Deadly Diplomacy (19 page)

Jess studied the photos. All three were of crowds milling around the same buildings. They were definitely taken in China, because some of the older people were wearing the dark blue Mao jackets of the old regime. Jess peered closer. “Those blue roofs look familiar… I think I went there when I visited Beijing a couple of years ago.” She paused. “It’s the Temple of Heaven, I’m sure of it.”

“What’s that?” Susan asked.

“A tourist attraction in Beijing. I think it was an imperial sacrificial altar for Taoist monks at one time.”

Susan frowned. “Not very good photos are they? The buildings are out of focus.”

Jess nodded. The focus
was
on the crowds, yet individual faces were too small to make out. Her head was whirling, as she tried to link everything together. Curious, she turned to Susan. “What started your sister’s interest in China when she was younger?”

Susan shrugged. “I don’t really know. Ellen went to Leeds Uni to study accounting, but after a couple of months, she switched to Chinese studies. That was a bit out of the blue, but we didn’t think much about it at the time. She spent the final year of her degree in Shanghai, as an exchange student at Fudan University.”

“Then what did she do?”

“She went
back
to Uni to qualify as an accountant.” Susan frowned. “I thought
that
was odd, but Ellen was always interested in finance. After that, she worked in the Beijing Office of a multinational company for about five years before being head-hunted by Western Energy.” She stared at Jess. “Why do you ask?”

“If she spent all those years living and working in Beijing, wouldn’t she already have photos of the Temple of Heaven?”

Susan’s eyes flashed. “What are you thinking?”

Jess was thinking how everything kept coming back to Ellen Chambers’ connection with China.
Follow the money trail.
That’s what Ellen had told her sister to do if anything happened to her? Was Ellen talking about the money from bribes she was supposed to be taking? Or something else?

As if reading her thoughts, Susan said: “That LNG deal’s worth billions. Could her murder be connected to that? Maybe there was a problem with the negotiation or contract? Maybe Ellen found out something? Maybe she upset the other members of the consortium. Maybe… oh, I don’t know.” She shook her head in frustration.

Jess glanced over at the door again.

Susan eyed her, suspiciously. “Have you called the police?”

“No.”

“Then why do you keep looking at the door?”

Jess hesitated. She wasn’t going to lie to Susan. “It’s just that, well…” She tried to sound calm but her throat was tight. “Someone searched my hotel room this morning while I was at breakfast.”

Susan’s jaw dropped.

“I didn’t think anything was missing at the time, but now I can’t find my diary.” She looked at Susan. “I think they were after your sister’s diary and took mine by mistake.”

Susan blanched.

Jess’s heart skipped a beat. “Where’s Ellen’s diary?”

“In a safe place,” Susan whispered.

“
Safe?
What do you mean
safe?
For God’s sake, Susan. I’m sitting here now, but someone’s been following me all morning. They’ve already searched my hotel room and stolen
my
diary.”

Susan’s eyes widened.

“Now, no more nonsense. Where’s that diary? You said you’d bring it!”

“
Christ! The diary!
” Susan jumped up and dashed to the door.

“
Wait!
” Jess shouted after her.

But Susan wasn’t stopping for anyone.

Jess pulled her purse out of her bag and threw a 20 dollar note on the table for the coffees.

She picked up the camera card and shoved it into her jacket pocket. Rushing to the door, she got there just in time to see Susan speeding off in her car.

Sangster ran up the stairs to the conference room on the second floor of the Convention Centre. He had an appointment to see the Chairman and CEO of Western Energy at 10.30. He had a number of questions to ask them, and he wanted to do that face to face, to see their reactions.

And
he wanted to talk to the Chinese.

Finding the room, he peered through the glass window and saw the Conference still in session. In the centre, the table was set up in a large rectangle, where delegates sat behind their company’s name and logo. Further back were several rows of chairs for observers and clerical support staff. He slipped through the door, and sat on a chair in the back row nearest the door.

At the far end of the room, a tall, balding man was giving a presentation, with the aid of graphs and statistics beamed onto the wall behind him. His voice was small and thin, and his tortoiseshell glasses made him look like a benign professor. But Sangster noticed his set jaw and eyes that darted everywhere. His name plaque said he was the CEO of Western Energy, Richard Price. Next to him sat the Chairman, John Langhurst, with his head bowed. It was impossible to tell if he was listening or not.

Sangster scanned the faces of the delegates he could see. They were all nationalities: Western, Asian and African. Some were listening, some looked bored, and others were reading or scribbling on papers on the table in front of them. No one looked familiar.

He spotted the Chinese delegation sitting together on a row of seats set aside for observers. Sangster counted them. Only five, when there should be six. Next to them sat a man in a grey suit, with grey hair flopping over his forehead. He kept looking up and fidgeting around in his chair, before returning to work on the iPad on his lap. He
had
to be their Department of Foreign Affairs minder.

Sangster went over. “Derek Marshall?” he asked, as he sat down next to him.

The man’s eyes were alert. “Yes.”

“Inspector Tom Sangster, Queensland Police.” He held out his hand, and spoke quietly. “I’m investigating the murders of Ellen Chambers and Anthony Harris.”

Derek shook his hand. “What can I do for you, Inspector?”

“You can tell me where Chen Xiamen is,” he said, tightly.

Derek shifted on his seat. “He has a long-standing engagement with the local Chinese community.” He paused, then added: “I checked with the PM’s office that it was okay for him to go.”

“So what was he doing at The Palms this morning?”

“The Palms Resort?”

Sangster nodded. “The British Consul saw him there.”

Derek looked uneasy. “I don’t know.”

“Can you phone and check he’s where he should be now?”

“Certainly.” Derek Marshall jumped up and left the room.

When Sangster looked up again, both John Langhurst and Richard Price were staring at him. He held up his wrist and tapped his watch.

*

Sangster ushered John Langhurst into a small office in the Conference Centre allocated for police interviews. A wooden desk and chair stood by the window, with a small sofa and two matching chairs positioned close by. Sangster looked at the grey blinds and grey carpet. Everything about the place was so grey, which only added to his mood. “Please take a seat.” He gestured to the sofa, and sat down on one of the chairs opposite the Chairman.

Feeling stifled in the airless room, Sangster loosened the knot in his tie and picked up Langhurst’s file to refresh his memory. Chairman of Western Energy for nine years, Langhurst had spent most of his career working in banks and top-flight Australian companies. The man was obviously well connected, although he hadn’t always been. He’d started life as the son of a miner from Newcastle, New South Wales. That was some journey, Sangster thought. Had he achieved all that through merit? Or by marrying the daughter of a former PM? Still, by all accounts, he was welcome to Linda Shipperton. A hard-headed cow was one of the kinder things he’d heard her called.

He glanced up at Langhurst, who looked wiry and strong, as if he kept himself fit. Judging by his tanned face, he’d been out in the sun a lot recently, which tied in with what he’d said about having been on holiday with his family. Langhurst had an air of authority about him too. But that didn’t bother Sangster. As far as he was concerned,
he
was in charge in here. “Let’s recap what you told me on the phone, Sir.” Sangster pulled out his notepad. “On Sunday night you attended the Conference reception here at the Convention Centre, but you only stayed a short time?”

The Chairman clasped his hands on his lap. “I only went for half an hour to greet the guests and make sure everything was running smoothly. Then I went back to my hotel suite to catch up on paperwork. I’d been away a week.”

“And you didn’t leave your suite again for the rest of the night?”

“That’s right.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t see Miss Chambers at all at the reception on Sunday evening?”

The Chairman shrugged. “The last time I saw Ellen was at the lunch we hosted at the Riverbank Hotel on Sunday for Conference delegates who’d arrived early in Brisbane.”

“What time did Miss Chambers leave the lunch?”

“About 2.30pm with the rest of us. She said she was going back to The Palms for a few hours before the evening reception.”

“Weren’t you worried when she didn’t turn up in the evening?”

“Not really.” The Chairman sighed. “I thought she was either running late, or giving it a miss. I wouldn’t have blamed her. I only went to show my face.”

From his slightly elevated position on the chair, Sangster studied Langhurst, who looked calm but had troubled eyes. Sangster pulled out his small sketchpad and pencil from his jacket pocket. “Did Richard Price attend the reception?” he asked.

“Yes. Richard was there.”

“What time did he leave?”

Langhurst looked puzzled. “He was still there when I left, I
think
, but… well, I can’t be sure. It was a bun fight in there.” He flared his nostrils, prompting Sangster to capture that gesture of disapproval on paper. He wouldn’t have described John Langhurst as a handsome man, but there was something compelling about him. Did women find him attractive, he wondered? Did Ellen Chambers fall for him and have an affair? “So, tell me, Sir,” he asked, “how well did you get on with the deceased?”

“Very well, Inspector. We had a good working relationship. She was a great colleague. Very smart.”

“Did you see her outside of work?”

The Chairman hesitated. “She occasionally accompanied me to official functions and meetings.”

“Did you ever see her socially?”

Langhurst gave him a strange look and shook his head.

“So, Miss Chambers was in Australia to work on the gas deal with China? And she’d been coming over from the UK every other month?”

“That’s right.”

“Did she ever go to China too?”

“The negotiation
is
with the Chinese.”

Sangster ignored the barb. The Chairman didn’t suffer fools gladly. Nor did he. He waited for a proper answer. This was
his
show.

Finally, Langhurst said: “We only came back from China the week before she died.”

“You went to China with her?”

“Yes, along with Richard Price. We went for another round of talks with the Chinese.”

“Did the three of you get on well while you were there?” Sangster asked.

Langhurst gave him a curious look. “Of course.”

“There were no disagreements?”

“None at all.”

“Did anything out of the ordinary happen in China? Anything to upset Miss Chambers, I mean?”

Langhurst looked thoughtful. “Nothing I can think of.”

Sangster nodded. “Did Ellen get on well with Richard Price?”

“Yes.”

“Any rivalry? Or disagreements?”

The Chairman looked irritated now. “Ellen got on with everyone.”

Sangster crossed his legs. “Are you saying she never had
any
disagreement with
anyone
in the Company?”

The Chairman’s nostrils flared again. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Sangster shifted in his chair. This man was too composed. He toyed with the idea of challenging him about the corruption allegations against Ellen Chambers to break through that infuriating exterior. But he’d been warned off that line of questioning by the DC until they’d got clearance from Canberra. So he tried an indirect approach. “Are there any particular
problems
with the LNG deal? Or with the Chinese negotiators?”

The Chairman stretched out his legs. “There’s a lot at stake, Inspector, so you can appreciate how delicate the negotiations are. It’s an important export deal for Western Energy, and for Australia.”

“Too important to fail?”

Langhurst raised an eyebrow. “It won’t fail.”

He’s confident too, Sangster thought. Far too confident. “How well do you know Chen Xiamen?” he asked, keen to establish how close the two men were.

Langhurst shrugged. “I talk to him across the negotiating table.”

“You’ve had no private meetings with him or met him socially?”

“No.” Langhurst smiled. “You clearly haven’t been involved with the Chinese, Inspector. There is no personal contact. Everything is done at official level.”

Sangster ignored that. “What would you say he was like?”

Langhurst gave him a pointed look. “What are you getting at?”

Sangster was feeling annoyed now.
Don’t upset anyone, Tom.
The DC’s warning was ringing in his ears.
Langhurst is a friend of the PM.
“It’s a straightforward question, Sir,” he said sharply. “What are your impressions of the man? Is he someone you can do business with?”

Langhurst sat forward. “Chen is intelligent, shrewd and speaks good English. Obviously he’s a man I can do business with.”

That’s when Sangster knew he was wasting his time. Langhurst was too at ease. Too smug. He wouldn’t open up about negotiating tactics or personal relationships with the Chinese, any more than he would discuss the corruption allegations against Ellen Chambers, if he knew about them. In fact, Langhurst looked so assured, he gave the impression of being untouchable. That made Sangster wonder just how much the Australian Government were pulling the strings on the LNG deal behind the scenes. Of course publicly they kept saying it was a commercial matter and they weren’t involved in the negotiations. But was that true? Had Anthony Harris been the kingmaker in this deal? Had something gone wrong? Had he been involved in corruption alongside Ellen Chambers? If they’d been having an affair, were they sharing the proceeds of crime too? Is that what this was all about?