‘No?’
‘No, no, Stilicho’s new territory in security. I don’t get some of it myself. Well, a lot of it. Jesus, I was twenty before I understood how electricity worked. This is the future of security technology. They tell me the stuff we’ve got is two-three years ahead of the curve. That’s a huge opportunity.’
What had Dove said?
Stilicho’s bought this Israeli technology, puts it all together-secure entry, the ID stuff, iris scanning, fingerprints, facial recognition, suspicious behaviour, body language…Stilicho’s even trying to get access to the crimes database, the photos and photofits, prints, records, everything…Your face’s in the base, you show up somewhere…
‘I thought your son was the boss of Stilicho? Your son and Matt Cameron.’
‘Matt’s got fifteen per cent. I’ve got the rest. Hugh’s the CEO, no shareholding. Big challenge, operations chief, Steve. There’s no job description that fits it. They told me I should bring in the executive-search extortionists.’
‘Good idea.’
‘I can do my own bloody executive search. Save tens of thousands. They say you don’t have problems with technology. They say you’re one of the few cops who understand the new technology.’
‘I have lots of problems with technology,’ said Villani. ‘You don’t want to offer me a technology job. Any job, really.’
‘I do want to.’
‘This is not about us nailing those little bastards, is it?’ said Villani. ‘That’s the job. I’ve been paid for that.’
Hendry said, ‘The idea was someone with a broad police background. Someone smart.’
‘Rules out about ninety-seven per cent,’ said Villani. ‘Give or take a per cent.’
Hendry frowned. ‘That’s pretty harsh. They told me ninety-two. Anyway, before the AirLine thing, Vicky told me the cop who caught David’s killers was now head of Homicide. That’s how you came up. I asked questions. And people said good things.’
‘A cop thing. To say good things about other cops. Your brothers.’
‘And the pedigree, I liked that too.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Your old man. Vietnam. The Team.’ ‘That’s got nothing to do with me.’
Max looked at him for a few seconds, head cocked, said, ‘No, sorry, stupid thing to say. Dwelt in the shadow myself, should know better. Yes.’
‘I haven’t lived in my father’s shadow,’ Villani said. He didn’t want this rich man’s job, ordered around by the smooth son.
‘No, I’m not saying that. I’m sure you haven’t.’
Villani took out his mobile. ‘Great evening, Mr Hendry. My day’s not over. Unfortunately.’
Max said, ‘Stephen, hang fire for a minute, will you? Put that away. Gone off track here.’
Villani waited, poised to leave.
‘Hugh’s been in my shadow, that’s done him no good. I didn’t see it until it was too late. Still, he’s good at the business stuff, Hugh, good salesman. What I’m looking for is someone who can be the battlefield commander.’
Max sniffed his glass, took a sip.
‘Steve, this is going to start as private security, but if we get it right, it’ll revolutionise the way we keep public places safe. Protect ordinary citizens against the kind of scum who kicked David to death. We’re on the edge of getting the contract for a massive new shopping mall in the west. Also serious interest from a new Brisbane council. Secure a whole retail precinct, civic centre.’
‘You don’t by any chance think I’ve got any clout, do you?’ said Villani. ‘Help get the databases?’
Max put up his hands. ‘Steve, we’ll get access if we deserve access. If the people who matter see that the benefits outweigh the drawbacks. I want you for the personal qualities you’ll bring. That’s it.’
Villani’s resistance was falling away: the charm of the man, the attention paid to him all evening, the alcohol, the charge to his ego.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘I’m flattered. Need to have a think.’
‘Of course you’ve got to sleep on it. You don’t want to know what we’re offering?’
‘Well…’
‘More than a deputy commissioner gets. A lot more. Mind you, it’s a sixteen-hour day.’
‘Get Sunday off?’
‘Not as a matter of right.’
Near midnight, Max walked him through the house and the front garden to the street door. The big smiling man was there and he took Villani out to the car, opened the back door.
‘I’ll sit in front,’ said Villani.
He shook hands with Max.
‘I know I’m right,’ said Max. ‘Think hard. I hear Mellish gets in, it’s a clean sweep of all senior positions in the force. That’s something to factor in.’
‘Consider it factored,’ said Villani. ‘Goodnight, Max.’
He told the driver to take him to St Kilda Road, to his office.
Take him home.
THE BUILDING never slept. Shifts changed, tired people left, less tired people took their places.
In Homicide, in the white light where day and night lost meaning, half-a-dozen heads registered his entrance. He talked to a few of them, to the duty officer, made a mug of tea, sat at his desk, he was sober now, not sure why he was there, sure only that he had no home to go to.
All day he had thought Corin would ring, no question. She had no reason to blame him for anything to do with Lizzie. But she hadn’t. Too busy, uni starting, her job, the spunk from the big end of town.
Listen love, I need you to pick up Lizzie. Now.
He should have said that, made her leave her dinner. The oldest, why didn’t they always give her the job of seeing to Lizzie? Keeping her up to scratch. Got to school on time. Did her homework.
He could ring Corin.
No, no, no.
She owed him. She owed him many, many things and she could have paid all her debts with just one miserable little phone call. She failed him, his beloved girl. In the end, she didn’t care about him.
Leave the job and work for Max Hendry. He came to Homicide to save his marriage, to do clean work. No more gambling, no more women. The clean work he had done. The gambling, he had given it away, he had turned his back on certainties, turned and wept.
He thought about DiPalma and Orong. DiPalma, a lecturer in law at Monash before he felt the calling. Property law. Leases. Conveyancing. Jesus, what did he know of the streets, the scum, the fractured world?
Orong. Orong was nothing. Community Studies degree from the former Footscray Tech. Politics and sociology. Always in politics, a teenage doorknocker, branchstacker.
He logged on, looked up Orong. A photograph from the Western Citizen of a younger Orong with Stuart Koenig. Koenig was holding up Orong’s right arm as if the prick had just won a fight. The election before last. New MP for Robertsham. He went to a political site called Brumaire 18 and searched for Orong. It listed dozens of items, he read an early one.
SNAKES ON A ROLL
On another sad day for democracy, 23-year-old reptile Martin ‘Snakelips’ Orong this week joins his even viler mentor, Stuart Koenig, in parliament. Koenig, of course, owes his political survival to the product-haired little western suburbs viper. When he was Koenig’s office boy, Orong single-handledly stacked Koenig’s branch with everything from illiterate Ethiopians to what he famously called the ‘Samoan bouncer community’. Koenig and Orong are mates outside of work too. The pair were once trapped by a blizzard in the Koenig ancestral lodge at Mount Buller when they were supposed to be at a party talkfest in Canberra.
DiPalma and Orong assumed that he would do as told. Back off Koenig, Prosilio. They said it as if they had the power to give him orders. And they did have the power if he was scared of what they could do to him.
Was it that way with Singleton? Did people threaten him, make him back off? Singo always talked about the grip-people who had it, people who could get things done, undone. Did people have the grip on Singo?