The Ancient Craft

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

An early morning doorbell was unnerving at the best of times, but when it rang just before dawn, a feeling of dread spread through Angelo Cattani.

He shook his head to clear the fog of sleep whilst trying to focus on the clock beside his bed. It was 6 am. Stumbling out of bed, he pulled on some old jeans and a tee-shirt, then made for his front door. He slid the top bolt, opened the deadlock and wrenched the door open. He stepped back in shock at what confronted him.

A grim-faced plain-clothes inspector whom Angelo recognised as Bill Etheridge from Internal Affairs held up an A4 piece of paper that Angelo could not read through his wire screen door. He had never worked with Etheridge, but Angelo viewed all Internal Affairs officers with caution.

‘Angelo Cattani, I have a warrant to search these premises for illegal drugs,’ came the strident voice, ‘and you are required to co-operate fully with myself and my colleagues in that search.’ The inspector jerked his head towards the two other plain-clothes detectives and three uniformed officers who stood behind him.

Angelo shook his head angrily. ‘What the hell is going on?’

‘In a few days you will be required to attend Internal Affairs where you will be directed to answer several questions regarding your recent behaviour,’ the inspector said. ‘Don’t be stupid now. You know you’ve got no choice in the matter.’

Angelo knew that he was required to answer any questions put to him by Internal Affairs, without the right to silence. Failure to answer would lead to his dismissal from the force.

‘At least let me wake up the wife and kids before you barge in like a herd of rhinos,’ Angelo said.

‘Sorry, we can’t leave you alone for a second,’ Etheridge replied. ‘You know the drill.’

Angelo knew the drill only too well. The opportunity to dispose of any incriminating material was an issue, so he shrugged his shoulders in resignation.

‘Can you at least be quiet? I don’t want my kids to be terrified,’ Angelo said. ‘Someone’s telling lies about me in a desperate attempt to destroy the drug case I’m about to give evidence in. Surely you haven’t fallen for the thimble and pea trick? When you can’t attack the evidence, the last resort is to attack the coppers. You must know that?’

The inspector shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m just doing my job. If you’ve nothing to hide, you’ve nothing to fear.’

‘We both know that’s bullshit,’ Angelo replied angrily. ‘Have you searched your so-called colleagues to make sure they don’t have some white powder in their pockets to plant on me?’

Etheridge seemed taken aback by the suggestion, but after a few seconds, he reasserted his control.

‘Just behave yourself, Angelo. I trust these blokes with my life. They’re all straight.’

Angelo stood still momentarily before reluctantly opening the screen door to admit the group. He walked ahead to the main bedroom where his wife had pulled on a thick white dressing gown.

‘What’s going on, love?’ she asked in a shaky voice.

‘Someone’s been telling lies to Internal Affairs and they’re here with a search warrant. Don’t worry, when they come up empty, it’ll all blow over,’ Angelo replied whilst wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders.

Rose shook herself free from the embrace and angrily strode down the short hallway and into the main lounge room. ‘He’s given his life to the job, risking it over and over again, and this is all the thanks he gets, you bastards,’ she yelled. ‘You should all be ashamed of yourselves.’

After a stunned silence, their two children emerged from their bedroom followed shortly after by Angelo’s mother.

‘It’s all right kids, it’s just a big mistake,’ Angelo said, attempting a reassuring tone. ‘These men are here to look after us, not to harm anyone. Come on, we’ll go to the kitchen and cook an early breakfast.’

‘But why are they here?’ Angelo’s seven-year-old son asked. ‘We’re not bad people.’

‘Don’t worry, Sam,’ Angelo replied as he ruffled his son’s hair. ‘They’re just checking that we’re all safe.’

Their daughter, Emily, who had just turned four, clung to her mother’s leg with one arm and to her teddy bear with the other.

Angelo’s mother, Maria, looked at the scene with narrowed eyes.

‘Fascist,’ she hissed as she passed Etheridge on her way to the kitchen. Clearly, memories of living with Mussolini’s fascist police had come back to her.

After twenty minutes or so, Etheridge, who had been keeping an eagle eye on Angelo the whole time, spoke quietly to one of the plain clothes detectives. He then walked into the kitchen and motioned Angelo to move away from the children.

‘The keys to the garage and your car,’ he demanded in a quiet but insistent voice.

Angelo reached over to a nail beside the side door, grabbed a set of keys and tossed them to the inspector.

‘Good luck,’ he murmured.

‘Luck is something we don’t need,’ Etheridge replied.

It was in that instant that Angelo knew the house search was merely a formality, and they were interested only in the family car. Internal Affairs were obviously acting on information that drugs would be found there. He knew how easy it would have been to plant something in the car when Rose was out shopping and the car was unattended in some car park. He had feared the drug conspirators might do something to abort the trial, and he realised that planting drugs on him was a simple solution to their problems.

‘How many people have access to your car?’ Etheridge asked.

Angelo looked at him silently.

‘It’s not a hard question. Do you want me to caution you?’ he persisted.

‘Some low-life scum has told you to look in the car, haven’t they?’ Angelo asked quietly.

‘I’m not at liberty to divulge our sources, nor the content of any information. Just answer the question. Who would be able to open your car boot? Who would have access to the key?’

‘Any one of a thousand crims wouldn’t need a key, as you well know. A simple lock pick will open the door, and the boot release is on the floor.’

‘I’m assuming that answer is no one but you and your wife.’

Angelo gave a cold stare but did not reply.

‘If something, say drugs for example, were located in your car boot, can I assume that your wife has not placed them there?’

Angelo recognised that Etheridge was making a veiled threat against his wife, and by phrasing the question in that way he was after an admission of knowledge of drugs by Angelo.

‘I’ll not give you any assistance in falsely accusing and charging me or my wife with any criminal offence,’ Angelo replied forcefully. ‘Furthermore, I refuse to answer any further questions unless my solicitor is present.’

‘Now, now, Angelo,’ Etheridge persisted in a patronising tone, ‘that attitude will only result in trouble for you. It’s best to make a clean breast of everything right now and we’ll keep your wife out of it.’

‘You haven’t found a thing yet. You must be convinced that this information about me is correct if you’re talking about arresting my wife in front of our kids.’

‘I’m only looking after your best interests, Angelo,’ Etheridge replied with a smile.

An overwhelming urge to punch the smug-looking inspector in the face came over Angelo. As Sam ran over and grabbed his arm, he realised how stupid that would have been.

‘Don’t get cranky, Dad,’ he called out. ‘I’ll look after you. We’ll be all right.’

Angelo released the tension in his arm, and swept his son up into his arms. ‘Sure, mate. We’ll be good. Don’t worry,’ he murmured to the boy.

One of the uniformed officers came back into the lounge room and whispered something to Etheridge.

‘Forensics will need to take the car for a thorough search. As soon as that is completed, you will be required to attend our offices for an interview. Until that time you are formally suspended,’ Etheridge said in a formal tone. ‘Warrant card and revolver please.’

The requested items were located, and Angelo thrust them towards the inspector. Etheridge took them, then nodded and left with the other police.

Rose came over and hugged her husband fiercely, and the children grabbed them both. They stood in the kitchen, encircled in silence.

Angelo’s mother stood leaning against the bench top.

‘At least with the Mafia back in the old country, you always knew they wanted to stab you in the back,’ she muttered, almost to herself. ‘Who do we turn to when the carabinieri are the crooks.’