Double Take (28 page)

“Steel.” The man on the other end of the line clearly had no regard for pleasantries.

“Hello, Mr Steel. My name is Trent Hinds, and I have some information regarding an old case you worked on.”

“Oh yeah, which one?”

“The Melbourne Cup bank robbery.”

Trent heard the crackling of the phone line. “How'd you get my private number?”

“It's a long story. I was wondering if we could meet in person to talk about it.”

“Look, buddy, there's not going to be any meeting unless you give me something a little more interesting.” Steel's voice was a harsh, throaty sound.

“How about I tell you that I know who stole the money from Jackson Rich.” Trent's heart pounded as he listened to Steel breathing.

“Give me something to prove you're legit, mate, or this conversation's over.” Steel's voice was full of authority.

“I understand. Then you should know, I'm a member of the police force and I think Tiffany Black was my dad's girlfriend.”

J
ack was startled awake by loud banging on his bedroom door. It took him a few moments to orientate himself. But he smiled at the peeling paint on the otherwise clean ceiling. He glanced at the clock and noticed to his surprise that it was nearly ten in the morning. His first night's sleep in freedom had been deep and fulfilling, and he felt groggy from over twelve hours of uninterrupted slumber. He rose and walked to the door, expecting to see his guidance officer; after all, nobody else knew he was here.

When he opened the door, Steel grinned at him. Jack tried to shut the door again but Steel put his foot in the doorjamb.

“Bloody hell, Steel. What do you want now?”

“Thought I'd offer to drive you to your brother's grave.”

“No, thanks. I'll make my own way there.”

“Come on, Jack. I'll even buy you breakfast.”

“Oh yeah? Why don't you tell me what you really want?”

“Get changed and I'll meet you downstairs.” Steel didn't wait for an answer. He turned on his heel and walked towards the stairs.

Jack swung the door shut. His initial response was to ignore Steel and go back to bed, but he realised he wouldn't go away that easily. Nevertheless, he took his time. First a clean shave with his brand-new razor. Then a long, hot shower. It was a grand thing to have a shower to yourself after a decade of sharing. Eventually satisfied that he'd made Steel wait long enough, he grabbed his wallet, locked the door and wandered down the stairs.

Steel was waiting on a musky, bedraggled sofa reading an old copy of
Woman's Day
. It irritated Jack that he looked so relaxed, despite his calculated delay. Steel stood up and held out his hand for Jack to shake.

Jack paused for a fraction. But when he accepted the offer, he used the opportunity to glare into the older man's eyes and repeat his earlier question. “What do you want, Steel?”

“Come on, let's go.” Steel turned and walked out the door.

Jack remained a few paces behind him, using the space to gather his thoughts. He decided his best defence was to keep his mouth shut until he worked out Steel's motive. They had barely settled into Steel's Ford Explorer when the detective blew his defences to pieces.

“Do you want to know about the woman who doublecrossed you?”

Jack glared at Steel's dark eyes. “What's this? Some kind of test?”

“I tell you what. Let's go to the cemetery first and then we'll talk about it over bacon and eggs.”

“Sounds good to me.” Jack struggled to remain aloof when his mind was racing over a hundred questions.

After driving in silence for a full twenty minutes, Steel suddenly swerved onto the dirt shoulder of the road, stopped at a roadside flower seller and handed Jack a twenty dollar note. “Here, buy your brother a bunch of flowers.”

Jack's resolve deflated. Steel's offer seemed genuine. He accepted the note in silence, climbed out and walked towards the flower seller. Without any knowledge of what would be appropriate flowers for his brother he chose a bunch of white carnations. He gave the woman the twenty dollar note and told her to keep the change.

He turned to walk back to the car. The reflection of the sun on the windshield made it impossible to see Steel behind the wheel. Jack opened the door and climbed in. Steel didn't move to start the car.

Jack hesitated before he turned to Steel. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Steel grinned as he turned the key in the ignition. The car accelerated along the dirt shoulder and back onto the bitumen.

They arrived at Mount Gravatt Gardens just as the clock ticked over midday. Jack assumed Steel would pull in to the car park beside the reception centre, but he continued driving up the hill. Out the window spread row after row of headstones. Some were as big as a postal van, and others were simple stone tablets on the ground. The grass was a deep shade of green and a complete contrast to the white headstones and occasional flower arrangements scattered about.

At the top of the hill Steel eased the car to the side of the road and switched off the engine. He pointed out the windscreen to the left. “He's over there.” Clearly he had done his homework.

Jack hesitated. He felt like he was walking into a trap, but it seemed foolish not to do what he had come here to do. On many occasions, while alone in his cell, he'd imagined this moment. Each time it was a perfect spring day, just as it was today. Inhaling a deep breath, he clutched the flowers and stepped out of the car and into the golden sunlight. He shielded his eyes from the glare with his free hand and walked in the direction Steel had pointed, reading the headstones as he went. He expected to see a small headstone, something simple but elegant.

A short time later he found the bread plate–sized marble tablet. The inscription was minimal:
James Thomas Rich, 10 May 1958 to 19 April 1995.
Tears welled in his eyes, but he flicked them away, refusing to cry. He dropped to his knees and brushed the dried blades of grass off the white stone. The bunch of flowers dominated the headstone, so he laid them to the side.

The emotions came. This time he wouldn't wipe them away. He cried for his brother, he cried for Stubbs, he cried for Candice and he cried for himself. Too many lives ruined by his stupid actions. It was time to change. It was time to set things right. A slight breeze enveloped him with the distinct scent of jasmine and thoughts of Candice flooded his mind. He quickly cast them aside as he stood and wiped his cheeks.

“Sorry, Jimmy. From now on, I'll be a brother you would have been proud of.” He turned and walked up the hill towards the car.

It wasn't until they were travelling back along the M1 that Steel spoke. “So…you hungry?”

Jack nodded.

“Me too. I could eat the hind leg off a three-legged dog.”

Jack scowled at him. His statement was completely disgusting.

Twenty minutes later they pulled in to a busy McDonald's car park.

“I thought we were getting bacon and eggs.”

“Too late. You'll have to pick a burger instead.”

“Bloody cheapskate.”

Jack didn't bother arguing with Steel but he chose the most expensive burger on the menu instead. Once they ordered their meals they moved to a vacant booth in the corner of the restaurant. Jack hadn't realised how hungry he was until he smelt his food. He quickly unwrapped the burger and took a huge bite. Thick, yellow mustard squirted out and he felt it dribbling down his chin. With his mouth full, he asked Steel a question that had been burning in his mind all morning. “So you mentioned the woman who doublecrossed me. Does that mean you believe me now?”

“Yes, Jack. I believe you.”

“Halle-fucken-lujah. What changed your mind?”

“I watched a re-run of that
E! News
show that wigged you out. The name Tiffany set off alarm bells and I did some investigating.” He paused to take a bite of his burger.

“And?”

“I discovered some interesting facts.”

“Jeez, man, will you just put me out of my misery? Tell me.”

“Okay, okay. Tiffany Delacroix appeared out of nowhere about seven years ago with a daughter. There are no public records of her existence prior to that, in either Australia or Europe. She purchased a little café in London which she owned for a couple of years. Somehow she met Jacques Delacroix, a fashion billionaire from France and in no time she was throwing parties that'd make Elton John jealous.” He paused for a sip of his Coke.

“And…?” Jack waved his hand to hurry Steel along.

“Two years ago she married him. He was thirty-three years her senior and all six of his children are older than her. Naturally the Delacroix children objected to the marriage, and it turns out they were probably right. They were all removed from his will just two months prior to his death. The kids got nothing. Tiffany, on the other hand, received the whole lot. The estate is worth some thirteen billion dollars.”

“Jeez,” hissed Jack.

“She set us both up, Jack. You've done your time, but so far she's got away with it.”

“So we know who she is. Lot of good it does me now.”

“Well, I reckon it's time we set the record straight.”

“How? And what do you mean
we
?”

“You'll see. Eat up. There's a couple of blokes I want you to meet.”

I
t was just before four o'clock and Trent was adamant it was too early for alcohol. After sunset was the time for drinking. Max ordered a beer anyway. Trent stuck to his guns and ordered a glass of orange juice. They chose a corner booth and sat facing each other in silence, waiting for the others to arrive. Max nibbled at his cuticles while Trent tried to ignore his brother's disgusting habit by studying the ageing posters on the pub walls.

“Hey, look at that.” Max pointed at a poster. “Tuffy plays here on Sunday afternoons. We should come here one day. He's great.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Trent rarely went out, but when he did it was usually to dinner or a movie with friends. He liked the idea of hanging out with his brother more, though. It's ironic that it had taken the death of their father to bring them closer together. “What about next Sunday?”

Max shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

Trent heard the jingle of the poker machines in the room next door, accompanied by the occasional small cheer from an apparent winner. He stiffened as two men entered the bar. The first man was Montgomery Steel. He still looked like a policeman: broad shoulders, confident stride, and eyes that quickly played around the room.

Before this meeting, Trent checked out Steel's background. He'd left the force twenty-three months after the robbery—two years shy of his optional retirement date. Details of his departure were sketchy, too, although Trent imagined this unsolved crime would have contributed. How could it not? Internal Affairs would have made his life hell.

The second man must be Jack. He was not as tall as Trent remembered and he was thinner as well, like his body was wasting away. Jack's arms swung loosely at his sides, giving the impression they were made of rubber. Steel looked over at their booth and gave Trent a slight nod before approaching the bar. Jack, on the other hand, looked like he had no idea what was going on. Maybe he didn't.

Trent directed Max's attention to the bar. “It's them.”

“This should be interesting,” Max whispered. “I hope we're doing the right thing.”

“Me too.”

Moments later Steel and Jack approached the booth, and both Trent and Max slipped out of the booth to greet them.

Steel held out his hand and introduced himself, then he turned to the man next to him and said “This is Jack Rich, but you already know that. Jack, on the other hand, doesn't know who you are.”

Steel had refrained from informing Jack of their identity. In his position, Trent probably would have done the same.

Max offered his hand. “Hi, Jack. I'm Max and this is my brother Trent.”

“How about we sit?” Steel said. “We look like a bunch of ladies line dancing.” Steel slid into the booth beside Trent and Jack sat opposite Steel.

There were several moments of uncomfortable silence before Jack spoke. “Well, is anyone going to tell me what's going on?” His voice sounded tortured.

Trent felt a shiver run up his spine as he realised there was no turning back now. He couldn't believe he was betraying his father's memory like this. He swallowed back the guilt before he spoke. “First let me say that we're not one hundred percent certain of the facts. And neither of us can believe our father was involved.”

Steel shifted in his seat so he could look at Trent as well as the other two. “There's a chance he had no idea. Like us.”

Trent liked it better when he couldn't see Steel's eyes. “That's why we asked to meet with you, to piece a few things together. Dad died a couple of weeks ago and now it seems like we didn't know him at all.”

Jack cleared his throat. “Fellas, I'm stuffed if I know what you're talking about. So how about you just start at the beginning.”

The beginning. Was that nine years ago, or last month? Trent decided to start at the most recent events. “Sorry.” Trent sighed. “Our father died recently and when Max and I were clearing out his things we found a box hidden at the back of his wardrobe. It contained a pile of old newspapers, a note from a girlfriend he had a very long time ago, and a significant amount of money.” Trent produced the note from his pocket and handed it to Steel.

As Steel unfolded the yellowing page, Trent noticed the ugly scar on his forehead. While Steel read the note aloud, Trent tried to work out just how he could've received such a wound. It looked nasty enough to be a bullet wound. If it was then Steel was a very lucky man.

Steel whistled under his breath. “So according to this she left him $100,000.” He shook his head. “She stole a hell of a lot more.”