Cyanide Games: A Peter Tanner Thriller

by Richard Beasley

  Cable didn’t react at first. He picked up his bottle and drained the dregs. ‘That’s a serious request?’

  ‘It is.’

  Cable took off his sunglasses and looked directly at Tanner. ‘You want me to steal something?’

  ‘Data. From a computer. Assuming there is one.’

  ‘Is this an office we’re talking about?’

  ‘A residence.’

  ‘When you say “data” – why wouldn’t you just steal the computer?’

  ‘I don’t want anything else stolen.’

  Cable’s face wasn’t a picture of enthusiasm.

  ‘It’s not like it will be your first B&E.’

  ‘It’s been a while.’

  ‘I’ll pay you.’

  Cable gave a humourless smile. ‘I’m not risking jail for free, Pete.’

  ‘There’s a good reason for this.’

  ‘Life or death?’

  ‘I’ve got a friend in prison in China. You may have seen something about it in the papers or TV news?’

  ‘We’re talking about a computer in this country, right?’

  ‘I’m not sending you to Shanghai.’

  ‘There’s some connection between what’s on this computer, and your friend in China?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘I need to see this person’s emails, her phone records. I need to check what’s on her hard drive. There may be nothing that helps. I’m trying to find someone. I’m not going to explain it all to you now.’

  ‘You’re not making much sense, Pete.’

  ‘It’s a crime, Tom – you can pass on it.’

  Cable put his hand across his mouth and rubbed his chin. ‘How many years will I get if I get caught? Same as your friend in China?’

  ‘There won’t be anyone at the house.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘She spends most weekends in Sydney.’

  ‘Where’s this house?’

  ‘Newcastle.’

  ‘There’ll be travel expenses. I’d have to go up a few days before, check the location, get my bearings, work out who the neighbours are, what their movements –’

  ‘They’ll be covered.’

  Cable glared at Tanner, then sighed. ‘You don’t want anyone to know there’s been a break in?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That might be hard. If she’s got an alarm, bars on windows – it’s not always easy leaving no trace. In the early days my main tool was a crowbar.’

  ‘You told me you were good.’

  ‘Not getting caught makes you good.’

  ‘Do your best.’

  ‘I’m no computer expert, Pete, but if she’s got a computer, there might be a password to get in –’

  ‘Someone will be on call to help with that. You’ll get a number to ring if you have to.’

  ‘Jesus. Can’t this person break into the house?’

  ‘You don’t have to do this.’

  Cable put his sunglasses back on. ‘You must like this guy in China.’

  ‘I don’t like innocent people being convicted.’

  Cable laughed, almost to himself.

  PART THREE

  29

  Klaudia Dabrowska didn’t give evidence at Justin Matheson’s committal hearing. Her condition worsened, according to a further report from Dr Simon Anthony, who stated she’d need surgery to drain fluid from her right inner ear.

  The DNA evidence was enough to have Matheson committed to stand trial for the murder or manslaughter of Elena Mancini. The presiding magistrate held that it alone made it open for a properly instructed jury to convict. Tanner applied to have Dabrowska’s witness statement excluded, but the magistrate let it in, and ruled that any application to have her excluded from giving evidence could be made to the trial judge. Tanner knew such an application would be a lost cause.

  The case was listed for a two-week hearing in the middle of October, just over six months from the conclusion of the committal.

  Three nights after the committal ended, Tanner picked up his phone to dial a London number. The firm he was calling had been recommended by a member of the London criminal bar he’d met at a conference, and he’d looked briefly at their website. Their headquarters was in central London, with offices in three other cities.

  He was put through to someone called Paul Matthews. Tanner introduced himself, and said he had a client who required their services.

  ‘Do you mind if I ask you some questions, Paul? About your background.’

  ‘Within reason.’ The accent sounded educated, cool.

  ‘I’ll do my best. You’re a director of IIS?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘International Investigation Services. That’s quite a title.’

  ‘We have relationships with firms across Europe, the Americas, even in Africa.’

  ‘And you’ve been with IIS for how long?’

  ‘Six years, all as a director.’

  ‘Forgive my ignorance – you’re a private investigator yourself? That’s your occupation?’

  ‘All the directors here are members of the Association of British Investigators. We’re also all members of the world association.’

  ‘Are you licensed to kill, Paul?’

  ‘I’m not a spy, Mr Tanner. I’m a private detective.’

  ‘My apologies. Before we go further, I need you to do a conflict search.’

  ‘We always do conflict searches before we accept a retainer.’

  ‘I’ll give you some names. If they come up in a search, forget I called.’

  Fifteen minutes later, Matthews called Tanner back with the all clear.

  Tanner told him about Justin Matheson, and the night in October the previous year that ended with the death of Elena Mancini. He then filled him in on Klaudia Dabrowska. ‘I want to know everything she’s done since she returned to the UK,’ he said. ‘I want you to check the background of Dr Simon Anthony. I want to know how long Klaudia’s been his patient, and how she became one. That’s a start. I’ll write out a list tomorrow.’

  ‘There are some things we need to discuss first. Generally we can help you, but it will naturally have to be within the bounds of the law.’

  ‘That’s disappointing.’

  Matthews paused before responding, perhaps assessing the seriousness of what Tanner had just said. ‘It’s non-negotiable. Do you have an address for Miss Dabrowska?’

  ‘No. The address on her police statement is a Sydney address. Her father worked for a department store, we think, but that’s all I have. Klaudia used to be attached to a modelling agency called Jade. There are still some photos of her on their website. We’ve got an address for Dr Anthony from his medical report.’

  ‘Who’s retaining us?’

  ‘Make your bills out to the Sydney office of a firm called Sharrop & Prentice. Otherwise, you’re to deal directly with me.’

  ‘What’s the urgency on this?’

  ‘Justin’s trial’s not until October, but the witness has recently said she was too ill to fly to Sydney.’

  ‘You don’t believe that?’

  ‘It’s one of the things I want you to find out.’

  ‘Once we receive a signed retainer, and some advance money in our retention account, we can start.’

  ‘How much do you need?’

  ‘The normal retainer fee for something like this would be five thousand. I can email our bank details.’

  ‘I’ll get it taken care of in the morning, our time.’

  Tanner ended the call, then dialled Charles Porter’s number.

  ‘Peter – just give me a second to go outside, will you?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Work. A war room. We’ve got a trial running.’

  ‘Apologies for interrupting.’ Tanner told him about his call to Paul Matthews. ‘I want to know more about Dabrowska and Dr Anthony.’

  ‘Can you give me some details as to why? I’ll need to convince t
he Mathesons this is really necessary before –’

  ‘It’s necessary because we say it is. We’re in charge of Justin’s defence, not his parents. Just tell the Mathesons I don’t trust Dr Anthony, or Klaudia – either Klaudia’s a liar, or Justin is. If they think she can be trusted, their son killed Elena Mancini.’

  ‘My firm will need to formally retain – who is it you’ve spoken to?’

  ‘Leave that to me. I’ll deal with the investigator, you get the money to fund him.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ll get to have all the fun on this case, Peter.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tanner said, ‘and I’ll be the one that gets all the blame if Justin gets convicted.’

  30

  Melissa Cheung was sitting at an outdoor table when he arrived at the café beside Coogee Beach, her daughter parked next to her in a stroller. She was feeding her some mush from a Tupperware container.

  ‘The food here is better than that, I hope?’ Tanner said as he leant over to kiss her. She’d been to China only a few weeks before, and he’d arranged to meet her for lunch after she’d visited her husband’s parents that morning, who lived nearby.

  ‘You don’t remember having to do this with Dan?’

  He shrugged. ‘How are Joe’s parents?’

  ‘His mother’s not well,’ she said. ‘What’s happened to Joe is taking its toll. How are you, Pete?’

  ‘Me? Fine.’

  ‘When did you last have a check-up?’

  He looked at her, puzzled by the question. ‘Do I look sick?’

  ‘Tired.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever had a check-up.’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re forty now?’

  ‘Forty-one, but you can put me down as fifty.’

  ‘You still look fit.’

  ‘Juries are biased against fat lawyers,’ he said. ‘The Americans have done studies on it. It’s an occupational imperative to stay in shape. How’s Joe?’

  A waitress came over and handed them menus, and she pretended to scan it. ‘Thinner,’ she said. ‘He’s depressed. The reality has sunk in. What his life will be for . . . however long it is. Not seeing the kids . . .’ She shook her head, and he poured her a glass of water from the bottle the waitress had placed on the table.

  ‘How did it go with the kids? Did they see him more than once?’

  ‘Twice,’ she said. ‘It was awkward with Tom. He’s angry. He wants to know why Joe’s not coming home, why he’s in prison. All normal questions.’

  ‘Are you still telling them the same thing?’

  ‘Joe told them a mistake had been made, that we’re trying to sort it out, but it was very difficult to do that in China.’

  ‘Joe told me he felt guilty,’ Tanner said. ‘I’ve been thinking about that.’

  The waitress came back to the table and took their orders. Melissa ordered a salad, and Tanner ordered fish and chips. She smiled when he told the waitress what he wanted.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Joe used to talk about how much you ate at uni, wondering how you stayed trim.’

  ‘Nervous energy.’

  ‘Are you still anxious before trials?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m a nervous wreck.’

  ‘I still don’t understand why you do it, then?’

  ‘I’ve got to make a living somehow.’

  ‘You must like some of it?’

  ‘Jury trials give you a rush – eventually.’

  ‘And that makes it worth it?’

  ‘If you win.’

  ‘Even if the client’s guilty?’

  He took a sip of water and smiled at her. ‘I haven’t had many clients who weren’t guilty, Melissa.’

  ‘Doesn’t that bother you?’

  ‘Not consciously.’

  ‘Subconsciously?’

  ‘Everything I do troubles me subconsciously.’

  Tanner leant forward, and looked straight at Melissa. ‘Joe might be one of the few innocent clients I’ll ever have. I could be a criminal lawyer for another thirty years, and I may only get a few more. I’m not abandoning him until it’s over, even if he wants me to. Do you understand?’

  She offered a sad smile and nodded slowly.

  ‘Did you speak to Li when you were in Shanghai?’

  ‘Once,’ she said. ‘At the hotel.’

  ‘What’s happening with Joe’s case?’

  ‘The court’s been told a deal is being discussed with the prosecutor’s office, and some kind of plea and recommended sentence is being explored.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘The court will give him ten years.’

  He looked at her closely. ‘The court will give?’

  She sat back in her chair and looked out over the beach. ‘If I tell you something, you have to promise not to repeat it. I mean to anyone.’

  ‘Melissa,’ he said, ‘everything you say about Joe is confidential. You know that.’

  She turned her gaze back from the beach to him. ‘They’ve said he might be home in five years.’

  Tanner narrowed his eyes. ‘Who said this?’

  ‘Joe,’ she said. ‘Li.’

  ‘And who told them?’

  ‘I don’t know. The government, I think. Someone in the government.’

  ‘I don’t – and you believe this? I mean, the court is going to say ten years, but Joe will be released after five? On what basis?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why will they release him then?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know, or you won’t tell me?’

  ‘I don’t know, Pete.’

  ‘And you have faith in this deal? You trust the people who locked Joe up to honour it?’ A secret codicil to a sentencing sounded absurd.

  ‘What choice do we have?’ Her face tightened in anger, but her eyes filled with tears. ‘This is Joe’s chance. Twenty years, Pete. Against five. We can’t risk that. Tom will still be a boy. Otherwise . . . he misses it all.’

  ‘How do you know you can trust these people?’

  ‘We have to!’

  Heads turned at the tables surrounding them on the footpath. The waitress was near the open doorway, and took a step towards their table, but Tanner waved her away. He reached under the table to the leather satchel he’d brought with him. He took out a document, and put it on the table. The BBK billing printout Nadine Bellouard had given him.

  ‘Did Joe ever talk to you about a project for Citadel Resources called Bageeyn River? It’s a proposed gold mine out west. Did he ever mention a hydrogeologist called Gabriella Campbell?’

  Melissa shook her head. ‘Pete, what is this?’

  ‘It’s a document that shows what work Joe was doing last year, up until he went to Shanghai.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  She glared at him, then pulled her sunglasses down from the top of her head, as if she was getting ready to leave. ‘Joe has a deal.’

  ‘Do you know about this woman? She wrote a report that Citadel have buried. It said this mine would kill a river. Joe spoke to her about it. He spoke to people at Citadel about it. This woman has vanished.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have that, Peter.’ She turned her face to the ocean.

  ‘Has Joe told you any of this?’

  ‘No.’

  He trusted his instincts for when he was being lied to, but this time he couldn’t tell. ‘What about since his arrest?’

  She took a deep breath and tears ran down the sides of her face. She picked up her bag and fished around for a tissue, but Tanner passed her a napkin. She took off her sunglasses and wiped at her eyes. ‘No,’ she said again.

  ‘Joe went to a PNG island,’ he said. ‘You told me that. Melissa?’

  She bowed her head, but nodded.

  ‘I think he went with a woman called Anne Warren. She wrote a report about going to the island. There’s a gold mine there. Has Joe said anything about this?’
/>
  She put her hand to her forehead and rubbed her brow, closed her eyes, and said nothing.

  ‘Joe had her report. That woman is dead now. Does he know why?’

  Their meals were set down in front of them, and Melissa waited until the waitress had left before speaking. She looked up at him, anger flaring in her eyes. ‘No!’ she cried. When she did, she startled Lily, who began crying.

  Tanner leant back in his chair and was silent for a moment.

  Melissa took her wallet from her bag, opened it, and took out a twenty-dollar note.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he said. ‘Have your lunch.’

  She put the note on the table, put a glass of water on it, and stood up.

  ‘I have to go, Pete,’ she said. ‘Lily needs a nap at home.’

  He stood too. ‘Melissa –’

  ‘It’s twenty years or five, Peter. They’re the options we have.’

  Tanner shook his head. ‘What if five years goes by, and Joe’s not released? What are the options then?’

  She looked at him, anger on her face that dissolved to sadness. She seemed about to say something, stopped herself, then took the brake off Lily’s stroller.

  • • •

  In a taxi back to the city, Tanner wondered if Melissa would tell Joe what he’d told her, and how he would react. And he wondered how he could help him even if he knew the truth, whatever it was.

  He worked in a world of crime. Of violence, drugs, neglect and disadvantage. It was greed, though, that had made Citadel. Greed would make rivers slowly die. Joe Cheung was in a Chinese prison because of it. Only money would get him out.

  Tanner took out his phone and dialled Lisa Ilves’ direct line.

  ‘Where are you calling from?’

  ‘A taxi. I just had lunch with Joe Cheung’s wife at Coogee. Listen, I’m already starving, can we meet after work?’

  ‘I thought you said you’d just had lunch?’

  ‘I didn’t eat,’ he said.

  ‘What kind of lunch is that?’

  ‘A tense one. Is seven okay?’

  • • •

  When she arrived, Tanner was sitting at one of the outdoor tables of Bambini Trust Restaurant in Elizabeth Street opposite Hyde Park, drinking a glass of wine.

  He stood and kissed her cheek. ‘Is this place okay?’