flipped open his notebook. ‘A Mr Max King.’

  ‘And there’s film of you leaving the parcel on the school’s outdoor security camera,’ said Detective Caccano. ‘Which is what Mr King was able to make a positive identification from.’

  There was a brief silence, then Detective Tait spoke. ‘So what have you got to say to all this, Les?’

  Les studied the two detectives for a moment. ‘What have I got to say?’ he replied. ‘I don’t quite know what to say at the moment. But I imagine you’d like me to accompany you to the station. Where I could be of further assistance with your inquiries?’

  Detective Caccano half smiled. ‘We certainly would.’

  Les nodded to his bomber jacket on the lounge. ‘I’ll just get my jacket.’

  Les stood up and so did the two detectives. Detective Caccano reached behind his sports coat.

  ‘If you don’t mind, Les,’ he said easily. ‘Your hands.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Detective Tait. ‘It’s not that we don’t trust you, Les. It’s just that we don’t trust you.’

  Les felt the handcuffs snap round his wrists and knew exactly where he stood with Detectives Caccano and Tait. Two minutes later he was in the back seat of a Holden heading for Waverley Police Station.

  Christ! This is getting to be a habit, Les fumed to himself, as the units in Old South Head Road went past. How could anything fuck up so bad? The bloody security camera. I didn’t even think of that. But why would Les have thought of that or anything else? It wasn’t as if he and Eddie had planned to murder anyone. All they had in mind was more or less a harmless prank. Les would have told the neighbourhood what they were up to. It was a hoot. Now this. Les shook his head and put himself in the two detectives’ shoes for a moment. Les was their man all right. They were short on motive, but they had a red hot suspect. And Les knew for sure the best evidence was yet to come.

  Waverley Police Station in Bronte Road looked exactly the same as the last time Les was in there. And the time before that. Except there was a platoon of journalists, photographers and TV cameras milling round out the front. Les just had time to pull his jacket up over his head as cameras started flashing and TV cameras began whirling. The police drove down the back of the station and with the media still howling like jackals in the background, Les was bundled out of the Holden and through a door into the station. The only view Les got was his feet beneath his bomber jacket, going up the familiar concrete stairs before he was led into the detectives’ room.

  ‘Christ! That was a lot of fun,’ said Les, straightening his jacket around him after he walked through the door.

  ‘Yes. Our friends in the media,’ said Detective Tait. ‘They’re all right, are
n’t they.’

  Les had a look around him. He was in the same room as he’d been in last time he was at Waverley Police Station. The same dusty window looking out over the surrounding flats, the same grey metal filing cabinets against the walls. A skinny pot plant in the corner opposite the vinyl chairs and desk. Even the wanted posters on the walls hadn’t seemed to change. The only difference was the blue grey carpet looked new, there was a computer on the desk with a TV and a VCR beneath and a video camera mounted on a black metal tripod sat near the computer. Detective Tait motioned Les to one of the seats. Les sat down as the two detectives loosened their ties.

  ‘All right. We won’t fuck around, Les,’ said Detective Caccano, picking up a video and slipping it into the VCR. ‘This is a copy from the school security camera. Have a look and see what you think.’

  Les sat back as the video began rolling. It was grainy and jerky with a time lapse. But there was no mistaking Les coming into view and placing the cake box on the counter of the catering van. You could even pick up the maniacal grin on Norton’s face as he walked back out of range. Next, there was a great flash of flame and smoke as the van erupted and the chairs and tables closest to the van flew into the others. Then the cook’s body tumbled down the stairs through the smoke. Detective Caccano wound it back a couple of times more. Freeze-framed it on Norton’s grinning face, then switched it off.

  ‘Well, what do you think, Les?’ asked Detective Tait. ‘I’d say that’s you. I’d even hazard a guess and say you’re still wearing the same T-shirt.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Norton slowly. ‘There is a certain resemblance.’

  Detective Caccano flipped open his notebook. ‘We’ve also got a statement from a Ms Robyn Cornish, one of the make-up girls on the movie. She said to you, quote, “Is it somebody’s birthday?” And you replied, quote, “Yes, Albert the cook’s. I baked this for him myself. He’ll get a bang out of this. I guarantee it.” This is also verified by a statement from the other make-up girl,’ the detective consulted his notebook, ‘a Ms Jacintha Gillings.’

  ‘Albert the cook certainly got a bang out of your cake, Les, didn’t he?’ said Detective Tait. ‘I’d say half of Bondi did.’

  Detective Caccano looked evenly at Norton. ‘Do you wish to make a statement, Les?’

  Les stared at the handcuffs round his wrists. This was the evidence he knew the two detectives had. And he was stuffed, six ways to Saturday. Or as Billy Dunne liked to say, he had two chances: none and slim. And Slim left town last week. But Les did have two chances. He could tell the truth; not that it would do him much good. And he could make a phone call.

  Les sucked in some air. ‘Okay. You’re right. That is me.’

  ‘Thanks, Les,’ said Detective Tait. ‘At least you’re not playing us for complete mugs.’

  ‘And I want to make a statement. You ain’t gonna believe it. But I’ll make it anyway. And it’s the truth.’

  ‘Okay, Les,’ said Detective Caccano. ‘Now as this is a very serious charge, I’m going to record it on video.’ The detective swivelled the video camera on the tripod, spoke briefly into the recorder, then gave Les the go-ahead.

  Without implicating Eddie, Les told them everything that happened. He said he made the device in the cake box, and he was alone when he saw the cook tampering with the food. He left the scene because he panicked, and intended contacting the police the following day, but the two detectives called round before he had the chance. Detective Caccano switched off the video recorder, looked at his partner, then turned to Les. Whether they saw the funny side of the situation, Les wasn’t sure. It certainly didn’t appear that way.

  ‘You say you made the explosive device in the cake box?’ said Detective Tait.

  ‘That’s right. At home. In the shed out the back,’ replied Les.

  ‘And you bought the cracker from a friend in Chinatown?’ said Detective Caccano.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘His name? Ahh, I’m not sure. He’s just a bloke I know.’

  ‘And the image-stabilizing binoculars?’ asked Detective Tait. ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘I loaned them to a bloke. To take to the races.’

  ‘I see,’ nodded Detective Tait. ‘And the cake you used to put the firecracker in? Where did you buy that?’

  ‘I baked it at home. Out of a packet,’ replied Les.

  ‘And you went to all this trouble,’ said Detective Caccano, ‘because you saw the cook putting flies in the stew. And dog shit in the lamingtons.’

  ‘That’s exactly right,’ said Les. ‘Hey, like I told you, I invested some money in that movie, and I didn’t like what I saw going on.’

  ‘I suppose the money you invested in the movie,’ said Detective Tait, ‘you won that at the races, too.’

  ‘As a matter of fact I did.’

  Detective Caccano looked at his partner. Then back at Norton. ‘Okay, Les. That’s one of the greatest loads of bullshit I’ve ever heard. It’s such a load of bullshit it could almost be fair dinkum. But …’ Detective Caccano shook his head. ‘So I am now officially charging you, Les. With murder. Five counts of malicious wounding. Malicious damage. Endangering public safety.’ He looked directly at Norton. ‘That’ll do for starters.’

  ‘Okay,’ conceded Les, nodding his head slowly. He’d played his ace. Now it was up to his right bower. ‘But bullshit or not, I’ve been straight up with you blokes, haven’t I? I haven’t carried on like a cunt. And I haven’t treated you like mugs.’

  ‘True,’ agreed Detective Tait.

  ‘So how about a phone call?’

  Detective Tait pushed the phone across the table. ‘Be my guest.’

  Les picked up the receiver and dialed awkwardly with the handcuffs still round his wrists. ‘Hello Price. It’s Les. Yeah. I’m in Waverley Police Station. Okay. I’ll put Detective Caccano on the line.’ Les handed the receiver to Detective Caccano. ‘Just have a talk to Price for a sec, will you?’

  Detective Caccano picked up the phone. He didn’t speak. He just nodded his head a couple of times. ‘All right, Mr Galese,’ he said, then hung up.

  ‘What was that all about?’ asked Detective Tait.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ replied his partner. ‘But we’ll know soon enough.’

  A minute later the phone rang. Detective Caccano picked it up and seemed to stiffen. All Les could hear was a muffled, ‘Yes sir. Yes sir. No sir.’ Then Caccano handed the phone to Detective Tait. There was another muffled, ‘Yes sir. Yes sir. No sir,’ before Detective Tait hung up.

  Both detectives sat and stared quietly at Les. ‘You sure know some people, don’t you, Les,’ said Detective Caccano.

  Les shook his head. ‘Not really. But Price does.’

  Detective Tait gave a mirthless smile. ‘Yeah. Good old Price.’

  Les gestured as best he could with the handcuffs on. ‘Like I said, he’s a very respectable man. Always has been.’

  Detective Caccano looked at Norton then undid the handcuffs. ‘All right, Les. We’ll give you half a break. I’m still charging you. But we’ll give you conditional bail. Six days. That means you’re back here next Monday at nine-thirty to appear before a magistrate for a hearing.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Detective Caccano tapped the table, then pointed at Les. ‘You surrender your passport. You report here every day between nine and three. You don’t leave the state. And if we so much as see you walk in an exit door, we’ll be all over you like flies on shit.’

  ‘I got the picture,’ nodded Les, rubbing his wrists.

  ‘And when you front on Monday,’ said Detective Tait, ‘we’ll oppose bail. The prosecutor will oppose bail. So as well as your lawyer, bring a toothbrush.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  The two detectives then processed Les. He was fingerprinted, they took a photo, and they took his passport. And in no uncertain terms, they warned Les to obey to his bail conditions to the letter. Everything was pain
stakingly typed up in quadruplicate then they went over everything again with him so there was no mistake. Finally Les was given his bail papers and a report card to bring with him when he came to the station.

  ‘Okay, Les,’ said Detective Caccano. ‘You’re free to go.’

  ‘For the time being,’ added Detective Tait. ‘And I’ll be fair dinkum with you, Les. We’re filthy on having to watch you walk out of here. We saw what was left of the cook. There could have been another dozen like him.’

  ‘Fair enough, fellahs,’ said Les. He stood up and looked at the two detectives. ‘Look, I know how you feel. No one likes being compromised. But this is just one big fuck-up. And that’s the truth. I just want a chance to see if I can sort the shitfight out.’

  ‘It’s a shitfight all right,’ agreed Detective Caccano, emptily. ‘See you later, Les.’

  ‘Yeah, see you on Monday. And thanks again, anyway.’ Les turned and walked out of the detectives’ room.

  Fuckin hell, thought Les as he came down the steps to the front desk. How heavy was that? Bloody Price. I wonder what strings he pulled to get me out of there? Yeah. Only for six days. But the way it was going, I’m bone lucky to get that. Then another thought struck Les. Now I’ve got to get through all those miserable pricks out the front. The last thing I want is my head plastered all over the front of the papers and the late night news. Over at the front desk Les recognised a familiar face. It was the old fat sergeant who farted in the front seat of the wagon when Bob McKenna’s daughter got pinched for shoplifting. He wasn’t a bad bloke, if Les remembered right. The sergeant was standing next to two other uniform cops who were listening to some woman in a black dress having a beef about an AVO.

  ‘Hey boss,’ Les said to the sergeant. ‘How can I get out the front without those bludgers swarming all over me?’

  The old sergeant recognised Les and remembered what Les had done the day they drove him back to the station. He showed a bit of sympathy. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘take this newspaper and read it walking out backwards.’