Deadly Diplomacy (15 page)

The cold from the tiles seeped through his feet, cooling him down after one of the strangest days he’d ever had as a policeman.
Two
high profile murders: a senior British executive, and then a Federal Minister. He still couldn’t believe it. No one could. Of course all the relevant procedures had kicked in, but that didn’t mean they weren’t all still reeling from the shock, especially Canberra.

He took a deep breath of night air. From up there, he could see the twinkling city lights all over Brisbane. Somehow, it made him feel less lonely.

He pictured Liz sitting in the cane chair, with her legs tucked under her and a glass of wine in hand. They would often sit in the cool evening air, chatting about their day. Being with her had felt so right; he’d bought this spanking new apartment for her six years ago, with his life savings.

She said she loved it. But obviously not enough to stay.

“Where are you, Liz?” he whispered into the night.

*

Jess dialled Inspector Sangster’s mobile, without even looking at the time.

“Liz?” he answered.

That threw her. “Er… this is Jessica Turner, the British Consul.”

“Evening Ma’am.” He sounded so disappointed, she couldn’t help but wonder who Liz was.

“Sorry to ring so late, Inspector, but I wanted to let you know Susan Chambers is fine. She just called.”

“Oh, good.” The relief in his voice was palpable. “Where is she?”

“Staying with a friend.”

“Give me the address and I’ll send someone round.”

“She wouldn’t tell me on the phone. She thinks her phone’s being tapped. But she wants to meet me first thing in the morning. I’ll get the diary off her then.”

He sighed, with exasperation.

“Let’s not be too hard on her, Inspector. She’s shocked and frightened.”

“She’s obstructing my murder investigation,” he said, gruffly. “So where are you going to meet? At the hotel?”

“She’s going to ring me first thing to say when and where.”

“More bloody nonsense. Well, ring me in the morning as soon as you hear from her.”

That sounded like an order, but Jess let it go. She was more preoccupied with what Susan had told her and whether to relay it to him. “Susan said her sister was pregnant when she was murdered.” Jess knew she wasn’t betraying Susan’s confidence because the autopsy would reveal that.

He took a sharp breath.

“Yes. It was a surprise to me too,” she went on. “Susan told me earlier she had the impression Ellen had a new man in her life.”

“Who?”

“Ellen never mentioned him, which made Susan think he was married.” Jess hesitated. “The thing is, I was just listening to the late news, to an obituary on Anthony Harris actually. And, well…” She hesitated, wondering what he would make of her theory. “The newsreader said he was known as
Tony
Harris to his family and close friends. So now I’m wondering if
he
was the TH in Ellen Chambers’ diary. You remember I told you about those initials this afternoon?”

Silence.

“Well, it would make sense, wouldn’t it?” she continued. “I mean, he
was
married, with a high profile job. If news of an affair, not to mention a pregnancy, got out, it could have ruined his career
and
his marriage.”

“Mm.”

“I may be wrong about this, Inspector. On the other hand, it
could
be a link between the two murders.” She paused. “Mind you, it doesn’t explain who would want them both dead.” She paused. “Why did it take so long for the media to get news of the shooting?”

“Politics,” he replied, without explaining. “But there is something about his murder that hasn’t been released to the media.” He stopped.

Jess waited.

“The cause of death was a single bullet to the back of the head, which killed him instantly. Then the killer stabbed him in the heart.”

“
Oh my God!
Why would anyone do that?”

“We don’t know yet,” he said. “But we’re keeping that information strictly under wraps. We don’t want to start any public panic about a psycho on the loose. I’m sure you understand what I’m saying.”

“Of course.” She was pleased he’d confided in her.

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” he asked.

Jess couldn’t decide whether she detected a note of sarcasm in his voice or not. Should she tell him about the conflict between the Chairman of Western Energy and his CEO, or that Ellen was being groomed to take over from Richard Price? That could be a motive for murder. No, she thought, not yet. John Langhurst had told her that in confidence. The Inspector would have to find that out for himself when he interviewed him.

Sangster repeated. “So, is there anything else you can tell me?”

“No.”

He sighed. “So, where are you now?”

“On my hotel balcony, looking at the moon.”

“It’s a ripper, isn’t it?”

Surprised by his reaction, she asked: “Do you live in town, Inspector, or at the coast?”

“In town. I have a great view over Brisbane from my top-floor apartment.”

“You’ll be able to keep an eye on everyone from up there then, won’t you?”

He gave a small laugh. “With this full moon, there’ll be a king tide at the coast tonight. The river levels will rise too.”

“You live in a beautiful part of the world, Inspector.”

“Call me, Tom. Inspector makes me sound old.”

“And you can call me Jessica, or Jess if you like. Ma’am makes me sound like The Queen.”

He laughed. It was a deep, throaty laugh that made Jess smile. So, despite that deadpan exterior, he had a sense of humour.

But he was quickly back to business. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that Susan Chambers is jeopardising the investigation by holding onto that diary. She doesn’t understand what trouble she’s in. I could charge her for withholding evidence.”

Jess sighed. He was back to his usual gruff self now and she’d had enough of that for one day. “Yes, well, I’ll let you go now, Tom. No doubt we’ll talk again tomorrow.”

“No doubt,” he replied, and hung up.

*

Sangster threw his mobile onto the bed. He needed that damn diary. It might well hold the clue to Ellen’s killer or the motive for her murder. Mind you, he was glad the British Consul had phoned to tell him the Chambers girl was okay; and glad too that they were working together. He’d known all along she’d be the link between Susan Chambers and the diary.

Glancing at the bed as he picked up his notepad, he went out and slammed the door behind him. He’d sleep in his study again tonight.

Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he flopped down on the sofa-bed to watch the cricket. As he swigged from the bottle and flicked through his notepad, his mind began to sift through the day’s events. He stopped at his sketch of Ellen Chambers’ corpse lying on the sand. It had all started with
her
murder. He picked up his large pad, and lay back down on the sofa to start a bigger version.

Pregnant, eh?
Is that what this is all about? An affair she was having with the Federal Minister? Is that why they were both dead?

The cricket droned on in the background, and he glanced towards the screen from time to time to catch a particular shot, or a replay.

Liz hated his sketches of murder victims. “It’s like living with ghosts,” she said. Not only did she refuse to go into his study, she insisted on keeping the door shut all the time. “Keep them in there, Tom, we don’t want them intruding in our lives.”

And he had
tried
. Very hard. But they
did
intrude. And he couldn’t seem to stop them. And that’s why deep down he knew Liz wasn’t coming back this time. His head drooped and he pushed the heel of his hand into his eye. After a while, he picked up a soft charcoal pencil, and carried on with his drawing. Ellen Chambers’ face told the horror of her final moments. He laboured over that cracking bruise on her cheek, heightening the shadow it created. No one had a bad word to say about Ellen Chambers, he thought. Professional, clever, reliable, considerate – those were the words that kept cropping up when her colleagues spoke about her. That was the
professional
woman, but no one seemed to know anything about her private life. And the one person who did know, her sister Susan, had gone into hiding. So who was Ellen Chambers, he wondered? Eighteen hours into the investigation, he still knew nothing about her. Something wasn’t right. He just didn’t know what.

He went back to her eyes. Now, what were they trying to tell him?

*

Jess relaxed back in her chair, glad she’d phoned Sangster. He seemed easier to talk to tonight, relaxed even. And judging by the relief in his voice, he’d been worrying about Susan too. What on earth did the girl expect to find in that diary? Closing her eyes, she could see Susan’s frightened face. She would try really hard to persuade her to go back to the UK for a couple of weeks, where she’d be safe.

Jess yawned. She ought to go to bed since Simon wasn’t going to phone tonight. She hoped he wasn’t going to work through the night; he needed to rest. She could hear waves crashing onto the beach now. The pounding seemed to shudder through the entire building. She looked up at the full moon. There’ll be a king tide tonight, that’s what Sangster had said.

A soft buzzing sounded in her ear, and she flapped away a mosquito. As she sat in the silence, goose bumps suddenly rose on her arms. There it was again, the feeling that she wasn’t alone. That presence. Her eyes flashed open and she strained to listen. A soft rustling sounded from the bushes by the path. She peered over the railings into the darkness and caught a glimpse of a shadow in the moonlight.

*

So why do you need to keep the diary, Susan?
Those words, spoken out loud in the silence of night, were rattling around his head.

He couldn’t believe his luck.
Now
he knew for sure who had that diary. And he wasn’t about to let those bitches go anywhere near the police.

He looked back up to the second floor balcony. Excitement surged through him as he thought of those breasts, and the wave of pleasure on her face as she sipped the wine. Did she think she was safe on that balcony? He could climb up there in seconds. His face twisted. She was making this so easy.

He put the monocular in his pocket, and looked at his watch. It was time! Drawing his gun, he took a couple of steps forward.

The damp mist shrouded the trees and bushes, giving them an ethereal light under the moon. He listened. The only sound came from the sails and rigging of the moored boats at the jetty tinkling in the breeze.

The crunch of dead leaves underfoot made him hesitate. The footsteps were meant to be stealthy, but they echoed through the dead of night. He sniffed the air, as he stalked through the bushes.
I’m so close, I can smell you.

Every nerve in his body tensed as he closed in.
You meddlin’ fool.
He aimed the gun.
Stupidity – that was your mistake!

A faint gasp was all he heard as the silent bullet slammed into the target. His prey slumped to the ground. Breathing heavily, he drew out his knife and thrust it into the heart. That exquisite joy started in the depths of his soul, pulsing through him in waves of pleasure.

When it was over, he pulled out the knife and looked all around. There was no-one about.

He took out his mobile and dialled a number. “It’s done,” he said and hung up.

Out of the window, Jess watched the pale yellow sun gathering strength as it rose and burnt off the early morning sea mist. Unlocking the balcony door, she walked outside. Everything looked postcard perfect. What a night. She’d been so tense, she’d only had a few hours’ sleep. Still, she was used to surviving on that. In the distance, she noticed several police officers at the jetty. There seemed to be a lot of activity down there again. More investigations?

Scanning the beach and gardens, she saw the young man who’d been pruning roses yesterday. Now he was fishing leaves and debris from the swimming pool with a long pole and net. He glanced up and locked eyes with her. Uncomfortable, she pulled her robe around her and walked back into her room. She flinched when she saw the time. London had woken her at 6am to touch base on the Ellen Chambers’ case before closing for the day. The time difference was annoying. It was impossible to hold a coherent conversation when jolted from sleep.

She walked over to the door and poked her head out into the corridor. No newspaper. She wondered whether to call Simon. As Press Officer, he had all the newspapers delivered to his house every morning.
And
he got up at the crack of sparrows. Her mobile rang and she ran over to the desk to answer.

“This is your seven o’clock alarm call,” said Simon. “Sorry I didn’t phone last night, Jess, but the dinner went on late. Then I went back to the High Commission. I didn’t finish until one o’clock this morning.”

“You could have phoned, I was still awake.”

“Listen, Jess.” He lowered his voice. “I didn’t get the chance to ask Nigel why he hadn’t told us about that intelligence report; he was stuck to the Foreign Secretary’s side like glue. Then he rushed off after dinner.” He paused. “Like he was avoiding me.”

“Avoiding you?”

“That’s why I went back to the High Commission to look for that report.” He stopped.

“And?”

“It wasn’t recorded in the top secret Registry log. And it wasn’t locked up in the strong room either.” He hesitated. “We shouldn’t really be talking about this on an open phone line.” But he went on anyway. “I found it eventually, in Nigel’s cupboard, in his office.”

“Christ, Simon, if he finds out…”

“I know where his PA hides the combination. She’s got a terrible memory and has to keep it written down.” Simon gave a nervous chuckle. “The report was tucked at the bottom of his in-tray… it was from GCHQ.”

That was the UK Security Services’ listening station. “Go on,” she urged.

“They’d picked up chatter in China saying Ellen Chambers was taking bribes from Chen Xiamen. Then our Embassy in Beijing did some digging.”