The Unbroken Line Page 4

  I did.

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘Well, that remains to be seen.’ Feinson’s eyes were tracking his. ‘Have you had any further contact with Nicholas Aaron or his colleagues?’

  Time to get out of here.

  ‘None recently. No.’

  ‘It’s been suggested you misrepresented to this man that you had the capacity to act as his lawyer.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. I do know he is currently being sought by police on charges of possessing and selling a trafficable quantity of drugs.’

  ‘Very well. Do you have anything else you’d like to add as part of this meeting?’

  ‘I do not.’

  ‘You can contact Grant here if you change your mind.’

  The clerk slid a business card across the table.

  ‘We’ll advise you in a fortnight if we decide to pursue this at VCAT.’

  Will stood. ‘That’s very prompt. I appreciate it.’

  Feinson continued to watch him closely, her eyes two dark points in the full moon of her pale face.

  He had to walk two laps of a city block before be began to feel his heart rate slow down. Unseen forces were moving against him. Following through with his promise to the Ivanics of representing Aaron would raise some flags. But at least he’d have the fucker close to him, which would allow him to monitor the situation.

  Will shook his arms. His skin was tingling, rebelling against his complicity. How had he become this kind of lawyer? He turned himself towards the office.

  He turned his phone back on and was hit with a swarm of new text messages and emails pinging in a shrill frenzy. He scanned the names and was surprised to see that his absent partner had got in touch with him again.

  Debrief with me at nine p.m. tonight? I’ll forward on the address now. Make sure you have some cash in your wallet.

  – C.M.

  He replied to Miller’s message with a simple ‘See you then’ and crossed the road at the tram stop before heading down Little Bourke Street for his office. By the time he’d finished the slow climb up the stairs, pain receptors were firing in his abdomen again. Getting to spend hours at his desk now seemed like a mercy.

  But first: Aaron.

  Taking out the business-card holder from his desk, he flicked through it until he found the number he was after – O’Dwyer’s old partner, still active and still working on the Aaron case.

  ‘Detective Evans,’ he said.

  ‘Harris, you’re alive, then?’ He was hard to hear over a V8 engine and talkback radio. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’d like to assist the police with an ongoing investigation.’

  ‘Really? You sick of playing vigilante? Ready to leave us to do our job?’

  ‘Always have been —’

  ‘Bull. Shit. Do you think you’re one of us?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Yeah, sure you do. Investigating murders, chasing down killers. Do you think you’re better than us?’

  ‘Evans. I don’t.’

  On the other end of the line, the car started to accelerate.

  ‘Wrong again, mate. I see you trying to play both sides of this game. You think you’re better than all of us. The cops, the prosecutors, the defence lawyers. You think you can do it all.’

  Will heard the car come to a sudden stop.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Evans.

  ‘Are you done? Get it all out?’

  ‘Yeah. I think so,’ the cop said, rustling something as an indicator flicked a staccato in the background.

  ‘I’d like to talk about a handover.’

  ‘Handover? Who?’

  ‘Nicholas Aaron. I’m acting as his lawyer. I know his whereabouts.’

  The rustling stopped.

  ‘Now that is some good news. Almost makes me feel bad for giving you stick there.’

  ‘I still need to talk to him about the details, but he knows he’s nicked. This one won’t be going to trial.’

  ‘I like what I’m hearing. We’d like to pick him up ASAP, obviously. Stop wasting taxpayer money searching for this bum.’

  ‘I can clear a space tomorrow morning. How does that sound?’

  ‘Tomorrow sounds very good. Is he in town or will I need some colleagues to run the taxi service?’

  ‘He’s not in Melbourne.’

  ‘Care to narrow it down? I’ll need to make sure we’ve got personnel who can come get him.’

  ‘He’s out west.’

  ‘Closest station that has some manpower?’

  ‘Geelong.’

  SIX

  Will stepped out of the cab into the night and looked over his shoulder. There was still some chill in the air even though winter had long since passed. From chimneys the last wood smoke of the season was mingling with the smell of jasmine blossoms. The restaurants and bars did a brisk trade out on the street. Beers were rushed into waiting hands in lieu of food, as kitchens struggled to keep up with the orders. Young men with bush beards and undercuts lounged among women with thick-rimmed glasses and sailors’ tattoos.

  Smith Street was once a no-man’s-land of junkies and boarded-up shopfronts. But now, as was Melbourne’s way, previously dormant edifices had sprung back to life offering niche boutiques and artisan restaurants.

  Will checked the map on his phone and turned down a side street. The building was one of those rare three-storey terraces, wedged between two massive warehouses stylishly converted to lure both pink and aspirational dollars. Its weathered dark stone was in stark contrast to the expanse of red brick that stretched down the street.

  Will checked his watch. Nine p.m. Miller had better be on time.

  Through the building’s walls he could hear faint music. A deep bass pulsed like a slow heartbeat while a woman sang in another language, probably French. Light from behind faded red curtains cast the veranda in a bordello glow as Will stepped up and closed the iron gate. Two young men, arms entwined, looked up at him from an unravelling wicker settee.

  He double-checked the address – this didn’t have the feel of one of Miller’s usual drinking establishments. Too much house party and not enough polish.

  Will nodded to the couple as he pushed open the flaking door.

  Inside, the music was louder. The corridor was hazy with cigarette smoke; a warped staircase led up to the second floor. A young woman looking like a magician’s assistant in fishnets and a leotard smiled at Will from behind a card table. She was barefoot, with old bruises and scarring across her toes and ankles.

  ‘It’s a twenty.’

  She reached forwards and held a stamp above his hand. Will offered her his wrist and she pressed the rubber against it, leaving a bright red mark – a pursed pair of lips.

  ‘Enjoy yourself.’

  Will inhaled as he gripped the banister and started his slow climb.

  He was angry now. For all Miller knew, Will was back in a wheelchair. At least he’d finally get to confront the fucker. So much for an equal partnership.

  The floor above was louder still and thicker with smoke. A large space that might have once been a dining room had been almost gutted, perhaps by a fire, judging from the black patches on the wall. The restoration had been minimal – fresh floorboards, a scaffolding brace along one wall. In the centre was a stage with a freestanding pole. A wiry man – bearded, bald, with lipstick – slowly rotated on it wearing only purple knee-high boots and a G-string.

  The pole dancer moved his legs in a slow bicycle motion to the throbbing music. A small crowd watched, nodding to the beat, plastic cups in one hand, cigarettes in the other. The heat from an open fire in the room had them stripped down to T-shirts and singlets. Some women walked around topless but for pasties that matched their fascinators.

  He couldn’t see Miller anywhere. He couldn’t even imagine him in a place like this. This was more Eva’s speed.

  Eva.

  He checked his phone again, a hollow ritual; he knew too well that she hadn’t responded to any of his
texts or tried to return his calls. She was forcing time and distance between them – a wedge before the cut. He could feel apprehension growing in a twisted ball in his gut.

  Will walked through the chipped plaster archway to the next room. Most of the walls were lined with shelves, half-filled with books, while people sat on low divans or spoke in conspiratorial huddles from leather armchairs. Along one wall was a velvet curtain, in front of which were suspended a selection of wooden-framed pictures – handpainted replicas of 1970s pornographic spreads. On a long couch below these sat Chris Miller, his arm around a woman in a corset. Beside him sat Mark Eldon, a woman on his knee in elaborate lingerie with straps and suspenders.

  Miller leapt up and rushed over to Will.

  ‘Hombre! What the fuck happened?’

  ‘You read the paper.’

  ‘They said some men fled the scene of the accident?’

  Will looked over to the couch. Eldon was using the woman on his knee to conceal his snorting a bump of cocaine from the side of his hand.

  ‘You’re high, Chris.’

  ‘Just a little. This is a party.’

  ‘It’s a Tuesday night.’

  ‘Footy season is over so this might as well be Mark’s weekend.’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck about Mark. Where have you been? The firm is in the red.’

  ‘Hey, Will. Let’s get you a drink, and then we can have a talk. I know I’ve been absent, and I agree it’s not good. But that’s why I texted you. Come and say hi. Come on.’

  Will sighed and walked with Miller over to the couch. Miller placed his hand on Will’s shoulder as he spoke. ‘Will, I want you to meet Mark, Leah and Eloise.’

  Mark reached out his hand. ‘Glad to finally meet you. Chris has told me a lot about you. You’re way bigger than I imagined. Chris says you box. Do you compete? You must have fucked up that freak who killed Amber Tasic when you caught him.’

  Miller winked at Will.

  ‘Actually,’ Will said, ‘he was the one who fucked me up.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yeah. If it weren’t for the woman who was with me, that freak would have killed me as well.’

  ‘Ouch. Still, he’s in jail and you’re here, right?’

  ‘Um, yeah . . . Right.’

  Mark sat back down. Leah gave Will a withering smile before grabbing hold of Mark’s arm. She was pretty, blonde and tanned, with an asymmetrical haircut.

  ‘Leah and Eloise are dancers. They usually perform together.’

  ‘But not tonight,’ Leah said, pouting and raising her ankle. It was wrapped in white tape.

  ‘Who would have thought burlesque could be so dangerous?’ Eloise said, laughing.

  Leah gave her the finger. ‘Aren’t you on next?’

  Eloise wrapped a leg around Miller, like a tango, and kissed him full on the lips.

  In the other room the audience clapped while Eloise grabbed two large folded fans from beside the couch.

  Miller slapped her arse as she leant over and she let out a playful yelp. As Eloise weaved through the crowd towards the stage, Miller offered Will the space on the couch next to him.

  He wanted to refuse it – to flip the coffee table filled with drinks and get out of there. It was more than his growing indignation at being abandoned in their own firm, their joint business venture; it was the casualness of the man, as though with a flick of his manicured fingers Miller could banish the bad blood that had been steadily growing between them.

  Miller patted the couch.

  Will gritted his teeth.

  ‘I know we need to talk,’ Miller said. ‘So sit and let’s talk.’

  ‘Where have you been? The firm is struggling,’ Will growled as he lowered himself down.

  ‘Let’s not get into that just yet. Jesus, Will, you were fucking attacked. I want to know how you’re going.’

  ‘The firm.’

  ‘I’ve got the firm covered. I know it doesn’t look like it but I’m there nights, when you’re at home. I’m meeting with clients during the day too. I haven’t completely moved out of my chambers yet, so I’ve been taking some meetings there. You haven’t asked me why I wanted to meet you here. Guess.’

  Will was in no mood for Miller’s games.

  ‘Why are we here, Chris?’

  Miller nodded, his eyes on the stage in the other room.

  ‘I figured you could do with a night off. How’d the meeting with the commissioner go?’

  ‘She’s thinking about it.’

  ‘That’s good, yeah? She didn’t move straight on to a professional practice hearing.’

  ‘The case against me is complicated. More abstract than what they’re used to.’

  ‘No misappropriated trust money. More a disrepute thing.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘They need evidence, Will. They can’t do shit. I wouldn’t sweat it if I were you.’

  A DJ played a new track and started a smoke machine. A throbbing hum drifted out of the speakers and across the open-plan room a distorted voice sung in a way that was reminiscent of a Native American chant.

  Eloise emerged from the smoke, the two black feather fans splayed and quivering in front of her. She held one fan across her torso while she moved the other through the haze.

  ‘We’ve been hanging out. For about a week now. Never expected to be with a woman like this. Dancers, hombre . . . I think I’m smitten.’

  ‘You sure that’s not the coke talking?’

  ‘Probably,’ Miller said, palming a small glass bottle from Mark and offering it to Will.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So,’ Miller said, ‘what the hell happened last night? I tried to get into the hospital but they said visiting hours were over.’

  Eloise was turned away from the audience now, her bare back framed by the long black feathers like the wings of a raven. She turned side-on, holding the fans to cover her breasts. The small, round shape of her belly was accentuated by the ornate black tattoos across her hips.

  ‘Two men in balaclavas rammed us into the tunnel wall. When we got out of the car they attacked us.’

  ‘No fucking way,’ Miller said, shaking his head.

  ‘They were pros, Chris. They knew how to drive and how to fight. I couldn’t even land a hit on them. One had a message for me too. To back off. Didn’t like it when I told him I had no idea what he was talking about.’

  Miller rubbed his nose. ‘Huh.’

  ‘Huh, what? Chris?’

  Miller turned his head away to do a bump of coke.

  ‘Huh, it’s confusing. You’ve got issues with the Ivanics. But they have no motive. Maybe it’s an old client, or maybe Martin Kier sent them from prison. He’s got a bit of money.’

  ‘I didn’t put Kier in prison. He’d have more reason to come after you. And why would he target Eva?’

  ‘Eva. I’m so sorry. How is she?’

  Now Will was the one looking at the stage; he didn’t want Miller to see his face as he spoke. Eloise had the fans high above her now, small breasts exposed, free of pasties.

  ‘They cut her, Chris. On the face. Once down each cheek.’

  ‘Jesus. I should call her. I should visit her. No apology would make a difference, but I’ve got to say something.’

  ‘I doubt she’d answer. She’s still in hospital with a broken arm, fractured ribs. She’s refusing to speak to me.’

  ‘Why the hell?’

  ‘She’s angry. She blames me.’

  ‘You know it’s not your fault?’

  Will shook his head.

  ‘It’s not your fault, Will. You can be certain of that.’

  The audience applauded and cheered. Eloise bowed as she closed the fans and then disappeared into the crowd, while a transvestite in a bodystocking got onstage to announce the next act.

  ‘Where have you been, Chris? The briefs keep coming in.’

  ‘I’ll stay on top of it. Trust me. I’m hardly going to let our firm fail only a month after opening it.’<
br />
  ‘It’s not what I expected.’

  ‘That’s fair.’ Miller handed the cocaine back to Mark. Placing his hand over his heart, Miller said, ‘I swear I’ll make up the time. I swear I’ll do right by the firm.’

  Miller then tapped a Marlboro out of a soft pack and lit it with a Zippo. He looked at Will with his blue eyes like pinpoints while the line of his mouth softened. He sighed.

  ‘I’m sorry about Eva. Is this it for you two?’

  ‘It feels like it.’

  Miller placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Let me get you a drink.’

  He stood, clapped Will on the arm and made his way to the bar.

  ‘Met him a few weeks ago,’ Mark said, watching Miller laugh with the woman behind the bar. ‘Assumed he was just looking to hang out with a footy player and buy me drinks. We get that a lot. But he never talks about football, just seems to want to have a good time. Only found out he was a criminal lawyer a week ago. Only learnt he was one of the best last night.’

  ‘Did he tell you that?’

  ‘No. Dad told me. Seemed impressed I was spending time with Chris. He knows everyone who’s worth knowing.’

  ‘I dare say he does. Not without some influence, your father.’

  ‘Used to hate it when I was a kid. “People judge me by your actions,” he used to say, still does. I just give less of a fuck these days.’ Mark cracked the knuckles of a big, brawny hand. His eyes took in the room. ‘Sorry about the joke earlier. I’m always saying dumb stuff. Just nervous.’

  ‘Nervous?’

  ‘You’re like an actual guy, doing real shit. Bringing criminals to justice.’

  ‘Ah, actually, I do the opposite. Chris and I defend clients who have been charged with crimes.’

  ‘Oh. See, dumb stuff. Of course, that makes sense now. The government prosecutes the criminals. They don’t use baristas.’

  ‘Ah, yeah . . . that’s roughly how it works. Anyway, you’re a hero to a lot of footy fans. Not sure what they’d make of all this, but on the field . . .’

  ‘Ha! Yeah . . . I just kick a ball around and try to get it through two bits of wood, four on a bad day. You do the real stuff. The meaningful stuff.’

  Miller was holding four cups in his hands. He placed them on the table. Mark and Leah took their drinks; Will followed suit. Miller held his up to them saying, ‘Chin chin on a Tuesday.’