‘ASIO? He thinks there are national security implications?’
‘He does.’
‘Such as?’
‘The Mess.’
‘So you checked it out?’
‘I did. Your suspicions were on the money. It’s a lot more than a dining club. It’s an influence exchange, an information hub, a conduit for power, all operating in secrecy, protected by respectability.’
‘Sure. But a threat to national security?’
‘Possibly. It’s almost certainly been infiltrated. Probably by organised crime, potentially by foreign states.’
Martin experiences a familiar surge, the adrenaline that comes with a new or better story. This could be way bigger than he’s imagined.
Goffing continues. ‘Have you heard of a Harry Sweetwater?’
Martin gives a sardonic chuckle. ‘Yes. I’m told he’s a crook. And a member of the Mess.’
‘He’s more than that. Harry Sweetwater is an alias. His real name is Danilo Calabrese.’
‘Italian?’
‘American. Organised crime. The Chicago mob. Senior, connected. Wanted but never convicted. Deadly.’
Martin doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing, but his body reacts anyway: a shudder runs through him. The story might be bigger, but it’s suddenly sounding a lot more dangerous as well.
The woman in the back seat speaks, voice soft and rasping, as if she’s been gargling drain cleaner. ‘Arrived in Australia twelve years ago, walked straight into a position at Mollisons. He’s been there ever since.’
Martin shakes his head in despair. ‘Max Fuller and Elizabeth Torbett. They didn’t know what they were going up against.’
‘We don’t know that for sure,’ says the back-seat woman. ‘Maybe they did.’
‘Sorry,’ says Martin, ‘but who are you, Griff?’
It’s Goffing who answers. ‘Griff is retired. Lives on the Central Coast. Breeds budgerigars. It was very considerate of her to come down and meet us.’
‘It’s my bridge day,’ says Griff.
Martin can feel his hackles rising. He’s played this game before, getting fed selective information while a source denies him the rest. Max was murdered, Martin’s apartment was trashed, Mandy was kidnapped; he doesn’t feel like playing now.
‘I’m an old cop. Former Crime Commission,’ volunteers Griff, as if reading Martin’s thoughts. ‘I was running the investigation of Mollisons at the ACIC. Tarquin Molloy worked for me.’
That settles Martin. That’s not selective. ‘You were investigating Sweetwater?’
‘No. We were investigating Mollisons. We didn’t know about Sweetwater. Still didn’t until Jack told me this morning.’
Goffing adds his own observation. ‘It’s only just come to light. An FBI informant came forward in the past year or so; a totally unconnected inquiry in the States. This source mentioned Calabrese, that he was in Australia. The Americans shared it with the AFP after they realised Calabrese had been in Sydney all this time.’
Martin twists in his seat so he can look Griff in the eye. ‘You think that’s what Molloy discovered? That’s what got him killed? Sweetwater’s identity? The mob infiltrating Mollisons?’
The woman doesn’t flinch, meeting Martin’s examination directly. ‘That’s a definite possibility.’
‘Why were you investigating Mollisons, if you didn’t know about Sweetwater and the mob?’
‘You probably don’t need to know the details.’
So Martin rattles off what Mandy has told him, what she and Pam and Zelda had established: ‘A large part of the ownership is held offshore by untraceable entities, there’s money flowing in and out via tax havens, Mollisons is a profitable company paying little tax, there’s the suspicion of money laundering and organised crime.’ Griff nods ever so slowly, as if in recognition. ‘Very good. You’ve been doing your homework.’ She pauses, then continues. ‘Mollisons made some bad calls in the lead-up to the global financial crisis. Very bad calls. They were exposed, almost went under in early 2009, our own Lehman Brothers. They needed a lot of money in a hurry.’
Martin turns his attention back to Jack Goffing. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
Goffing adopts a grim smile. ‘First and foremost, you needed to know for your own safety. I’d hate to see you and your girlfriend wind up like Max Fuller and Elizabeth Torbett.’
‘Right,’ says Martin. ‘First and foremost. What else?’
There is silence then, for a good minute, or so it seems to Martin.
When someone does eventually speak, it’s Griff. ‘What else do you know about the Mess?’
Martin is about to launch into an explanatory exposition of favour-trading and corruption, poachers’ banquets and prisoner-of-war camps, but he says something else entirely. ‘The membership. Roger Macatelli. The deputy police commissioner.’
‘Impressive,’ says Griff. ‘You might be right about this joker, Jack.’
‘Exactly,’ says Goffing. ‘Sweetwater has been extending his tentacles for years, inside and outside the Mess. We don’t know how far they’ve reached. That’s why the boss wants me on it. If the mafia are operating, he’s concerned foreign powers may be exploiting the same channels.’
‘Do you have a membership list?’ asks Martin. ‘I’m told there are thirty members.’
‘So I believe,’ says Goffing. ‘But we’ve only really started moving on this today. I’m hoping to have the full list by tonight, tomorrow at the latest. It’s likely to include some heavy hitters.’
‘Can I get a copy?’
‘Of course. That’s part of the reason we’re talking to you,’ replies Goffing.
‘We might need the media,’ says Griff. ‘It could be the only way.’ Martin can hear the reluctance in her voice.
‘I see,’ says Martin, swallowing the implications. ‘So tell me: what do you know about Molloy’s murder? What did you know back then? What did you suspect?’
The look on Griff’s face reflects the bitterness of her words. ‘My opinion? We were fucked over.’
‘How’s that?’
‘The man you know as Tarquin Molloy was good at his job—brilliant, even. But he had an ego the size of a planet. Suffered from double-oh-seven syndrome. Thought he was bulletproof. Not easily managed, not responsive to guidance. A lone wolf. But a great agent, one of the best. The last thing he told me was that he’d found the smoking gun. He just needed to get his hands on it.’
‘What did he mean by that?’
‘I don’t know. The next thing we knew he’d disappeared, and Mollisons was jumping up and down, accusing him of stealing millions and shooting through. Overseas. They even had a witness telling the fraud squad all about it.’
‘Zelda Forshaw.’
‘Exactly.’
‘You believed her?’
‘I
