PROLOGUE

 It’s like sitting on top of the world. The boy often had that same thought when the car was on the crest of the Westgate Bridge. Sometimes he would say it out loud,” Grandfather, this is like sitting on top of the world.” And grandfather would smile and reply”Yes it is son”. And grandmother, in the passenger seat would smile and nod. It was grandfather and grandmother, never anything else. Not pop or nana or even grandpa or grandma. They were very formal people, grandfather and grandmother but they were the only parents of the boy had ever known. His mother had died only hours after giving birth to him.” She lost a lot of blood”is what he had been told. He knew nothing about his father.” He left,”was the only explanation ever offered.

The boy knew that his mother had been his grandparents only child. What he did not know was that after years of failing to conceive, his grandparents had given up hope of ever having a child only to be shocked and delighted when when grandmother became pregnant at the age of 38 and gave birth to a beautiful ,healthy daughter they named Hope.

He also did not know that  at the age of 19 the beautiful and much loved Hope had become pregnant to a man much older that she barely knew. And if that was not bad enough, the man, Hope never divulged  his name, disappeared once he found out about the pregnancy. It was said that he went to the United States, no one really knew, certainly not grandfather and grandmother. They were initially devastated and beyond solace. After much soul-searching, prayer and counselling from their priest, they had just begun to accept the situation when after giving birth they tragically lost Hope to uncontrollable blood loss following what appeared to be a routine delivery.

So, in their 60s grandfather and grandmother had no choice but to raise another child. They did so with all the love and care that their broken hearts could muster. Their home was warm and their love was unconditional. Grandfather put off plans for retirement and continued running the dry-cleaning business which he had been on the verge of selling when Hope died. The boy was sent to a private school where he excelled. Grandfather and grandmother received glowing reports from teachers and it was clear that the boy had a bright future ahead. The boy knew he was loved and reciprocated with all the love that he had. These were, for all intents and purposes, his parents and more wonderful parents who could not wish for.

It was a sunny, warm Sunday morning in November. They were heading to Science works, one of the boy’s favourite places. He had been there many times before and if he had his way he would go there every weekend.

The car has passed the crest of the bridge and grandfather put on the left indicator as he approached the Williamstown Road exit. As grandfather slowed the Commodore down, the semitrailer which had been chugging up the bridge behind them started to overtake. The boy looked to his right and saw the truck. The faded markings of Thomson Steel appearing at his eye level. He could see  rows upon rows of steel beams on the truck trailer. Some of the beams gleamed at him in the bright morning sign of that November Sunday morning. The truck was still alongside the car when the boy saw the truck jerk and then saw smoke coming from the truck's braking tyres. What the boy did not see was the sleek black Porsche 911 will which had cut in front of the truck from the third lane of the bridge and then into the left lane and out onto the Williamstown Road exit.

 At the wheel of the truck was Bill Newman. In his mid-50s, with 30 years experience of driving semis, he cursed the Porsche but managed to slow down in time to avoid clipping the fast moving car.” Stupid bastard”Bill muttered to himself. The whole event took no more than 10 seconds. Grandfather was about to take the left exit off the bridge. He had seen the Porsche but was well back as the Porsche sped away. “An idiot”said grandfather as he watched the speeding car.

The steel had been loaded onto the truck the day before on the Saturday morning. It was Darren Galea’s job to secure the steel beams, a task he had performed dozens of times before. That Saturday morning Darren was not at the top of his game. Friday night had been a big night. Earlier that day, Linda, his sometime live-in lover announced that things were over and that she was sick of the sight of him. To add insult to injury, she had conveyed the message by SMS. Gutless bitch, he thought. Didn’t even have the balls to tell me to my face. So, Friday night had been a big night, even bigger than usual and on Saturday morning, Darren was nursing a hangover and carrying on the shoulder a head that weighed a ton. He had to take two Panadol and two Panadeine Forte just to make it work. The Panadeine Forte had made him feel a little lightheaded and reduced his concentration which was not the best even when Darren was at his best. But he got through the morning, clocked off and headed home to bed when he fell into a deep sleep and did not wake until 7 PM. He missed the cricket game where he should have been opening batsman. He slept through the numerous phone calls from his teammates who were a player short and cursing him as they lost the match. He slept, also oblivious to the fact that his performance at work that morning was even by his standards well below par. Oblivious of the fact that amongst the beams of steel there that he had managed to lash down securely was an almost inconspicuous flat, thin, 30 foot piece of steel that he had failed to secure safely. That beam had managed the journey from Dandenong to the crest of the Westgate Bridge with no difficulty despite its precarious state. But it could not survive the sudden braking of the truck as Bill the driver avoided the Porsche. At that precise moment it came loose from its fellow beams and left the tray of the semitrailer. No one knows what fate has in store for them. The laws of physics do not adequately govern the behaviour of a 30 foot, flat, thin and razor edged steel beam once it leaves the back of a truck and sails through the air on a beautiful, sunny November Sunday morning. And on such a beautiful Sunday morning, grandfather had both front windows open enjoying the fresh warm air as is streamed into the cabin of the Commodore. And as luck would have it, or to be more precise, bad luck, that errant steel beam also streamed  into the cabin of the Commodore, sailing through the front of the cabin in grandfather’s window and out of grandmother’s window, along the way its razor sharp edge lopping off in a neat, almost surgical fashion both grandfather's head and grandmother’s head. At the precise moment of his beheading, grandfather’s body went into a tonic spasm, his right foot suddenly pressing down on the accellorator, propelling the Commodore forwards and for some reason to the left where it hit the side barrier with a loud thud. Grandfather’s lifeless body then became limp, his foot slid off the accelarator and the car stopped at a 45° angle to the side barrier of the bridge, engine running.

After the head comes off, the heart continues beating for a few more seconds. In those seconds four jets of bright red blood rise vertically out of the neck, two large jets from the carotid arteries and two smaller jets from the vertebral arteries. The heart then stops and the blood flow stops . On that sunny November Sunday morning there were 8 such jets of blood rising to the ceiling of the Commodore and in splashing back onto the interior of the car and its occupants. The steel beam, while carrying out its lethal mission, tilted a little, propelling the severed heads of grandfather and grandmother over the headrests  and into the back seat. The heads landed quite neatly on the boy's lap and stuck there, probably anchored by the deluge of blood which covered everything inside the Commodore including the boy all the way from the top of his head down to his feet.

Within seconds, pandemonium broke out on the bridge. At least a dozen cars screeched to a halt, three running into the back of each other. People came streaming out of the cars and rushed to the Commodore. They were met with a sight that could only have come from hell. The Commodore, its engine still idling contained in the front the two blood covered, headless occupants and in the back ,the boy, sitting motionless as if frozen in time, covered head to toe in blood and with the two lifeless heads on his lap their faces with a strange, eerie smile. One man threw up on the bonnet of the Commodore, women started screaming, sobbing. One woman’s voice could be heard over all the commotion:” Oh my God. That poor child, that poor, poor child. ”

                                                           CHAPTER 1

“Hold your horses, I am coming, I’m coming.” The man's  voice could be heard behind the closed door, a note of irritation in the voice which grew louder as he approached the door. Standing outside the door, having knocked repeatedly was Arthur Fromm, a balding, bespeckled man in his mid-50s. He was wearing a dark blue suit which had seen better days, a white shirt with a frayed collar and tie loosely knotted and bright green in colour, not at all matching the  blue suit.

The front doors opened to reveal a strikingly handsome, tall man with a shock of blond hair, dressed in white from head to toe. White shirt, white tie, white jacket, white trousers, white shoes and socks. The man stared quizzically and said nothing. Arthur Fromm was taken aback momentarily but quickly regained his composure.”I’m Arthur Fromm  ”, he offered. When there was no reply he added “The new assistant, you know, from Centrelink  work for the dole program.”The blond man continued to stare for a few more seconds and then with a broad smile extended his hand and said.”Sorry, I clean forgot you were coming today.Come in, come in. I am Martin,Martin Brophy. Come and sit down, let’s talk.” And with that Arthur Fromm was ushered into a cluttered lounge room, directed to sit in a rather tatty leather armchair. Arthur was clutching a leather briefcase which containedpapers from Centrelink and his lunch , ham, cheese and tomato sandwich on wholemeal bread which he had hastily prepared that morning before setting out from home on what turned out to be a two hour drive to the small town of Eden, 130 or so kilometres to the north of Melbourne.

”Would you like coffee, tea, a cold drink?” asked Martin.

“A coffee would be great. Black, no sugar.” Martin, who had not yet sat down, was off to the kitchen from where Arthur could hear the sound of the boiling kettle and coffee being made. It was

 minutes later, there were both sitting, Arthur drinking  his coffee and Martin an orange juice, munching on a chocolate wafer which Arthur had declined.

“You found the place okay?” Asked Martin.” Did you come up from  the Melbourne this morning ?” 

“Yes”, replied Arthur.” Had a great run on the freeway. All the traffic was coming the other way.”

“You will find that’s one of the good things about Eden. Not many visitors. Not many strangers in town. We like it that way”

Then followed an awkward silence which Arthur filled by sipping his coffee rather more loudly than he would normally do. Martin continued eating the chocolate wafers, finished the last one, put his orange juice down, stared straight at Arthur and said.

“Ok, let’s have it, what’s your story.”

Arthur was momentarily taken aback by the question but he knew quite well what Martin meant. Martin wanted to hear his story. More particularly, he wanted to know what a man in his 50s dressed in what was once a very expensive imported Italian suit, a man who had been a senior partner in a prestigious Melbourne accounting firm was doing here, in Eden about to start a new position as the assistant milkman at the local dairy.

“Do you want the long version or the shorter version?” Arthur asked.

“I’ve got all day mate.Fire away.”

It was a story worth telling and the long version was mandatory to do it justice.Arthur Fromm had graduated at the top of his class in Commerce at the University of Melbourne. He was immediately snapped up by Lowe and Brown, one of Melbourne’s leading boutique accounting firms. It was not by chance that Arthur topped his class at the University. He was bright, exceedingly so . His rise at the firm was meteoric,and by the age of 32 he was made partner , the youngest ever to do so .

Along the way he married Marie, Marie Lowe, the boss's daughter and only child . Marie dutifully bore him two children in quick succession ,a son named David and a daughter Helen . As a wedding gift Harold Lowe had purchased for his daughter and her new husband a four-bedroom mansion in Toorak, complete with swimming pool and tennis court as would be befitting the rising star at Lowe and Brown . And Arthur did not let his father in law down . Although  new  to the firm, he managed to transform what was already a top tier accounting firm to be the second largest in the country , with with an abundance of high net- worth clients and quite a few large public companies.

And then the roof fell in .

Brilliant and successful as he was , Arthur could not do it all on his own . He had a staff , dedicated, sharp young accountants ,who dutifully carried out his commands and worked till all hours of the night to ensure that Lowe and Brown and particularly their rising star  Arthur Fromm continued to thrive .

 It has been said  that any organisation is only as good as its weakest link . And at Lowe and Brown , in the office of Arthur Fromm the weakest link was Louis  Field .It's not that Louis lacked intelligence or accounting skills.He had those in abundance .What Louis lacked was morality and honesty, two traits most essential in the world of finance .

For a long time afterwards ,Arthur would wonder how he missed the tell-tale signs.It would plague him well into the early hours of the morning .But miss the signs he did , as did the others on his staff , as did the rest of the firm ,the firm's auditors and the firm's solicitors.What they all missed was the fact that over a two-year period ,  Louis Field managed to embezzle $2 million of clients funds .Managed to siphon the funds to untouchable offshore accounts . $2 million is not an inconsiderable amount of money and one would have thought that its loss would have been easily detected .But Lowe and Brown were dealing with extremely wealthy clients and that amount of money spread over a dozen or so clients went completely unnoticed .

That is until one day, during a routine audit , one of the client's bookkeepers noticed a small irregularity in his client's accounts.And being meticulous, obsessive and tenacious , as bookkeepers often are ,pursued the matter and after six months of incredibly complex detective work the whole scam was revealed .

By then Louis Field had fled.He left his wife and four children,left his beautiful home and shiny Mercedes and disappeared .It was later discovered that he had flown out of Melbourne airport to Hong Kong but beyond that there was no trace of him .

He left behind a scandal that left the firm of Lowe and Brown reeling .He also left behind dozens of documents , many signed by Arthur Fromm which were related to the embezzled funds and which appeared to have originated from Arthur or at least done with his knowledge.

Arthur  of course , had no involvement in the matter and no foreknowledge of it whatsoever.Yes it was his signature on those documents , but he signed so many .He relied on his staff's efficiency and honesty and often signed documents which went out in his name , even though staff members had done the work .This was common practice and not at all out of the ordinary .

The other partners try to rally around Arthur .No-one had really believed he was involved , or at least no one said so .

But the whole affair had taken on a life of its own.The clients were furious .There was talk of lawsuits .Low eand Brown repaid every penny from their own funds , but that was not enough .

The  police was called in,ASIC became involved and for all intents and purposes the work of Lowe and Brown had come to a halt.Clients threatened to leave,some actually did and it looked as if the prestigious and so highly regarded firm would fall luck a pack of cards .

Something has to be done.Someone had to pay and it did not take long to work out who that someone was .As fond as he was of his son-in-law ,Harold Lowe had a greater obligation to his partners , the firm , to his other employees and clients and to his own personal wealth.

Arthur Fromm was dismissed from the firm of Lowe and Brown without notice , without severance pay or any entitlement .He was warned not to make a fuss or otherwise legal action could be taken against him .The beautiful Toorak house , the wedding gift from Harold Low was in fact held in a trust controlled by Lowe and nowhere on the title did the names of Arthur all Marie Fromm appear .Arthur had always known this but it did not seem to be an issue.He,Marie and the children lived in the house , maintained it and paid all the rates and expenses as if the house was theirs.But it wasn't .And  with 48 hours notice they were out .Harold would have preferred to kick after out Arthur and leave Marie and the children in the house but the legal advice was that this complicated matters and could lead to Arthur having a claim on the house which Harold wanted to avoid at all costs .

These things were done with a heavy heart by Harold Low but they were nevertheless still done .Done for the greater good .And Harold was right ."Excising the cancer ", removing the purported cause of the scandal worked .The money had been repaid , the guilty had been punished .Clients stopped leaving , some even came back .The firm survived .

But the relationship of Arthur And Marie did not survive.Yes they were in love , perhaps not so much as in those early years , but still in love.Yes, they had a good marriage , not great but good.It was not enough .The family with by now living in a three-bedroom rented flat in East Malvern.The leased cars were gone .Arthur had no job , no income.Who would employ him in the world of finance or for that matter anywhere in the business world .

Their lifestyle had been lavish , their expenses horrendous and as a result the money in the bank was not nearly enough .They made a brave go of it for a while but it did not last .The atmosphere at home became intolerable for both of them and within three months Arthur had left.A cousin who was divorced and living on his own  took him in .Arthur survived on the dole and for a while consoled himself with bottle after bottle of Scotch , Johnny Walker red not the single malts that he was used to.

Marie and the children , well , after Arthur left they were taken in by Harold for a time .He was a widower , alone in a large house and there was plenty of room.Before long , another Toorak house was found ,a new car leased and for Marie in the children life continued unchanged, at least in the material sense . Marie was forbidden from seeing Arthur ,not that she necessarily wanted to . Arthur saw the children for one day every second weekend .He had little to offer them apart from his love , not even a bed for them to be able to sleep over . Arthur ,at the insistence of  Centrelink continued to look for work.He has given up looking at anything in the area of finance but had not yet accepted the prospects of a job in a factory or behind a bar .But Centrelink kept pressing and pressing , he had to find work .And finally ,after countless job applications and interviews he was in the town of Eden, about to start a new career as the assistant milkman in the towns dairy .

"That's the long version Martin,"Arthur said." It exhausts me just talking about it ."

 

"That's a story Arthur. Not the worst I've heard, not the best either, but it's up there."

There was a moment's silence. Arthur was unsure whether he was expected to say anything but before he could decide, Martin continued.

"Everyone has a story Arthur. We all have . you've got one, I've got one.Don't worry I'm not going to burden you with mine . I want to make some observations and I want you to understand some rules ."

 Arthur remained silent,  waiting.

" As you no doubt realise, you are not the first assistant sitting here and you won't be the last . I am a realist . I know that this job is not anyone's dream job but is not a bad job ."

After pause .

" Do you know the average duration of employment of an assistant milkman in the town of Eden Arthur?" Martin asked . Arthur was about to reply when Martin continued .

"Don't bother trying to answer . I will tell you . The average is one month. The shortest was one day ,  the longest was six months which probably brought the average up . I said this is not the worst job you can have and it's not .The work is not difficult .Sure, we start early.But we finish early .You have most of the day to yourself.Just in case you are wondering what I mean by early ,we head off at 5:30 AM , you therefore must be awake no later than 5 AM .You look  a bit pale Arthur , they're not accountants hours but that's what it is.We finish early, by 9:30 AM , 10 at the latest ."

 Martin paused briefly again .

" I am a good boss Arthur .Do right by me and I will reciprocate . Someone of your intelligence could do this job in their sleep . In fact I suspect you will be doing it at least half asleep.They've told you the pay.Not the pay of a partner in an accounting firm but more than the dole and there are few expenses Board is free .Food here is relatively cheap , you don't need a car and there is not much to spend money on in Eden ."

 Arthur was nodding, seemingly in agreement although he was notsure what he was agreeing to.

" I'll be fine Martin ," he said ." I can't promise you that I will stay a lifetime but I can promise you that you can rely on me to do the job . I suppose you will eventually tell me what the job is ."

"It's not rocket science Arthur ", was Martin's reply ."We deliver milk. I drive the van .You ride in the van next to me. I stop the van.You get out .You take the milk out of the van and leave it at the doorstep. I will show you the system I set up. I'm quite proud of it.It is automated and almost foolproof . I drive onto the next address.You then do the same thing .And and so on and so on and so on.Then we come back here.You change into your own clothes and the time is yours until 5 AM the next morning .Did I mention that's seven days a week.It's just you and me Arthur , no one else ."

Arthur was about to say something about labour laws ,the five-day week , but he thought the better of it .As if reading his mind , Martin said :"Yes, I know seven days a week is not strictly by the rulebook.But if you add up all the hours , you barely work 30 hours per week.That more than makes up for it ."

Arthur did not reply to that .He waited. Martin had mentioned something about rules .

"Now to the rules.They not complicated , not particularly onerous, but Arthur , pay attention,they are not negotiable.You will have free accommodation here as I said .Between 5:30 AM and 10 AM at the latest you will be working.After 10 AM and until 5:30 AM the next morning your time is your own .You can do absolutely anything you want to do,none of my business .But what is my business is what you do here, on my premises . I mentioned rules , but there is really only one rule.While you are here , either during working hours or in your own time, there will be no newspapers , no radio, no TV, no Internet . I have no use for any of those things and while you are here on my premises, neither will you .Outside of here you can do what you like ,read what you like listen and watch what you like.Just don't do it here."

 Arthur stared but did not respond.The obvious question was "why", but he was not sure whether it was a wise question to ask .

" I am sure you want to know why I have this rule .You are probably dying to ask .Don't.If I want to tell you some day , if there is ever going to be some day , then I will ."

Arthur felt he had to say something.

"OK Martin , I can't see any problem with that .You have my word ."

"So Arthur , the formalities  are over . I think that's enough for one day .You start tomorrow morning .Remember 5.30 sharp .Move your things in if you want to .Your uniform is in your quarters , several actually,varying sizes. I am sure one will fit."

"Uniform?" Arthur asked .

"Did I forget to mention it.We both wear white Arthur , not just me .I meant all white .Shirt, trousers, socks, shoes, hat and jacket .It's a bit old-fashioned but that's how it waswhen I took the dairy over and that is how it will stay.Looks quite smart really .And appropriate don't you think , white, milkman , you know".

"White",after muttered."OK, white ."

What do I care he thought to himself .White from head to toe , that's the least of my worries .And before Arthur could say anything else , Martin stood up and left . Arthur stayed seated a few minutes , unsure what to do next.Move your things in , Martin has said .Yes, that's what I'll do.

 Arthur went to his car, went to the boot and took out a suitcase .It was Samsonite , lightweight, silver in colour and once a very expensive .It now looked a little shabby , with a few small dents and more than a few scuff marks .He wheeled othe case in , put it on his bed and proceeded to move in .The case contained his clothing , shaving kit and a few books .Apart from his car , a secondhand blue Mazda 323, with 100,000 km on the clock ,these were is only belongings .Oh and the watch, the gold Longines that his ex-father-in-law had given him as a wedding gift and which somehow he managed to hold on to throughout his ordeal.The room was sparse but adequate .He had stayed in worse .There was a queen sized bed with bedside table ,a small desk and a wooden wardrobe .The floor was wooden boards which by the look of them has not long ago been polished.A small circular Persian style rug was on the floor and  on the window , through which he had a view of the courtyard behind the dairy were crooked venetian blinds which hung rather awkwardly at an angle.  It will do he said to himself.He took out his belongings ,lay them on the bed , opened the wardrobe and contemplated where to put his things .

There was a knock on the door.The door opened and as he turned to see who was knocking he stopped in its tracks .