Turn A Blind Eye Read online

  Turn A Blind Eye

  Neil A. White

  Austin Macauley Publishers

  Turn A Blind Eye

  About the Author

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Copyright © Neil A. White (2018)

  Acknowledgements

  Advance Praise – Turn a Blind Eye

  Other Works by the AuthorClosure

  PrologueMelbourne, AustraliaMarch 31, 2016

  Part 1

  Melbourne, AustraliaJanuary 13, 2016(11 Weeks Earlier)

  Dublin, IrelandSeptember 18, 2014(16 Months Earlier)

  Melbourne, AustraliaJanuary 18, 2016

  Dublin, IrelandOctober 2, 2014

  Melbourne, AustraliaJanuary 25, 2016

  Dublin, IrelandOctober 24, 2014

  Melbourne, AustraliaFebruary 15, 2016

  Dublin, IrelandOctober 24, 2014

  Melbourne, AustraliaFebruary 16, 2016

  Calais, FranceOctober 25, 2014

  Melbourne, AustraliaFebruary 19, 2016

  Châlons-En-Champagne, FranceOctober 25, 2014

  Melbourne, AustraliaMarch 2, 2016

  Rome, ItalyOctober 26, 2014

  Melbourne, AustraliaMarch 4, 2016

  Vatican CityNovember 19, 2015(4 Months Earlier)

  Part 2

  Melbourne, AustraliaFriday, March 11

  Bray, IrelandTuesday, March 15

  Melbourne, AustraliaThursday, March 17

  Dublin, IrelandThursday, March 17

  Melbourne, AustraliaFriday, March 18

  Bray, IrelandSaturday, March 19

  Melbourne, AustraliaMonday, March 21

  Rome, ItalyMonday, March 21

  Melbourne, AustraliaTuesday, March 22

  Dublin, IrelandTuesday, March 22

  Melbourne, AustraliaWednesday, March 23

  Dublin, IrelandWednesday, March 23

  Melbourne, AustraliaThursday, March 24

  Bray, IrelandThursday, March 24

  Melbourne, AustraliaSunday, March 27

  Dublin, IrelandSunday, March 27

  Melbourne, AustraliaSunday, March 27

  Donegal, IrelandWednesday, March 30

  Rome, ItalyWednesday, March 30

  Melbourne, AustraliaThursday, March 31

  Melbourne, AustraliaFriday, April 1

  EpilogueMelbourne, AustraliaMay 14, 2016

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Neil A. White was born in Melbourne and educated in his native Australia and the United States. Following an extensive career in banking, he and his wife now divide their time between Dallas, TX, Australia and Poland. His first novel, Closure, was published in 2016.

  About the Book

  When Craig Walters discovers his widowed mother is dying, he puts his dreams on hold and accepts a position at a small private bank in his hometown of Melbourne, Australia. For Craig, the steady income offers a chance to regroup. However, his indoctrination into the banking world quickly deteriorates when believing he’s stumbled upon an elaborate fraud scheme. His covert digging into the bank’s files for confirmation promptly sets off alarm bells that reverberate around the globe and unwittingly lays bare a more in-depth, sinister plot.

  Linking Melbourne with modern-day Irish politics, and the unlimited power and reach of the Vatican, an intricate web of corruption and unbridled greed is spun, that entwines all that come in contact.

  And whether to Turn a Blind Eye becomes a matter of life and death.

  Dedication

  Andrew Fischer

  Whose shared kindness and wisdom I’ll forever be indebted to and where mere words of gratitude will never be sufficient.

  Copyright © Neil A. White (2018)

  The right of Neil A. White to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781788484084 (Paperback)

  ISBN 9781788484091 (Hardback)

  ISBN 9781788484107 (E-Book)

  www.austinmacauley.com

  First Published (2018)

  Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd™

  25 Canada Square

  Canary Wharf

  London

  E14 5LQ

  Acknowledgements

  As always, a huge thank you to my wife, Anna, who miraculously puts up with this fool year after year and for the spectacular cover photo. I’d also like to thank Jimmy Leonard for his insights after reading an early proof. To friends and family for their love and support; in particular, Ed and Trish for their unwavering kindness and exceptional dog-sitting skills. And to my good friend Colin, the owner of the original Beast.

  And to all my friends in the banking industry who battled through the slings and arrows launched our way in 2008, while those in the towers above floated gently to earth with parachutes made from golden thread.

  Advance Praise – Turn a Blind Eye

  Neil A. White weaves a sticky web of corruption and murder in the murky world of finance. The superb pacing keeps you on the edge of your seat.

  —Mark Smith, Wilder Country – Australian Indie Book of the Year

  Fast-paced and compelling… a real page-turner.

  —Dawn Knox, Award-winning author of The Great War

  Mr White’s descriptive prowess and masterful characterisations combine seamlessly with edge-of-your-seat action in this cross-continent crime thriller, which will keep you turning pages well into the night.

  —Jane Alvey Harris, Award-winning author of the My Myth trilogy

  A recommended 5-Star read. Do not ‘Turn A Blind Eye’ to this riveting and engaging tale of corrupt bankers and politicians, and ruthless assassins and bank robbing terrorists.

  —Richard Abbott-Bailey, Author of Azarias Tor: The History Maker

  Turn a Blind Eye delivers a multi-threaded plot constantly returning back to the central theme of money and corruption… a novel well worth reading.

  —AustCrimeFiction.org

  Other Works by the Author

  Closure

  Closure, by Neil A. White, is one of those rare gems, which entertains as much as it instructs. Skillful characterizations weave together with a plot of heart breaking emotional depth. A young boy’s innocence and security unravel through a series of traumas set against the realistic backdrop of the vibrant music and sports scene of Melbourne, Australia in the 1980s. The young protagonist witnesses the culmination of a lifelong hatred set in motion by harrowing events of World War II. The exponential, generational effect of loss and revenge are exquisitely captured in this gripping novel.

  —Jane Alvey Harris, Award-winning author of the My Myth trilogy

  ’(White) weaves a tale of unspeakable horrors, terrible sadness and grief that never really can fully heal.

  … a powerful story told with great compassion.’

  —Emily-Jane Hills Orford, Award-winning author

  ‘Closure, clearly demonstrates Neil A. White as being an impressively gifted storyteller.’

  —Midwest Book Review

  ‘White’s writing is stunning. I look forward to reading more books by him in the future.’

  —Urban Book Review

  Prologue

  Melbourne, Australia

&n
bsp; March 31, 2016

  Sitting anxiously in the driver’s seat, Brian Monroe gripped the steering wheel with both hands and let out an involuntary shiver. A storm front swept through the city earlier in the afternoon. The brief squall cleared the air and cleansed the streets, leaving in its wake a cloudless sky and a brisk evening.

  Can I turn on the heater?

  The older man in the passenger seat turned slowly to the driver, his piercing glare the only response.

  I guess that’s a no.

  Brian nestled back into the cold leather seat and surveyed the dashboard. He’d stolen the late-model Volkswagen Jetta that morning from the Northland Shopping Centre parking lot. Then swapped out the registration plates with those of an abandoned vehicle at his cousin’s scrap metal yard. He was impressed with the styling of the German vehicle, it didn’t have the power of the Holden Caprice he’d lifted earlier in the week, but the handling was smooth and responsive. He thought it a waste knowing he’d have to torch it after the job, but better safe than sorry.

  Nine o’clock and the Thursday evening traffic was light on Johnston Street. A smattering of parked cars lined the street outside Abbotsford’s Yarra Hotel. Inside, a raucous band entertained the small crowd. From their vantage point across the road, the sound was muffled. Just a low-pitched hum from the bass guitar and the soft thud of a drum kit seeped into the cabin to break the silence. Occasionally, when the front doors swung open, above the music and crowd noise, they could make out some of the vocals.

  Their target entered the bar a little over two hours ago. A tall, thin, young man. Collar-length brown hair. Casually dressed in blue jeans and a black leather jacket. A perfect match for the man in the photo squirreled away in the glove compartment.

  They now waited impatiently for him to depart.

  ***

  Steve Slattery slunk into his twelfth-floor office. At the side of his desk, he dropped his battered leather briefcase to the floor. Then collapsed his wiry 178-centimetre frame into the high-backed leather chair behind it. For the acting chief commissioner of the Victoria Police Force, it was another far too early start to the workday. At least, it being a Friday, the prospect of a peaceful weekend away from it all beckoned alluringly.

  He also thought acting an accurate description of his current role. An imposter. A man wishing to be anywhere than where he found himself. Slattery presumed he’d be able to survive the ordeal relatively unscathed until one morning he awoke, peered wearily into his bathroom mirror, and a stranger stared back. The lines on his face grew deeper and longer by the day. Lines deeply etched, reading like a road map of his life.

  He hadn’t gained weight like many blokes his age, but as the final kilometres of middle-age disappeared in the rear-view mirror and the road ahead angled down sharply towards the valley of old-age, he knew someone, somewhere, was playing fast and loose with the laws of gravity. Skin and muscle were losing the battle against time. Even his once taut, rosy, cheeks had turned an appalling shade of grey and begun a slow migration southward.

  Jowls!

  He’d moaned.

  I’m getting bloody jowls!

  Lamentably, he’d become an “in his day” man. He’d been: handsome, a decent club-cricketer and a bloody good detective in his day.

  The chief commissioner retired at the end of December, and for the past three months, Slattery had struggled mightily to keep the behemoth that was the Victoria Police Force afloat until the Premier selected a full-time replacement. As the former chief’s deputy, this should’ve been the opportunity of a lifetime. A chance to prove himself. To snatch the brass ring enticingly dangled before his eyes. To prove to the politicians he had the mettle to succeed and was more than up to the task. He lacked just one essential ingredient – ambition.

  Thankfully, he’d been sheltered from much of the day-to-day political minutiae by his good friend, the now retired Chief Lay, allowing him to do what he did best, lead his men in his inimitable hands-on style. There was no guarantee the new Chief would maintain the status quo.

  He would celebrate his 60th birthday this September. The force his life for the past 40 years. But as the days passed, trading in his office for his bungalow down at Rye became a more and more enticing proposition. He could feel it in his bones that the time to move drew near. The fire in his belly no longer sufficient to power the engine of commitment. Though not a messy divorce, no bitterness, more like a long-held passion that no longer responded to nurturing and had died on the vine.

  Slattery dreamt of having nothing to do all day but dig his toes into the soft sand, a good book by his side and just the rousing crash of surf meeting shore followed by the soothing hiss of its retreat to invade the silence. Then, of an evening, as seagulls foraged for their dinner amongst the shallows and rock pools, walk the trails along the coast; winding his way through the sand dunes dotted with spinifex and tea tree. To Pirates Bay, twenty minutes to the north-west, where the waves crashed violently against the rocky outcrops. Or the same distance to the south-east and St Andrews beach, where the surf approached the shore with far less anger.

  He sensed the aroma of lamb chops searing on the barbecue, the pop and crackle of fat dropping onto the fire. Imagine the vegetables softening and turning ever so slightly translucent as he sautéed them off to the side. And taste the fruity, pungent, tones of an elegant Munari Shiraz.

  No meetings to attend, budget reports to prepare, personnel issues to quell, or the need to kowtow to pampered politicians. The cumulative effect of all that bullshit, he knew, was slowly transforming his brain into something resembling chocolate pudding. Hell, if he wished – a man could dream – not even a computer or mobile phone in sight.

  Nirvana.

  ***

  Brian checked his watch, 10:30 turned to 10:31 and he grew ever more impatient. His fingers beat out a steady tattoo on the steering wheel to a tune only he could hear. He craved the adrenaline rush of his chosen profession; however, he bemoaned, the monotonous waiting game he often endured was for the birds.

  How much longer do you reckon?

  Again, the icy stare.

  As long as it takes, just be ready when I say go.

  As instructed, he’d collected his passenger that morning from outside The Blarney Stone Hotel. Just minutes, ironically, from where they now sat. Brian mused, the dozen words the old bloke just uttered were the most he’d gotten out of him the entire day. He’d been his driver on another job earlier in the week, but the old bastard – as Brian considered him – acted as if they’d never met. Brian bristled at the lack of manners; no name offered, no small talk, just spitting out orders in that butchered Irish accent of his.

  He turned away from the slight man in the passenger seat and concentrated his attention on the pub across the road, looking into those wild eyes for too long did strange things to his guts. The older man was short and wiry, not an ounce of fat to be found. His thin mousy-brown hair shot out at various angles like he’d played chicken with an electrical socket and his eyes were just this side of the boundary line from being bat-shit crazy. And judging from the sickly pallor of his skin, it appeared he spent a lot of his time inside, the kind where you can’t go outside anytime you wish.

  Brian had given it some thought over the past week and if he had to guess, decided the old man looked like that bloke in the movies: What was his name? He was in Fargo, played the crazy bastard that stuck people in the wood chipper. Steve… something. It would come to him sooner or later. No, “Steve” wasn’t the type of bloke he’d want to have a beer with, but this was work, they’d a job to do, and none of the niceties mattered.

  ***

  Slattery smiled at the prospect of being “electronics free”, until the sight of the blank monitor on his desk dragged him back to reality. He punched the power button, leant back in his chair and stared out the window to the city below. It was the beginning of another gorgeous Melbourne day, an endless blue sky above, wisps of high white clouds off on the horizon. The
northern suburbs spread out like a tapestry before disappearing below the horizon. The perky Channel 7 weather girl on last night’s news promised a high of 24 Celsius. Summer may be over, yet autumn was in no hurry to make an appearance.

  The rising sun still hid behind the buildings on Spencer Street. Yet below, Victoria Harbour, Etihad Stadium and the Southern Cross train station were streaked with intermittent bands of sunlight winkling their way through the canyons of concrete and steel. The hustle and bustle of the awakening city were mute to him, only the hum of the central air-conditioning system and the computer’s hard drive broke the silence.

  Slattery had only himself to blame for his current dilemma. His fatal flaw? He was good at his job and couldn’t say no to a superior. At age 24, after just four years as a constable, he became one of the youngest homicide detectives in the history of the force. For the next 23 years, he worked homicide, then in 2003 was tapped on the shoulder to join Taskforce Purana. Slattery spent the next five years investigating, and bringing to justice, several high-profile gangland figures. His strong work ethic, and unimpeachable integrity didn’t go unnoticed. His appointment to assistant commissioner soon followed, culminating in the deputy chief position in 2012.