Bad Seed (42 page)

In the follow-up interview O'Neill had explained this as being about Tan's upcoming fraught meeting with Li after the debacle of the FIRB decision against them. But the email exchange between Tan and Li did not seem especially fraught. If anything it was upbeat and optimistic.

Onward and upward good friend!

But what was it they were so upbeat about?

Cato's reverie was interrupted by his mobile. It was his sister Mandy sounding flustered, at the end of her tether.

‘Dad wants a word. I'll put him on.'

There was the inevitable faffing about as Mand explained the phone to her dad and helped him put it the right way up.

‘That you Philip? You there? Hello?'

‘What can I do for you, Dad?'

‘Fancy a nice walk?'

‘Sure, when suits?'

‘I'm ready now.'

Cato checked the time, late arvo, a howling wind outside. ‘No worries. Where do you want to go?'

‘My dad's old vegie patch.'

Here we go. Cato found a smile and put it in his voice. ‘Give me half an hour, mate. Be right there.'

They were on the South Perth foreshore, Jack in his wheelchair, Cato pushing. Both were rugged up against the biting cold and threatening clouds. Across the wind-slapped Swan, the Perth city skyline was lighting up for the night and the ferry churned out through the foam towards Barrack Street jetty.

‘Just over there.' Jack pointed and Cato pushed.

Mandy had been trying to juggle a screaming Bao, his recalcitrant siblings, and an insistent Jack. She was glad to see the back of at least one of them. ‘Don't keep him out long. Just enough to catch his death.'

‘South Perth?' said Cato, bewildered.

‘Try living with this nonsense twenty-four-seven,' she'd muttered. Then guilt struck and she softened. She'd pecked Jack on the cheek. ‘Have a good time, Dad. See you for dinner.'

They parked up near a gum tree that gave some flimsy shelter from the wind. Cato sat on a bench using himself as an additional windbreak for the old man. Jack seemed to be turning blue but the light in his eyes and the energy in his voice said ‘Cold? What cold?'

‘My dad's vegie patch was just here, about the size of Amanda's backyard.'

‘What did Grandad grow then?'

‘Spinach, cabbage, lettuces, tomatoes, you name it. I used to help him out, dig some holes, pop the seeds in, do the watering.'

‘When was this?' Cato was trying to picture it, a sea of market gardens, before the skyscrapers and mansions arrived. Grandad was dead before Cato was born, he'd never known him.

‘Long time ago. I was just a little kid. They called him Jack too, you know that?'

‘Grandad?'

‘Yeah. They called nearly all the Chinamen “Jack”. Easier for them, I suppose. They didn't have to think, didn't have to try and pronounce the real names.'

‘Jack,' said Cato, squeezing his old man's frozen hand.

‘His real name was Xiaolong. Little Dragon.'

‘Kwong Xiaolong,' said Cato. ‘What about you, what was yours?'

Jack Kwong seemed not to have heard him. ‘Dad loved this place, he spent every spare minute down here. He used to supply the vegie markets, made a good living from it, too. No choice, there was no other work going. They didn't like the Chinese, not for a job, but happy to buy from us, if the price was right.'

The old man was shivering. Cato needed to get him somewhere warm. ‘What do you reckon, Dad? Time for tea? Watch the news?'

‘They took the vegie patch off him, you know. Off all the Chinese. Some new government policy, “Whites Only”. They gave it to some Slav. No compensation, no nothing.'

‘What'd he do?'

A shake of the old man's head. ‘He drank, cried, belted us all. Then one night he filled his pockets with rocks and walked into the river.'

‘Jesus,' said Cato.

‘Not interested in my Chinese name after that. Just Jack, that's me.'

Cato clicked the brakes off the old man's wheelchair and took him in out of the cold.

Cato got the call just after 6 a.m. It was from Kenneth, Mandy was too upset. Little Bao had gone for one of his early morning wanders and tried to do a ‘boo scare' on Pops. But Pops wouldn't wake up. Kenneth, an orthodontist, had some basic medical training, enough to confirm the obvious. The GP had been summoned to do the official business of pronouncement. Younger sister Susan was also on her way and Mandy was steeling herself for the day to come. Would Cato like to join them and say his farewells?

Yes.

Old Jack. Gone.

He showered and called Jane and they agreed Jake was probably best off staying with her for the weekend. The big father–son talk could wait.

‘If he wants to say his goodbyes to Pops I can take him over if you like. Or we could all meet up?' Jane's voice cracked. Cato recalled she'd got on well with her father-in-law in the good days. The old man was an incurable flirt and she enjoyed his silly jokes and the twinkle in his eye.

‘Sure,' said Cato. ‘We'll play it by ear.'

When he arrived at his sister's house, the doctor was just leaving.

‘Heart failure. He died in his sleep.' The doc zapped the locks on her Prius. ‘I hope I go the same way when the time comes.' An empathetic half-smile and she was gone.

Had last night's antarctic stroll on the South Perth foreshore killed the old man off? Cato went inside. He did the hugs and kisses.
Mandy had come over slightly regal, the undisputed matriarch now. Susan had a cry into his shoulder. Kenneth put the kettle on again. The kids, even little Bao, were watching
Video Hits
with the sound respectfully low. Gangstas strutted and their harems twerked while the grown-ups discussed funeral arrangements. Cato went down the hallway to look in on the old man.

In death Jack Kwong seemed slightly grey and caved in. Cato kissed him on the forehead and laid a hand on his chest. His eyes blurred.

Just Jack, that's me.

Cato sat with his father for a while. It was peaceful in there, the room dimmed by the drawn curtains, the murmurs from the kitchen. A sudden jolt. Was the recording device still in place? Was someone, even now, listening in to the discussions of the funeral arrangements or had the bugging the other night been a one-off done by remote? He hadn't told Mandy about it and he didn't fancy the idea now. Sweeping the house for bugs, at a time like this. It could wait. If the bastards wanted to play today back to him in the small hours they could. He was coming after them.

He tried to recapture the serenity of the moment but it had flown. His final communion with his dad had been poisoned.

The rest of the weekend would be a numb blur of phone calls and arrangements, hugs and tears, endless pots of tea and coffee, and memories, some shared, others private. At some point the wine came out and Mandy got maudlin.

‘I didn't mean it about hoping he'd catch his death,' she sobbed. ‘You know that, don't you, Pip?'

‘I hadn't realised you and Ken were in such a hurry for the inheritance. Kids school fees gone up again?'

She giggled through her tears and punched Cato's arm. They toasted the old man once again.

The funeral was set for Wednesday morning at Karrakatta and the wake would be held at Mandy's. Jane and Jake had called round later on Saturday to pay their respects. Cato was pleased to
see his son turn on the charm and respect for the rellies and for the occasion. It was a good sign that the kid had enough social skills to still take others into consideration and reserve the shittiness just for his folks. That was fine. It was the kids who failed to moderate their behaviour for anyone that were the worry.

On that same Saturday, David Mundine was released from hospital, appeared briefly before a magistrate, and was then remanded to Hakea Prison ahead of a further court appearance on Tuesday. At Hakea he was put into the hospital block to continue monitoring of his burnt ear and possible concussion. His Legal Aid brief had been useless. A stuttering nervous limp-dick fresh out of uni. The tosser had failed to argue the case for bail, had been playing constant catch-up on his notes and his case load, trying to give all of his weekend clients the full benefit of his two-minute consultations. The prick had failed to realise that Mundine was the most important and that all the other low-life losers could get fucked. David knew now he should have refused to go to Legal Aid. All they did was shunt you along the conveyor belt. It wasn't as if he was short on cash, Mr H.'s money was still pretty much untouched.

So here he was. Hakea. A con. Just like his mum. The hell with that.

He needed to get himself a proper lawyer. One who would see him released at that next court session on Tuesday. He had some unfinished business to attend to.

Cato looked in on Hutchens in Freo Hospital on his way to work. He passed on the news about his father going aloft.

‘Sorry to hear that, mate.'

Hutchens was looking better. His skin was a healthier colour and his bruises were past their worst.

‘What's the prognosis?' said Cato, maintaining some levity in his voice. He didn't want to drag the poor bugger down with tales of bereavement.

‘Should be out of here tomorrow. There'll be a bit of to-ing and fro-ing at the outpatients while they check the blood thing and make sure there's no clotting.' Hutchens seemed to be avoiding eye contact. ‘I had been hoping to be back at work by today, but …' he trailed off.

‘You okay?'

‘Just told you, didn't I?'

‘Anything else worrying you?'

‘Nah, mate. Nothing.' He smiled up at Cato, sadness in his eyes. ‘When's your old man's funeral? I'd like to try and make it.'

‘Wednesday. Ten. Fremantle. But look after yourself first. Okay?'

‘No worries.'

They parted. Cato was rattled by the exchange. Something was bubbling under the surface, a deeper malaise. Had Hutchens finally had enough? He'd been through enormous stress and trauma of late. Maybe DI Pavlou was right, maybe his boss was finally on his way out. The deadline for the Major Crime job was Friday. He
dismissed the thought. If she and ACC Michael were swapping notes then odds on he was already cactus.

He dropped by DI Spittle's office and told him he'd like Wednesday off for the funeral.

‘Sure. Whatever you need.'

Spittle updated Cato on the weekend's tally of stabbings, assaults, break-ins, drug busts and car thefts.

‘Nothing special, then,' said Cato.

‘You up to resuming a bit of the load, now the Hutchens stalker thing is sorted?'

‘Yep.'

‘And DI Pavlou tells me the Tan case is definitely closed as far as she's concerned.' Spittle met his eye. ‘That right?'

‘I understand that's her position on the matter, yes boss.'