‘Do we need to correct it for any grammatical errors?’
‘No, Hendrik,’ Visser said.
Richter dropped the paper on the table, then looked at Visser. ‘I’m sure you wanted to discuss more than this?’
Visser’s mouth tightened, into something between a smile and a grimace. ‘I’ve had some calls over the last few weeks. From the board.’
‘Anyone in particular?’
‘I’d call it a unanimous front.’
‘Aren’t we on the board?’
‘I’ve also had some discussions with our investors.’
‘Who might they be?’
‘Some fund managers. And others.’
‘Are the others Chinese?’
Visser nodded. ‘People who speak for them.’
‘Any government people, by chance?’
‘Well . . .’
‘Let me guess, people who speak for them?’
‘Something like that.’
‘John’s name came up in these discussions?’ Richter searched Visser’s face for a clue. ‘This hesitancy isn’t like you, Andre.’
‘There’s a view,’ Visser said, ‘that we can’t really have John touching the gold mine at Bageeyn River. Or any other projects of environmental or political sensitivity.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, Hendrik. Really.’
‘This a strong view?’
Visser turned and gazed towards the distant boats on the harbour, breathing out deeply. ‘An extremely strong view.’
‘I see,’ Richter said. ‘Is it a view you share?’
Visser looked back at the man for whom he had worked for more than thirty years. ‘I do.’
Richter nodded slowly. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised.’
‘I didn’t think you would be.’
‘Tell me, Andre,’ Richter said, ‘is there anything he can fucking touch?’
‘Not without damaging it, Hendrik.’
‘Perhaps I should send him overseas?’
‘Perhaps when this trial is over . . .’
‘We’ll be mining Mars before John’s ready to take charge.’ Richter pushed his chair back and stood. ‘You’re right, of course. John can’t run any of our projects. Not in this country.’ He walked to the railing of his long terrace, and looked out over the harbour. ‘Is this wrong, Andre?’
Visser turned to look at Richter, but he was still facing the other way. ‘Is what wrong?’
Richter shook his head. ‘I don’t care,’ he said. ‘I’m his father, but there’s no part of me that really cares at all.’
18
The wind rushed through Tanner’s hair as his solicitor accelerated. It was a clear morning and the roof of the Mercedes convertible was up. The Silverwater Metropolitan Remand and Reception Centre was a twenty-kilometre drive west of the CBD. Justin Matheson had been there for twenty-five days. In that time, he’d been visited three times by his parents, once by a group of three friends, and twice by Charles Porter and his previous barrister immediately before his first shot at bail. His wife Sarah had not yet made the trip.
‘We’re going to stick out a bit at Silverwater in this,’ Tanner said.
‘How I’d look in a prison car park wasn’t foremost in my mind when I bought this car,’ Porter replied.
‘Any update on Stott Ackerman?’
‘The head of Justin’s group made it clear that his position was now untenable. They sent him a letter of termination at Silverwater yesterday while we were meeting.’
‘Don’t investment bankers believe in the presumption of innocence?’
‘He said he’d spoken to his US head. Gaming requires you to be squeaky clean. The drug charge is almost worse than the murder charge.’
In the brief was a recent photo of Matheson from a publicity brochure for Stott Ackerman: sitting on the corner of a desk, one leg on the ground, the other up slightly, the city skyline in the background. He had on a dark business suit, a white shirt with no tie. There was the faintest smile on his face that was hard to define. It wasn’t quite arrogance, it was more the self-assured look of someone who’d never known any kind of failure.
When Matheson was walked into the legal interview room where Tanner and Porter were waiting, prison greens and four weeks in a cell had wiped away that look.
‘I’m not asking you for the sake of it, Justin,’ Tanner said after Porter had introduced them. ‘How are you doing in here?’
Matheson shook his head slowly. ‘It’s not exactly an Aman Resort.’
Tanner nodded. ‘Are you having any trouble with anyone?’
Matheson paused. ‘I’m not making life-long friends.’
‘I hope you don’t have to.’
Matheson leant forwards in his seat. ‘Mr Tanner,’ he said, ‘I didn’t do this.’
‘It’s Peter.’
‘I didn’t hurt this girl.’
‘We’ll get to that.’
‘You have to get me out of here. I swear, I didn’t do this.’
Tanner held up a hand as a gesture for Matheson to relax. ‘Charles told me your employer sent you a Dear John letter yesterday?’
Matheson smiled crookedly. ‘They couldn’t work out how to pitch my new status as accused murderer to the clients.’
‘Really? I didn’t think you could get a job in investment banking unless you were a violent cokehead?’
Matheson straightened in his chair, and raised an eyebrow.
‘You’ll get used to my sense of humour, Justin,’ Tanner said.
‘My parents won’t.’
‘I’ll be more delicate with them. You want to tell me what happened that night?’
Matheson told Tanner the events that had led to him sitting in a booth at Pantheon on the night of Elena Mancini’s death.
‘You’re a member of this club?’
‘Yes.’
‘How often do you go there?’
‘Maybe once a month,’ he said. ‘It’s more a place to take clients, you know, interstate or overseas clients if they’re in town.’
‘Did you know either of these girls?’
‘No.’
‘Never seen them before?’
‘Klaudia had only been working there for a few months. She obviously didn’t work the times I’d gone. Elena was new.’
‘Did Elena and you talk much at the club?’
‘She was quieter. I had a short chat with her in Italian. Just basic stuff.’
‘Were you flirting with her?’
‘Not really.’
Tanner raised an eyebrow and glared at him.
‘Define flirting.’
‘No,’ Tanner said. ‘Answer the question.’
‘A little.’
‘Did other people hear you talk to Elena?’
‘No. I don’t know.’
‘That’s two answers, Justin. I want one truthful answer to my questions. Did anyone hear you to your knowledge?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Klaudia sat on your lap at some stage?’
‘Off and on, all night.’
‘She’s from England, right?’
‘Her parents are Polish, but yeah.’
‘Did you talk to her in Polish, Justin, or English?’
Matheson paused and glared at Tanner. ‘In English, Peter.’
‘What about?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘She was on your lap all night, mate. What did you talk about?’
Matheson sighed, and shook his head. ‘Where she was from, her accent. What kind of modelling she did, how long she’d been living in Australia . . . um, her mum had died a few years back, her dad sold clothes . . .’
‘Don’t tell me you don’t know something again, when you do.’
‘My memory of that night is pretty blurry. I –’
‘Then how do you know you didn’t kill Elena?’
Matheson sat bolt upright in his chair. ‘I didn’t hurt that girl,’ he said loudly.
‘Calm down, Justin. What about John? Did he know Klaudia?’
‘Yes.’
‘You drank at dinner?’
‘Maybe three bottles of wine between four of us. A couple of beers too.’
‘And at the club?’
‘Maybe five rounds of whisky cocktails.’
‘Did you know anyone else in the club that night?’
‘I didn’t see anyone I knew.’
Tanner told Porter to issue a subpoena to the company that owned Olympus for the names of the people who used their card to access the club that night, or who used a credit card in Pantheon, and another for the names of the staff who were working. He also wanted the CCTV footage taken inside and outside the complex, which the police were likely to already have.
‘Whose idea was it to go back to John’s place?’
‘His.’
‘How many people were in the club when you left?’
‘Not many.’
‘Is not many fifty, or five?’
‘A couple of tables.’
‘Did they see you leave?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Who did see you leave?’
‘How am I supposed to know that?’
‘C’mon, Justin. Security at the doors? Any staff you might know?’
‘The guys on the door of the club, I guess.’
‘What happened when you got back to Richter’s place?’
Matheson shook his head. ‘It’s like I told the police. And Charles.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Jack opened some champagne.’
‘The drink of choice after you’ve just buried your first wife. One bottle?’
‘At first. We had more.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then he went to his bedroom, and came back with a packet of coke.’
‘How much?’
‘I didn’t weigh it.’
‘Have a guess.’
‘A smallish bag.’
‘Then what?’
‘I didn’t have much. I was pretty wasted already.’
‘How drunk were you?’
‘Slurring . . . I – you know, when you know you’ve had way too much?’
‘How much coke did the others have?’
‘John had a couple of lines. Maybe Klaudia too.’
‘What about Elena?’
‘They coaxed her into having a thin line.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then I went to the bedroom with Klaudia.’
‘Whose idea was that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean you don’t know?’
‘I may have said, “Let’s be alone.” She had her tongue in my ear half the time, she was rubbing me . . . you know . . . rubbing my groin.’
‘You can say it, Justin. We’re big boys.’
‘She was rubbing her hand up and down my dick.’
‘What were John and Elena doing?’
‘I wasn’t paying much attention.’
‘Did you see any intimacy between them? Were they touching each other?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘So you went to the bedroom with Klaudia. Then what?’
‘It’s what I told the police.’
‘What happened?’
‘We got undressed. Can’t you just read about this in the police report?’
‘I’m not getting aroused, Justin. If you think it’s awkward telling us this here, wait until you’re in front of a judge and a packed gallery. Don’t expect a standing ovation from a jury either. You had sex, right? That’s what you told the police.’
‘God knows how. I remember the room spinning after, and thinking I might throw up.’
‘You romantic.’
‘Dude, your bedside manner is –’
‘Your wife and children are at home when you’re with Klaudia, Justin, so let’s not discuss bedside manners. A jury is going to like mine more than yours. So, what are you telling me? You passed out after sex?’
‘The next thing I remember is waking up with the cops there. And seeing Elena.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘A dream.’
‘A dream?’
‘Yeah, I had an intense dream.’
‘Don’t tell me you were killing a young woman in it?’
‘For fuck’s sake, no,’ Matheson said, his voice rising. ‘I was fighting people off me. Not even real people. Like zombies.’
‘I’ll make a note to use an insanity defence as a last resort. Okay. The DNA.’
‘I have no idea how –’
‘The scratches, and your skin under her nails – that’s a mystery to you?’
‘He must have done it.’
‘Who?’
‘John.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It’s a big problem for us, you get that?’
‘She didn’t scratch me. I didn’t hurt her. I’ve been set up. It wasn’t my coke and I didn’t hurt her.’
‘Never had a fight when you’ve been drunk?’
‘No. John has though.’
‘So?’
‘He broke a girl’s skull with a champagne bottle.’
Tanner studied Matheson’s face. Then he glanced at Porter. ‘When?’
‘Ten, twelve years ago. Maybe a bit more. We were finishing university.’
‘And he just ran amok with a bottle?’
‘He was – I don’t know what provoked it – his girl was dancing with this guy. She and John came as some Roman emperor and empress. She had on a pretty revealing toga.’
‘And?’
‘John smashed the bottle on her head, then left the party.’
Tanner looked up from his notepad, and shook his head. ‘What about the police? Was he charged?’
‘No.’
Tanner nodded slowly. ‘Let me guess, the girl with the fractured skull came into some money?’
‘That’s the rumour.’
‘What’s this woman’s – ?’
‘She won’t help.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Someone told me she had to sign some kind of confidentiality deed.’
‘Who told you?’
‘I can’t remember. It was years ago. The girl’s name was Felicity Horton. I haven’t seen her in ages.’
‘Who witnessed this assault?’
Matheson shook his head. ‘No one.’
‘No one?’
‘John – someone told me John dragged her off the dance floor into a bedroom. He was walking around with a champagne bottle. Next thing he’s gone, and someone finds her unconscious on the ground in the room.’
Tanner shook his head. ‘Someone must’ve called an ambulance?’
‘No,’ Matheson said. ‘The guy whose parents owned the house freaked. There were drugs at the party and he was worried about cops. The party was in Darling Point. Her friends got in a car and rushed her to St Vincent’s.’
‘We need names of all these people.’
Matheson smiled a crooked, bitter smile. ‘No one is going to verify this. I don’t know who took her to the hospital.’
Tanner looked at Porter. ‘You need to start looking into this,’ he said. ‘I’ve got an investigator I use. I’ll email you his details.’ Tanner made a note on his pad, and then checked his watch. ‘We’ll go over all of this again, Justin,’ he then said. ‘So many times, you’ll hate me for it.’
Matheson nodded.
‘Just one more very important thing before we go. You understand that you’re charged with manslaughter in the alternative to murder as well?’
‘Of course I know.’
Tanner nodded. ‘If it was an accident, Justin – just some accident how Elena got hurt – now would be the time to tell us. Now would be the time we could get the best deal for you, if that’s what happened?’
‘That’s not what happened,’ Matheson said firmly.
‘You were rotten drunk, Justin,�
� Tanner said. ‘If you don’t remember what happened that night, then we may well have at least a good defence to murder based on intoxication. I’d be surprised if the prosecutor wouldn’t look favourably on a plea to manslaughter based on how drunk you were. An early plea might mean a sentence as low as maybe five years.’
Matheson looked at Tanner for a long moment. ‘I’m not pleading guilty, Peter. I didn’t do this,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to get me out of here.’
19
Tanner collected the gifts from behind the reception desk, then took the lift downstairs to catch a taxi. It was just over two weeks until Christmas, and the city was crowded with shoppers. The north-west summer wind was hot and dry, and it took him ten minutes to find a free cab. By the time he did, perspiration was running down both sides of his face. He loosened his tie and told the driver to head to Queens Park.
He knocked on the Cheungs’ front door, and Melissa soon appeared. She smiled. ‘Come and put them under the tree,’ she said, looking at the gift-wrapped boxes.
‘Wow,’ he said when they walked into her lounge room. In the corner was a tree nearly as tall as the roof, covered in baubles and decorations and tinsel of all colours. Underneath it were at least two dozen presents. ‘I’m feeling guilty,’ he said. ‘We haven’t even put ours up.’ Karen always made putting up the Christmas tree a big deal, especially after Dan was born. When Dan was old enough, they spent an hour together, weighing the branches down with countless coloured balls and Christmas trinkets. After she died, he hadn’t been able to put the tree up, and fell out of the habit.
‘Peter? You okay?’
‘Sure. Just put these with the rest of them?’
She nodded. ‘Nothing for me, I hope.’
‘Just something small.’
She sighed. ‘Now I feel guilty.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘Can I offer you a drink?’ she said. ‘Wine or tea?’
‘Do you have something open?’
She smiled. ‘It’s nearly Christmas. Let’s have a glass of wine.’
They went to the kitchen and he sat at the table as Melissa took a bottle of white wine from the fridge.
‘After the last time we spoke I saw in the paper you’ve been briefed to defend Bill Matheson’s son,’ she said. ‘Will that be in court soon?’
‘The committal’s early next year. A trial six or so months after that. Do you know his father?’
Cyanide Games: A Peter Tanner Thriller Page 14