THE GREATEST BETRAYAL: A romantic thriller with a shocking twist, page 18
Sally, always a strong and calming presence, gripped Liz’s hand. ‘Just breathe,’ she said.
* * *
When the detective inspector sat down with her, in her office, Liz found him to be considerate and he came straight to the point.
‘I’m sorry for the inconvenience,’ Ryan said. ‘I can’t put a time frame on it, but your equipment will be returned as soon as we’ve done our checks.’
‘Checks for what?’ Liz asked.
She shouldn’t have been surprised the policeman ignored her question. After all, he was the investigator here to interview her.
‘Can you tell me about shipments from overseas that have been directed to your offices in Victoria and Queensland?’
‘We don’t have any such shipments,’ Liz said.
‘Shipments have been seized that were consigned by your firm, Mrs Vetrani.’
‘We’re an advertising and PR consultancy. We don’t have any requirements for shipments, large or small.’
‘That’s what I would have thought. So, can you shed any light on the nature of these deliveries?’
‘Inspector, I’ve already said we don’t have any such shipments.’
‘I’m afraid there are boxes delivered with the name of your firm as the principal.’
‘What do they contain?’
‘Cocaine.’
Liz’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Then someone is falsely using our company’s name.’
‘The deliveries were made to your interstate office, Mrs Vetrani.’
Liz sighed in frustration. ‘That can’t be.’
‘And the signature on the consignment documents,’ he said, handing her a copy of the paper, ‘is yours.’
SIXTY-FOUR
Liz sat frozen, shaken to the core.
She’d asked Ryan if she was under arrest. He’d told her she wasn’t being arrested at that time, they would be searching the computer files and checking her signature against other documents, before considering formal charges. He told her to remain in the city until further notice.
Her father would have been so ashamed of her, she thought. Then she reprimanded herself. Why am I thinking that? I haven’t done anything wrong.
Sally came in. ‘The staff want to know what to do.’
‘Tell them to take the rest of the day off.’
‘Then what?’
‘We’ll have to come up with a plan,’ Liz said, surprising herself with her own resilience. ‘Can you look at getting some replacement PCs in urgently?’
‘Of course.’
‘We don’t have any off-site backup networking, do we?’
‘No.’
‘Then I guess we just start from scratch, remembering as much as we can.’
‘You don’t think the PCs will be back before we do all that?’
‘Doesn’t sound like it to me.’
‘Liz, you got any idea what’s going on?’
‘Raf. God knows what he’s been up to.’
‘The cops were questioning me about some shipments,’ Sally said. ‘We don’t have any records of–’
‘I know. They asked me the same. Someone’s been using the firm as a cover, Sal.’
‘Cover for what? That police dude give you any clue what’s in these shipments?’
Liz held her tongue. Should she reveal anything? Then she thought, what the hell.
‘Drugs,’ she said.
There was a buzz at the front reception.
‘Now what?’ Sally headed back out the front.
She reappeared a moment later, accompanied by Martin de Courcey.
‘A friendly face,’ said Sally.
‘Sorry to intrude,’ said Martin.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Liz said, ‘you’re never intruding.’
‘Let me get you guys some coffee,’ Sally offered, disappearing out the door.
‘What’s going on?’ Martin said, motioning at the desk. ‘Place is looking bare.’
‘Never thought I’d be saying these words,’ Liz said, ‘but we’ve been raided by the Feds. There, I’ve said it. They’ve confiscated all our PCs and filing cabinets.’ Liz raised her hands in frustration. ‘Somehow we’re expected to run a business with all our damn work removed.’
‘I wasn’t expecting anything like that,’ Martin said. ‘I came rushing over the moment I saw the news break.’
‘What news break?’
‘Switch on the news channel,’ Martin said.
She flicked the remote and the LCD screen in the corner of the office came to life. Images washed across the screen: footage shot outside the North Sydney office block that housed the Vetrani Investments HQ; aerial shots of the Hawkesbury River Liz had come to know so well, of her and Raf’s multi-level home under construction on the hill; interspersed with grainy shots of Raf and Bruno and several other men.
‘In breaking news,’ the off-screen newsreader reported, ‘a cocaine ring worth hundreds of millions of dollars has been smashed by police. Twelve men have been arrested – including Sydney entrepreneur and real-estate developer Raf Vetrani, an award-winning architect and several other well-known Sydney business identities.
‘The arrests come after an exhaustive three-year top-secret investigation by Federal Police in conjunction with the NSW Drug Squad and the Marine Area Tactical Operations Unit. Police targeted fishing trawlers and leisure boats allegedly using the Hawkesbury River and NSW Central Coast waterways to traffic cocaine imported from Chile via distribution points in Indonesia.
‘Late last night police pounced on a number of the men and seized 1000kg of the drug from boats as they pulled up to private ramps along the Hawkesbury River…’
‘Good Lord.’ Liz’s voice was a whisper.
Martin stood behind her chair and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry, Liz.’
‘I’ve been such a fool.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘Everything about Raf… it’s all been a façade.’
‘You couldn’t have known.’
‘It’s all been for nothing. A waste…’
‘Liz, whatever Raf may or may not have been, there’s no question he loved you deeply and you produced a beautiful baby son.’
Sally appeared with mugs of coffee. She placed them on the desk and turned to leave.
‘Sally,’ Liz said, ‘stay with us.’
Sally pulled one of the visitor chairs over. ‘I was listening to this out the back,’ she said. ‘The guys have got the radio news on.’
‘I’ve been so damn blind,’ Liz said.
‘Enough of that,’ Martin said firmly.
‘…police will allege that one of the companies purchased by Vetrani Investments,’ the newsreader was saying, ‘a fresh seafood supplier called Seafish Pacific, operated a super trawler that brought the white powder in to local shores. The drugs were then shipped nationally under the guise of several of the Vetranis’ local firms. One of those firms is the successful advertising and PR agency owned by Raf Vetrani’s wife…’
Liz couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Everything I worked to build…’
Sally reached out and hugged her friend. ‘You’ll bounce back, Liz.’
Liz wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘They think I’m part of it,’ she said.
Martin pulled up a chair of his own. ‘The Feds know what they’re doing. They’ll soon establish that’s not the case.’
‘Perhaps, but the business I’m in is all about image. And mud sticks,’ said Liz.
The news report was wrapping up. ‘…the charges will include conspiracy to import a border-controlled drug and importing the drug… and in a surprise development involving news services, police have revealed the investigation received a major boost just a week ago, based on information supplied by the well-known freelance journalist and former foreign correspondent, Carl Vickerson…’
SIXTY-FIVE
Liz had agreed to meet with the detective inspector at the Australian Federal Police’s Sydney offices. She was seated in one of the interview rooms when Craig Ryan, dressed in a plain blue-grey suit, entered with a colleague – a serious, bespectacled young woman with a short blonde bob.
‘Thanks for coming in, Mrs Vetrani,’ he said, pulling up a chair at the long table.
‘It’s Liz,’ she said.
‘Liz, this is Detective Andrea Clifton.’ He gestured to the young woman beside him.
He shifted in his chair, rearranging the papers he’d placed on the table. ‘Liz, our handwriting analysts have confirmed your signature on the shipping documents was a forgery. Your computers will be returned to your office in the next forty-eight hours. I’m pleased to say our investigations have cleared you and your business of any complicity in the drug trafficking.’
‘Detective, I’m separated from my husband’ – Liz didn’t elaborate on the reason – ‘and my PR and ad agency is being removed from the Vetrani group. But Raf is still my husband and the father of my son and I’ve learned via the media he’s been arrested on drug importation charges. And my signature’s been forged on consignments related to those drugs. Could you please tell me what exactly has been going on?’
‘I’m not at liberty to reveal specific details pertaining to the case,’ Ryan said, ‘but I can tell you the charges against your husband are serious and far-reaching.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘All I can tell you is that we’ve been tracking this drug ring for the past three years. The gang has been loading their contraband onto fishing trawlers in Jakarta and transferring them to a private super freighter that’s been sailing into Australian waters. From there, the goods are loaded onto a series of local boats and yachts moored at marinas around the Hawkesbury and the Central Coast. An architect, Richard Santini, owns one of those boats and is a director of an export company registered in Jakarta. On the basis of that link we’ve been watching Santini, and have been able to establish their routine and the other contacts that are involved.’
Liz frowned. ‘Santini?’
‘Yes. The same man designing the house you’re building on the Hawkesbury,’ Ryan said. ‘He and your husband are old friends, both members of the Calabrian Club in Sydney, the same club to which both of their fathers belonged.’
‘Raf and Bruno came from Calabria when they were very young, when their parents settled here.’
‘Calabria has an underground drug network, a Mafia-run operation. The Calabrian Club here has no involvement with that or with anything illegal, but we believe Raf and Santini contacted Mafia members through other Calabrians they met at the club. They used those contacts to set up their own operation importing from Calabria, via Chile and Indonesia, under the guise of fake exporting companies.’
‘Have you been watching Raf all this time as well, due to his connection with Santini?’
‘Yes. Raf and Bruno and family members.’
‘Including me?’
‘There has been some surveillance, yes, since you became personally involved with the Vetranis.’
‘And one of the vehicles used to keep tabs on me was a silver Corolla?’ Liz asked.
Ryan looked surprised. ‘One of them, yes.’
The young female detective spoke up. ‘A week ago, we were approached by a journalist, Carl Vickerson, whom I believe you know.’
‘I know of him,’ Liz said. ‘He wrote a revealing article about my former boyfriend, Callan McKenzie.’
‘Your former boyfriend claimed to have been imprisoned in a house in Jakarta. Vickerson’s been looking into that for some time. He came to us with a paper trail that linked one of the directors of Santini’s shell company, J Makawi, with a company that previously owned that house. We’ve now established through our Indonesian counterparts the house was used to store drug shipments and as occasional lodgings for the sailors who helped move the drugs.’
Liz’s throat was impossibly dry, and she reached for the glass of water on the table. She drank.
‘The same house?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ said Detective Clifton.
‘How do you know it’s the same house?’
‘Captain McKenzie had already located that house and identified it, while in Jakarta with Vickerson. That was what led to Vickerson’s search for its owners and any connections to those owners.’
‘Which led to Santini?’
Ryan responded to that. ‘Yes. And when Vickerson came to see us last week, he brought Captain McKenzie with him. We were able to show McKenzie photos of various Australian businessmen who are in Jakarta and who are connected with both Raf and Santini’s companies.’
‘Captain McKenzie identified a man in one of those photos,’ Clifton said, ‘as having masqueraded as Robert Anders, a diplomat who visited him while he was being detained.’
‘An elaborate and lengthy ruse,’ Ryan said, ‘but child’s play to someone with the drug ring’s resources and finances at their disposal. They would have had men posing as police and government officials, using stolen uniforms and forged documents.’
Ryan shifted in his seat, once again briefly scratching his head. ‘When our colleagues removed those pills, suspected of being fakes, from the Chatswood home,’ he said, ‘they also found a phone, which they asked you about on their way out.’
Liz recalled being questioned about the item. ‘Yes. I hadn’t seen Raf with that phone before.’
‘The phone used a highly sophisticated encryption app for texting,’ Ryan said. ‘We broke the encryption and found Raf used the phone for regular contact with Santini and various freighter staff and men in that Jakarta house. Johnny Makawi was a pseudonym used in those calls and texts. It was enough for us to move our sting to its next phase: a raid not just of Santini’s boat, but of several others, including the Vetrani yacht being used to train and crew sailors for the Sydney to Hobart race.’
Liz breathed deeply. ‘My God…’
‘Within the previous twelve hours,’ Ryan said, ‘all those boats had taken possession of cocaine and heroin from the super freighter just off the coast.’
‘At the same time,’ Clifton said, ‘we established Raf had manufactured those pills. They are replicas of both birth control and the particular heart tablets used by Warren Leeman. Monica Leeman has given us a statement that Raf would have had easy access to her father’s medicine, at the time of her marriage to him, to make that swap. We believe he swapped those pills, leading ultimately to Mr Leeman’s death.’
Liz barely registered any of that.
‘But that house–’ She coughed, the words catching in her throat as though they were choking her. ‘You’re saying Raf was involved in Mac’s abduction?’
‘Yes, Liz, he appears to have arranged it.’
SIXTY-SIX
Liz left the police office and drove straight to the one place she thought she would never visit, the maximum security prison where Raf was on remand. Given all she’d now learned, she could not just walk away, not without confronting him one last time, not without saying what she had to say.
They brought him out to the visitor area where he sat behind a glass wall opposite her. Liz stared at him for a long time before she spoke.
‘You’re the father of my son,’ she said. ‘I let you into my life, I let you change my life, but I don’t know who, or what you are.’
He looked at her with doe-like eyes, and spoke calmly, rationally. ‘I loved you with all my heart and soul, Liz. I still do.’
Visibly shaking, Liz took a long, deep, calming breath. This was important. What she had to say was important. ‘You never loved me. You don’t know the meaning of the word. You loved the idea of me. What was I, Raf? A trophy? A showpiece? Another woman you could conquer, a woman with a business you could add to your empire. Like you did with Monica? Like you did with the others?’
‘No.’
‘And to win me, to make sure I was available, you kidnapped Mac and had him imprisoned. What kind of monster does that?’
‘Don’t believe any of that, Liz.’
‘Don’t believe it?’ She stared deeply into his eyes, and looked closely at every contour of his face. She no longer recognised him as the same person. ‘Why me, Raf? Did you select me as the best female to give you a son… like selecting a thoroughbred mare for a stable?’
‘I fell in love with you, Liz. Do not listen to any of these accusations. I will prove them wrong.’
‘Are you delusional?’
They sat silently for a moment, watching one another.
‘You need to stand by me, Liz.’
‘I cannot believe I’m hearing this. You’re a drug dealer, a kidnapper, a murderer.’ She rose from the table. ‘The divorce is underway, and I’ll make sure it’s as speedy as possible. And I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to ever have anything to do with your son. Luke doesn’t deserve you for a father.’
She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting from Raf at this meeting. Anger, threats, turning the blame on her. Not this calm, reasonable, total denial. She was unnerved by the passive exterior he was projecting.
‘Don’t do this, Liz,’ he said with a penetrating gaze.
‘Goodbye, Raf.’ She walked out without a backward glance.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Carl Vickerson strode into the office of a man he’d known for many years and who was now the editor of the highest circulating Sydney daily newspaper.
‘How’s my favourite Aussie Irishman?’ Vickerson said.
‘I’ve never been your favourite, but I am an Aussie Irishman, true blue.’ The newsman shook Vickerson’s hand vigorously. Paddy O’Brien was big-boned with piercing brown eyes, well-known for his dynamic handshake. He and Vickerson had always had a healthy rapport. ‘Only time I ever see or hear from you freelancers is when you want to sell me a story.’
‘And I’ve got the best one I’ve ever had.’
‘Full o’ crap.’ O’Brien’s laugh always sounded like it was coming through a bullhorn. ‘You say the same thing every time you grace me with your oh-so-precious presence. I should reject your pitch based on that alone.’
