Unhappily Ever After Bk. 01 Ch. 05

"Mr Bourke, Alan McGregor," he said, taking my hand firmly. "I'm pleased to finally meet you. Although, in light of the relative speed of events, 'finally' might be the wrong word. Please call me Alan. Do you mind if I call you Aaron?"

"I've been called worse," I said.

"Good. First, let me apologise for the way this meeting has been organised. Your friend, Mr Jones, is also the friend of a friend of mine. Between them, they felt that we should meet. They also felt that a little bit of theatre might help take suspicion away from you.

"When we've finished here, you'll be taken down to the ground floor to be reunited with your lawyer. You'll be released, of course, due to an absence of evidence. Your car will be returned to you, and you'll be free to leave. Please bill us for any costs you incur in returning it to its original condition.

"Before we get down to business, I should tell you that we are giving your lawyer the run-around. The caution you received at the time of your arrest does not apply to our discussion; a point I will make clear when we get started. It's just that some of the things we will be discussing here are things he's best not knowing about as an officer of the court.

"Are you okay with that?"

"I'll tell you if I'm not," I replied. "You have to realise that my trust levels are extremely low at the moment, so promises and assurances don't mean a great deal to me. I've had to revert to relying on my gut for guidance. It's taken me a while, but I'm getting back into my 'shoot and let my gut tell me whether to move or stay' routine.

"I've shed the shell of lethargy I've allowed to settle over me since entering civilian life. Today, I realised, I have reverted to the decisiveness that kept me alive while playing in the dirt."

"I understand," Alan said. "So, let's get down to business."

After telling me about recording our conversation for each of our protections and reiterating his assurance that I was not under caution, we got down to the nitty-gritty.

"First, let me point out that, in its broadest sense, what is going on at your wife's firm is not illegal. Women have been offering sexual favours for promotion since Adam opened his first fruit shop. It's immoral as hell but not illegal... or it wasn't until money became part of the equation. From what your friend has discovered, it appears that hundreds of thousands of dollars have changed hands during the period your wife has been working with Moreton City Law.

"That probably translates to millions over the life of the firm itself. Of course, much of that knowledge relies on the second-hand transmission of information; hearsay, if you like. But knowing it's happening and who is involved gives us a starting point. I have no doubt that with the usable evidence you and Mr Jones have collected, we'll be able to put pressure on enough of those involved to start an avalanche.

"But there's more than just prostitution involved. The fact that they are using female - and, perhaps, male - staff members to obtain favourable dealings and outcomes constitutes bribery. Depending upon who is being influenced by those favours, we may be looking at official corruption at many levels and in a range of areas.

"The areas that primarily concern me are law enforcement and the judicial system. But politics comes a close second; not just at the state level but also at the local government level... perhaps even at the federal level.

"I'm sorry. I'm prattling on and not giving you a chance to contribute to the discussion. I've been a passionate advocate of exorcising corruption from my chosen profession since the day I was offered my first bribe to turn a blind eye to something that was going on in my first rural posting.

"Unfortunately, I haven't always kept my mouth shut about some of the things I've seen. That has put me in the firing line in the minds of some of the older members of the service.

"Most of them are now gone. But their influence lingers on. It'll probably take another two generations before we're clean - or as clean as we're ever going to be - although there are days when I wonder if we're not going backwards."

I thought about what I should and shouldn't say. I wanted to get my message across without making any admissions. Although I was fully aware that I might not be under caution, I was also aware that my words were being recorded.

"Proving the prostitution, and even the bribery, are the least of your worries," I said. "It's what is happening in your own bailiwick that will blow your mind. I think you should be more concerned about the corruption that's going on within your own ranks. I think you'll find that your comment about things going backwards might prove more accurate than you suspect.

"A good place to start would be to investigate the interaction between a Constable Geoffery Leadbottom and my soon-to-be ex-wife. He's at the bottom of the pecking order and should be an easy nut to crack.

"I don't know whether you're aware of it, but tonight wasn't the first time your people have tried to get their hands on my car. I had a Drug Squad team, supported by a SWAT unit, turn up at my place of business yesterday. They wanted to impound it. Sadly, they forgot to get a warrant."

From his expression, Alan appeared to be unaware of the previous day's raid.

"I have to wonder if tonight's little exercise hasn't been staged so they can get their hands on my car to either plant drugs in it or find drugs that might already have been planted. If by some chance they do find anything, I can assure you that they are not mine. They will have been planted. I have never touched drugs, nor would I be involved with the distribution of such filth.

"You mentioned being in the firing line a few minutes ago. That's exactly where I am at the moment. Not only do I have someone trying to fit me up on drug-related charges, but I have reason to believe that a hit order has been put out on me."

"Why would anyone want to do that?" the senior policeman who had asked me to call him Alan asked.

Without going into detail, I told him about the attempted roughing-up immediately after learning of my wife's relationship with her boss and her long-term involvement in her firm's sexual free-for-alls at the function on Friday night. I then explained that after having had a friendly chat with the gentlemen who'd been sent to deliver the 'don't rock the boat' message, the information about Kingston's involvement was volunteered.

"Now, this is where things get a bit tricky, so it would probably be best to look at it as a 'hypothetical' if that's okay with you?"

"However you want to tell me is okay with me," Alan said. "As far as I'm concerned, your whole story sounds like something out of a Lee Child novel. All that's missing is the homeless man with a folding toothbrush."

"We'll get to him in a minute," I said.

"Okay. So, hypothetically, let's say that the hero of the story - we'll call him Reacher, so we don't confuse him with a real person - believes that everyone is out to get him. As a result of his paranoia, he is extra vigilant.

"Being sure that he's about to be set up for a major fall, he asks a man he believes to be a friend to keep an eye on his car while he is off conducting business. While Reacher is away, two swarthy-complexioned gentlemen enter his business premises and hide something in his vehicle.

"Being a good friend, Reacher's mate removes whatever was placed in the car. Not long after that, an army of policemen turn up like a scene out of 'The Pirates of Penzance' and start loading Reacher's car onto a tilt truck while singing, 'Tarantara! Tarantara!'.

"Reacher's friend intervenes and prevents the vehicle's confiscation. The police go off on their merry way, and the car is removed from the scene, just in case they return with a warrant.

"Reacher never sees what has been planted, but his friend tells him it was a small amount of Methamphetamine; "just enough for it to be deemed a saleable quantity", he tells him. He also tells him that he has disposed of the drugs.

"Sadly, Reacher later discovers that the man is not his friend after all. He also learns that the 'small' amount was actually half a kilo with a street value of around one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars.

"A couple of other things poor old Reacher learns are that his so-called friend is the megalomaniac psychopathic leader of a well-established and growing Neo-Nazi group and that the drugs he has supposedly 'disposed of' will be used to fund his organisation's activities.

"One final thing he learns is that this now-former friend and Reacher's most recent main squeeze were lovers in a former life. Their unhealthy relationship was rekindled when Reacher introduced - or re-introduced - them, and she has decided that he - Reacher's friend - is her true love.

"It appears she's now taken up residence with her former lover, leaving Reacher to live unhappily ever after."

The room was silent for almost two minutes before either man spoke. Alan McGregor finally stood and walked over to his credenza, from where he withdrew a bottle of twenty-one-year-old Glenfiddich Gran Reserva and a couple of crystal glasses. He placed a couple of ice cubes into one glass before waving the tongs at me. I nodded.

He brought the bottle and glasses over to his desk before pouring us both a very large drink.

"You're going to have to write a book about this when it's all over," he said. "If only to get it out of your system."

"I might just do that," I answered. "Assuming I live long enough to do so. But it gets better."

Before speaking again, I signalled that I wanted him to turn off the recorder. He complied.

"This is for your ears only," I said before continuing.

"When Kingston's friendly persuasion failed, he apparently felt that I wasn't going to be as compliant with the 'arrangement' he has with my wife as he had hoped. He must have then decided that his plans would be better served if I was out of the picture.

"I believe the drug fit-up was an attempt to achieve a bloodless but long-term solution to that problem. When that failed, he decided to take things to the next level and make my erasure more permanent. I've got to say, I underestimated the power of this bloke. That's not a mistake I'll make again.

I kept my knowledge about the drowned fishermen, their surveillance equipment and their bombs to myself.

"Anyway, that's my problem to solve. Let's talk about your problem.

"You are not going to like what's going to be coming at you from here on in. Not only is it going to upset Kingston's world. It's also going to upset yours.

"You are about to find out that your worst fears have been realised; fears we spoke about earlier. But that's not all. Information will come to light that you would probably have preferred stayed hidden for some time; if not forever.

"I respect you and what you are trying to do, but I don't know how much influence you have over those who act as the mouthpieces for the police service. My advice to you is that when the shit hits the fan, you try to stop them from going down the denial path.

"If you can't manage that, keep your head down. The media will be lobbing incendiaries at the whole State Police Service.

"Anyway, you're going to be busy putting out the brushfires that will radiate out from your investigation into Constable Geoffrey Leadbottom and his relationship with my soon-to-be former wife; not to mention the charges of perjury and bribery that resulted from that liaison. But, while he is only the pimple on the nose of your problem, he's the key to opening the door to the netherworld in which Kingston and some of your people are operating.

"If Mr Jones hasn't yet forwarded the video footage of Leadbottom and my wife's interaction out at my place the other day, I'll have him do so. It will make for interesting viewing... and listening. I'm neither an investigator nor an interrogator, but I'm sure you'll know what to do with the evidence of his and my wife's collusion."

I took a sip of my Scotch while thinking about my next piece of information.

"The Neo-Nazis I mentioned earlier are dangerous people. From what I've learned over the past few days, every member of my security unit and a few staff members are involved. The security personnel are of particular concern because they are armed. Not only that, they are ex-military.

"You'd know better than I, but I believe they pose a threat to national security; certainly in a domestic terrorism sense. Perhaps a heads-up to the Federallis wouldn't be a bad idea.

"They'll be off my premises and job sites first thing tomorrow morning. A friend of your friend is arranging temporary replacements through another friend. Hopefully, by then, my other problems will have been sorted out, and I'll be able to focus on Todd-fucking-Manyweather and his band of SS wannabes."

I saw Alan's head snap up at the mention of Manyweather's name, and a slight smile crossed his lips. Nothing was said, but it was obvious that he knew who I was talking about. I got the impression that I'd just put him back on the trail of someone whose tracks he'd lost.

He stood, indicating that our interview was over. I also stood and took his extended hand. In the process, he handed me a flash drive.

"Thank you for your candour, Aaron," he said. "My uniformed officers will take you down to an interview room where, in the company of your lawyer, you will receive our most humble apologies for any inconvenience we may have caused you. You will then be released without charge.

"That flash drive contains a verbatim copy of our discussions; including my assurance that our little fireside chat was in confidence and without caution."

"Please call me if I can assist you in any way in the future," he said, handing me his business card. "My direct line and mobile number are on the back."

He escorted me to the door, where I was met by his PA. I was surprised she was still there. It was well after ten o'clock. I saw Alan give the senior of my two escorts a slight nod. I had no idea what it meant, but we'd all become besties - I think that's the current term - by the time we reached the ground floor.

The handcuffs were refitted as soon as we entered the elevator; behind my back this time.

Before the lift door opened at the ground floor level, each of them had tucked their business card into my jacket pocket. It was only later that I noted that Constable Buchanan's card had her mobile number handwritten on the back.

Their demeanour became serious as they escorted me to an interview room. While being perp-walked down the hallway, I passed several people I recognised as spouses of the firm's partners. I was left in no doubt that they also recognised me. Word would soon filter back to their significant others that I had been caught up in the same net that had snared them.

Once in the interview room, I reconnected with Brad. He was appropriately pissed off that he'd been given the run-around. He was very vocal but avoided asking me anything about my travels.

He later told me that he didn't trust interview rooms that were wired for both sound and vision. He equally didn't trust policemen. He trusted policewomen even less.

I avoided stirring him by telling him about my less-than-appropriate thoughts regarding the young female constable who, I believe, had felt me up while patting me down.

---oooBJSooo---

Half an hour after being released, I walked back into the King Alfred to applause and a rousing cheer. Almost everyone who'd been there when I had been dragged off in handcuffs was still there. They knew that even if I didn't return, Brad wouldn't go home without letting them know what had happened. He joined us about five minutes later.

I don't believe a single person in the place thought I would have anything to do with drugs. As I had told the two police officers on the way to the station, "Wrong 'uns don't last long at the Alfred".

"Are you going to tell me about it? Or are you going to continue to treat me like a mushroom?" Brad asked when we'd settled at our table with a couple of ice-cold beers.

"Tell you what?" I asked.

"Tell me why I was running all over town trying to find where they'd stashed you, only to find you at the first place I'd looked, smelling of scotch and full of good cheer. And it wasn't just any old scotch you'd been drinking. You'd spent a good couple of hours sipping on top-shelf stuff."

"The scotch only came out during the last half-hour," I said. "Before that, it was bright lights and coshes. I tell you, it was gruelling."

Brad wasn't amused.

"Okay. Okay," I said when I saw his boiler was approaching blowing point. "I'll tell you as much as I can.

"You were excluded from the discussions because a number of points we talked about would have disturbed your delicate legal mind. In general terms, we discussed what is going on at MCL and its impact on law enforcement and the judicial system; points you and I have already talked about.

"Our conversation was confidential and was not subject to caution. That assurance is recorded on a flash drive. Of course, I trust policemen as much as you do, so nothing said left me open to any admissions. We talked in hypotheticals and possibilities.

"I want you to take this record of that conversation and put it in your safe without listening to it," I said, handing him the thumb drive. "Of course, that changes if anything should happen that triggers your use of my power of attorney.

"What the person I was talking to - and I can't tell you who that was - wanted to know was whether my plans for gaining redress for the damage done to me by MCL and its partners was going to affect anything they had under investigation.

"I couldn't answer that with any certainty because I had no idea what they were working on. I did tell him, though, that he and his superiors are in for a rough ride and should brace for impact. I also told him that if what I thought might happen did happen, they should avoid denial at all costs.

"I assured him that whatever happened would not occur as a result of any direct action on my part but that it might happen as an indirect consequence of my actions. I explained that I had no control over how wide or how far the shit would be spread once it hit the fan. It was the fan that was my target, I told him."

That explanation appeared to mollify my old friend, who pocketed the flash drive and handed me my two burner phones. That reminded me to ask him how his conversation with Tommy went.

"I thought some of my conversations with you have been weird," he said, "but that one was the strangest I've ever had.

"When I told him who I was and why I was calling, he said: "Good to hear. It sounds like everything is going to plan, then. Thanks for calling". Then he just hung up on me."

"That's Prancer," I said. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you. The man has no social graces whatsoever. Shit, you were lucky to have got a 'Thank you' out of him."

Our first beer hardly touched the sides. Over our second - and last, we promised each other - I brought Brad up to speed with the other things that were going on in my life. I told him about Charlie's betrayal and my discovery of a large white supremacist cell that I was apparently funding through my business.

I also told him that at some point during the next couple of days, he might receive a call from Sam asking him to represent her.

"It's your call," I said. "But she's no longer part of my life. Nor, for that matter, is Charlie."

"I couldn't represent Sam, anyway," Brad clarified his position. "It would be a conflict of interest as I'm already representing you; both regarding the dissolution of your marriage and concerning other matters that would see her on an opposing side.