Wrong Side of the River

For days during his last case before the holidays, Beverley Louise Connelly’s husband Michael had said a bullet would have been the best thing for the accused. The case had dragged on and on, ending with a conviction on only one charge. A strong case from the defense saw two of three charges dropped against the Melbourne criminal, Mal Laromo.

Following the angst producing verdict, even after they had packed the car and were ready to leave on the Sunday morning, Michael had still been testy. He tried to appear jovial at breakfast, and greeted his family with, ‘I’ve had a shower, and a shit and a shave, ‘n’ I feel great. Ready for fun, everyone.’

His kids, Sally and Michael Junior (“Mickie”) smiled at him but “Wheeze” as he called her (his pet name for Bev) raised her eyebrows at him. She knew his shoulders were still as tense as a sprung cart.

Mirages hovered over the strips of asphalt as they approached Yarrawonga, and their holiday house. They had been nearby when Michael slammed on the brakes. Everyone in the car gaped at him as he had leapt from the driver’s seat and ran to the boot. He unlocked it and threw up the lid. He pulled out his loaded 12 gauge, and in the silence there was a definite click as he released the safety. At the front of the car, he fired at the Eastern Brown Snake crossing the road. The shiny, sinuous coils were t by the bullet’s ejection of bloody guts.

Poor bloody snake, R.I.P. January 4 1970, thought Bev.

Bev and Sally had screamed, while Mickie just stared. He reset the safety, returned the rifle to the boot, and then flopped into the driver’s seat.

‘I feel better, Wheeze’, he said to his wife. She shook her head.

‘That snake’s relatives want, no, need the name of that trial lawyer you’ve been up against.’

He had given a mocking laugh, glared at her, and opening the car door, stomped off. He realized he’d angered her, and rejected the thought that she was justified. A member of the bar firing a shotgun on a public road, without warning his wife or his kids, or even the public. Irritation and stress were all over him like the leftovers of a honey sandwich. He tried to shake it, but he needed a walk. He headed towards the nearby river.

The air seemed a couple of degrees cooler as he turned upstream, and then took a deep breath. He stomped over the rough grass, and fallen bark. After a while he came to a drop in the riverbank, and saw below a sandy river beach. He picked his way to the sand, and gathered a few river stones and began to toss them out into the water. The second time as he bent to gather stones, and glanced to his right, downstream, he noticed something. It looked like a person lying on their side, facing in the opposite direction. The prone person was dressed in Khaki pants and what looked like a long fishing jacket. Awfully hot to be dressed like that, had been his first thought. Then the lack of a tackle box peaked his curiosity.

He went to the water’s edge, and looked up and down to see if a boat, or another person was anywhere nearby. Nothing, he thought. Nothing is normal about that person lying there. He called out, ‘Gidday’, his voice echoed back to him from the rock and clay walls. He walked to the prone back. ‘ Excuse me, mate’, he bellowed again, and the echo reminded him that he wasn’t an optimist.

Come on, he thought, feel for a pulse. If it’s your day he’ll reach up and slap you. He shook the man’s shoulder and he flopped onto his back. Blood oozed from a slug entry hole in his forehead, and his glassy eyes stared at the sky.

He jogged, his breath coming in gasps, stumbling over broken sticks and dry bark, between red gums and bent wattles, to the car. There he found Bev and the kids drinking lemonade from a thermos in the shade of an old gum. He waved Bev over, ‘We’ve got to get to a phone.’

She looked at his sweaty face, and in his eyes saw fear. ‘What is it?’ she whispered.

‘A body.’

‘A human body, dead?’

He nodded.

She looked down, and dragged the toe of her right shoe in the dust. She could hear Mickie and Sally fighting over the last of the lemonade. His damp fingers trembled in her hand, and she spoke.

‘ My, my, quite the body count today.’

His grip firmed and she sensed his head come up. He snorted; they looked at each other and laughed.

In the end they drove to he police station in Yarrawonga: a small brick building in a side street. ‘Why are we here?’ said young Sally, her voice rising to a squeak, as she kicked her feet against the frame of the driver’s seat. ‘Mickie, spilled some of that lemonade on mee.’

Mickie shook his head, and elbowed her. He had picked up that his parents were distracted.

‘I thought we were going to the house Dad, and I’m hungry. Let’s stop at the bakery,’ Mickie whined. Bev shook her head raising her eyebrows at him. ‘ You’re always a—hungry, my son.’ He knew his mother was giving him a black mark in her mental record.

Michael spoke to Bev. ‘I’ll go in. This could take a while.’ He reached for his wallet, and pressed some notes into Bev’s hand. Bev reached her hand behind his head and kissed him. Her lips were warm, and tasted tangy from the lemonade. He kissed her with passion. ‘ Just as well, you kissed me like that. With this much cash I was gonna disappear to Lorraine’s boutique for a serious shopping session.’

He turned and smirked at her, ‘If she has any tiny polka dot bikinis, I could cope with that.’

She gave him a grin.

He got out and walked toward the police station. He heard Bev start up the car, and the kids both talking at once. Michael saw a note attached to the police station door: the officer was at lunch, but in an emergency he could be contacted at 12 Piper Street. He knew that was the street that ran behind the station, and he walked south, making two left turns. In a few minutes he was at the door of Number 12.

The policeman looked up from his lunch in surprise when Michael tapped on the rear wire screen. The policeman waved him to the seat opposite and kept chewing. Michael introduced himself, stated he was a holidaymaker, and then as the Senior Constable sliced into a perfectly pink lamb chop, said, ‘I found the body of a man, bullet wound in the head, on the river bank about 10 miles from town.’

The Constable stopped, his mouth half open, mid chew, and then swallowed noisily. ‘Oh— can you describe the victim; I had a report about a missing person a couple of days ago. Look’, he grabbed paper and a pen from the sideboard, and thrust it at Michael, ‘write down what you saw, give me an outline for the report’, and added as he went to the sink to wash his hands, ‘I’ll telephone the Sarge.’ He walked through the door of the kitchen and Michael heard the whirr and click of rapid dialing.

He shook his head— country policing seems pretty casual, he thought and began writing: Caucasian male, European appearance, hair: grey, approx. 5’ 10 ‘ tall…

Ninety minutes later, having heard that a detective, and a police surgeon, would arrive from Wangaratta, Michael stood on the sand, near the body of the victim, with Sergeant Paulson, and Senior Constable Knight. It was still hot and still, but a northerly was gathering momentum across the river, and was providing some discouragement to the flies. The body was encased with a miasma that surrounded those close to the body. ‘I would say the victim hasn’t been here more than 24 hours’, said the Sarge. ‘ I don’t think that it could be any longer in this heat, or it would be hard to stand this close, also this is a spot pretty popular with fishermen. Someone would have discovered our victim sooner.’

He looked at Michael. ‘How come your were walking down here?’

‘It was a long trip from the city. I was stretching my legs before we drove the last bit to the holiday house, and when I came down to skip some stones—’, he gestured toward the body, and reached into his coat pocket for a cigarette. This was the first time he had been closer to a victim’s body than a photo: inspected weeks after a murder, and in an air-conditioned office.

‘ He matches the description from the missing person’s report’, Senior Constable Knight said. 'The wife and son are travelling up, tonight, from Melbourne to confirm his identity.’

‘Yes’, said the Sergeant, ‘Knight, what was his name, again?

‘Carrera, Joey Carrera.’

Michael looked startled. ‘ Did you say Joey Carrera? I’m a prosecuting attorney for the Attorney General’s department, and that name came up in a case I’ve been working on.’

Knight nodded. ‘ Could I ask you a favour?’ said Michael.

Two hours later, Michael’s offsider Mason, and a detective from Melbourne were on their way to Yarrawonga. In the meantime, the detective from Wangaratta, had finished the inspection of the body in locale, and had it moved to the Morgue at the local hospital. The light was changing and the sandy beach was in shadow. Despite this, the Wangaratta detective had ordered the two police officers with him to comb the beach, and the area between it and the road, for any sign of the murder weapon, or other evidence: drag marks, cigarette butts or materials that might have recently been torn from clothing. Their orders were to work until dark, and begin again at first light. Senior Constable Knight was assisting them. Joey Carrera had apparently spent one night in a motel on the north edge of town. The detective had gone to speak to the staff at the motel, and follow up any leads.

Michael paced on the edge of the road. He had been in and out of town three times in the last three hours, and he wasn’t sure how or when he would get back to a telephone, let alone consume anything, besides a drink of water. Just then he looked up to see two guys in suits exciting a green Holden sedan. One held a camera. The one without the camera spoke,’ I’m James Cleary from the local rag. Can we head down?’

‘Yeah, I guess so. Knight’s down there.’

‘ And who am I speaking with?’ James raised his eyebrows.

‘Michael Connelly.’ He deliberately didn’t say anymore, and drew himself up, looking past the reporter and down the road.

The reporter looked at him again as if to speak, but Michael stepped away, and he heard the two men tromping through the bush behind him. An hour later a familiar black car, sped through the twilight towards him.

Mason Wise wound down the window, and looked up at Michael, as dispersed dust settled on their shoulders. ‘ Well, I hope this is worth it. I was down for a round of golf tomorrow, and I’m due to take leave in a week.’

Michael grinned,’ I know you Mas, if you couldn’t see the possibility in this little find’ (he checked a little, realising he sounded callous) ‘ scuse, the expression— you would’ve sent Dick. I know your trying to impress AG Murray.’

‘Ok, OK’, Mas nodded. ‘Like you I’ve always been curious about Carrera, thought the name was a code. He is mentioned heaps in the files on Mal Laromo. If we can put this together, we might be able to pin Mal for conspiracy to murder and racketeering, before he gets out of jail in six months.’

‘Yeah, hearing him only being sentenced for his first offence of ‘possessing stolen goods’, nearly made me puke. If the judge hadn’t looked as unhappy as I did, when I saw him afterwards, I might’ve lost my block there and then. Would you give me a lift back to the house? Bev will fix us a sandwich, I hope, and I’ve asked the Sergeant to call as soon as they confirm the identity of the deceased.’

Mason nodded, and Michael headed to the passenger side door.

At the house Bev greeted them, expressing her surprise at seeing Mason.

‘The kiddies are next door, playing with Doug and Wendy’s kids’, she told Michael. She heated up a couple of pies that she had bought earlier, and made coffee.

When she heard they were going to work, she said that she was going out to float on a lilo in the pool. At the door she glared from behind Mason’s head at Michael, and raised her hand to her neck, making a throat-cutting gesture. He said ‘I’ll explain later, darling.’ She turned away, and walked off without answering. About five minutes later she was back, ‘I’ll lend you guys a hand.’

‘I almost don’t want to start in case that phone rings and the Sergeant says that guy is Joey Carrera’s first cousin twice removed. Would you like a beer?’

I pointed at Wheeze and the fridge, and she nodded yes.

‘I’d like a beer Mick, but we may as well start. I’ve already been through the first two from three years ago, and all the blokes from the stolen goods ring mention Carrera—That they had to contact this Carrera before making the deliveries. None of ours ever found evidence of anyone named Carrera, so at one stage someone suggested it was a code name for something, and we had that focus after that. Let’s have one beer, and let’s look at the files.’

Bev grabbed some files and a red pen, and flipping through began to read and underline. Her wet bikini bottoms were sticking to the vinyl chair, but she was reluctant to leave the task.

‘OK’, said Michael two hours later, ‘ most of these twenty files mention Carrera. How do we link him to Laromo?’

Bev nodded.

The phone rang. It was Sergeant Paulson. ‘ Both parties have confirmed the deceased was one Joey Carrera of Prince St Collingwood. He was meant to visit his mother’s house at 7pm on Thursday evening, and didn’t turn up. His brother put in a missing person’s report about 10 pm on Friday night. He insisted that they phone up here because his brother likes fishing here. Apparently, his sister is seriously ill, and they felt something was really wrong for Joey to leave Melbourne.’

Michael spoke, ‘ Did you ask him if he knows what his brother does for a quid?’

‘Yeah, I waited until the mother had gone to the ladies and I asked. He said his brother had gotten out of the family business about five years ago, that he had a profitable business distributing packages— said it was state wide, and even interstate. He spent a lot of time away from home.’

‘OK. Has Detective Black arrived from Melbourne yet?’

‘ Not yet, but the boys found a small handgun, wrapped in plastic behind the rocks, up river from the body. Its being dusted for prints, and the slug size matches the victim.’

When the Detective Black arrived the next morning, he was interested in the handgun and tracing it. He said,’ These things have been restricted since the end of World War Two, except in New South Wales, they loosened things up in the fifties. This is quite a find.’

The detectives from Wangaratta, had found two independent witnesses who claimed that they had seen a second stranger with Carrera, and that he had spent two nights at the motel, not one. He had arrived about midnight on Thursday.

Everyone dispersed to the hard procedural work of policing and Michael set about playing golf. When he got stuck in the sand bunker on the eighth, late Wednesday morning, he lost his temper on his fourth attempt at freeing his ball. After being giggled at by two small boys who were scouting for lost balls on the edge of the course; and failing to retrieve his wedge from the creek that bordered the golf course, he stomped up to the clubhouse, and enjoyed a stiff whiskey.

It was on Thursday,while picnicking on the foreshore of Lake Mulwala, enjoying the laughter and voices of the children, splashing at the water’s edge, that he finally let it all go. Right now he was happy just to admire the glow of the sunlight on Wheeze’s blonde hair, and remark how much Mickie had grown since last year.

When they arrived back at the house, they were sitting on the back verandah, admiring the evening star as it appeared on the horizon. Michael went inside to get some drinks. He passed the kids lying on the couch watching the black and white television. Sally was dozing off, her head lolling against the base of the armrest.

The phone rang and it was Mason, who had returned to Melbourne on Tuesday, to follow developments in the case.

‘I’ll give you three guesses who they traced that handgun to.’

‘Well, my first two guesses would be Joey Carrera, and Mal Laromo. Why would I need a third?’

‘Because’, the phone went silent and Michael was about to jiggle the connection buttons, when Mason continued, ‘the gun belonged to Lina Laromo, Mal Laromo’s sister. Her prints have been found in that Motel room at Yarrawonga, too. She was Carrera’s go between, and no-one knew she was the brains behind the stolen goods ring, because she worked at this bar in Clifton Hill, and just pretended she was the house whore. She was adopted, had been disowned by Mrs Laromo years before, so only a couple of insiders knew who she was——’

‘ Hang on, who shot Carrera?’

‘ She did. She was his lover. She had a really tight business going, but she mixed business with passion, and that was her undoing.’

‘Why did she do such a stupid thing, like leave the gun near the body?’

‘One of her minions she sent back to fix things up, got confused about which side of the river border to plant the gun. They’re not illegal in New South Wales, and if it wasn’t near the body, most likely no one would have traced it.’

‘So, its really her we want to put away.’

‘ Yeah, well she’ll probably get more than twenty years, if we can convince the jury she pulled the trigger. It shouldn’t be too hard. Then while she’s away, we could try and dismantle the organisation she’s got going. Looks like we can build a strong case. Gotta go. Enjoy the rest of your holiday, Mick.’

When he told Wheeze, she frowned at him. ‘So it was a woman that mucked up the start of our holiday.’

‘But it was her male lackey that stuffed up, and allowed us to crack the case.’ He nodded to her.

‘You’re learning Michael, you’re learning’

He pulled her into a hug, but before he could kiss her she began to laugh.