Cyanide Games: A Peter Tanner Thriller

by Richard Beasley

She nodded. ‘Last time I was in the bar here I had an interesting time with two of your colleagues.’

  ‘My colleagues?’

  ‘Members of the bar. One of them offered me a Viagra tablet.’

  ‘What? Offered you Viagra?’

  ‘In the process of propositioning me. He said I’d love it. I forget his name. The other guy offered me some coke.’

  ‘Coke and Viagra? You sure they weren’t judges?’

  ‘I didn’t accept either offer,’ she said, and opened the menu. ‘What are you drinking?’

  ‘A shiraz from the Barossa.’

  ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘High on alcohol and fruit.’

  ‘Sounds perfect.’

  When a waiter arrived, he poured Lisa a glass of the wine, and took their food orders. ‘He should’ve decanted it,’ Tanner said when he left.

  ‘You’re not a wine snob, are you, Pete?’

  ‘I enjoy good wine.’

  ‘How old were you when you started drinking wine?’

  ‘Why are you asking?’

  ‘You drink it quickly. Like you need it.’

  ‘I’m not an alcoholic.’

  ‘I didn’t say you were. You never let your wine just sit. You pick it up in your glass, sip, put it down, pick it straight up, repeat.’

  ‘Probably too young,’ he said, answering her question.

  ‘How young is that?’

  ‘My father was a vodka man, but he liked sweet ciders too. I had a few incidents with that when I was young. Thirteen, fourteen maybe.’

  ‘Incidents?’

  ‘Vomit all over the bathroom.’

  ‘Did you get in trouble?’

  ‘My parents were distracted – my father had just been charged with stealing his clients’ money. It’s a long story, but he went to jail for seven years. My mother . . . it was hard on her.’

  She paused for a few moments, taking in what he had told her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘It was a long time ago. Dad’s been out for nearly twenty years.’

  ‘Do you . . . How do you and your father get along?’

  Tanner picked up his wine, sipped as he thought. ‘Dad doesn’t talk much. When he does he’s . . . direct. He didn’t like being late. The only times I can remember him getting angry were if one of us made him late. It made his blood boil. I can still see his face turning red. I’ve never been late for court. Not once.’

  ‘That doesn’t . . . What about your mother?’

  ‘My mother . . . What happened to Karl – it changed her. It killed her. I wouldn’t say that to him. He knows it anyway.’

  Lisa put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. ‘You didn’t answer me. How do you get on with your father now?’

  ‘We get on okay.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me the long story about him?’

  Tanner paused for a moment, staring at his wine glass. He wanted to pick it up, felt self-conscious of her observation. ‘Talking about that – it wears me out. Another time?’

  Lisa nodded slowly. ‘What about your siblings? Are you close to them?’

  He took another sip of wine, despite her comment, then told her a little about his sister and brother, and their families.

  ‘Why don’t you like your brother’s wife?’ Lisa said when he stopped.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘I can tell.’

  He paused for a few moments. ‘She’s a real estate agent. A pretty prominent one if you follow the housing market in the Eastern Suburbs.’

  ‘Is that why you don’t like her?’

  ‘I have another reason.’

  ‘Which is?’

  He sat back in his chair and thought for a few moments. ‘What I say may not sound completely coherent.’

  ‘You’re a barrister, Pete. I wouldn’t expect it to be.’

  ‘When my wife died. Jane . . . she didn’t look very upset. I know that’s hardly profound. It’s . . . she never steps out of her life, into someone else’s . . .’ He paused for a long moment. ‘Mike and Jane have three kids. Their son is Dan’s age. After Karen died, she didn’t ask Dan over to play with his cousin once. Not once . . . I don’t know . . . is that enough to not like someone?’

  Lisa nodded. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Because I fucking hate her.’

  She laughed. ‘What about your brother?’ she said. ‘He could have arranged for Dan to play with his son?’

  Tanner shook his head. ‘I don’t feel like we’re related.’

  ‘What’s that mean?’

  ‘He’s a politician.’

  Lisa picked up her glass, and was about to sip, but paused. ‘Oh?’ she said. ‘He’s that Tanner?’ He nodded. ‘You don’t like his politics?’

  ‘I’m a criminal defence lawyer, Lisa. None of us like any of their politics.

  Their meals arrived and, while they ate, he told her about his meeting with Melissa Cheung.

  ‘Does she know anything?’ Lisa asked.

  He cut a piece of steak and shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Who’s behind this deal he’s been offered?’

  ‘Who knows? The government. Citadel. The North Shanxi people. All of the above.’

  ‘Do you think it can be believed?’

  ‘I’m not in Joe’s shoes.’

  She nodded, and held her hand over her glass when the waiter tried to top up her wine from the bottle.

  ‘The Bageeyn River mine,’ he said, ‘how long would it take to get up and running, if it’s approved?’

  ‘How long until they’re extracting gold? Two to three years, I’d guess. Why are you asking?’

  ‘Assume they get their approval some time this year. Assume your action group can’t stop them. I know you don’t want to assume that, but –’

  ‘Winning will be a long shot.’

  ‘So they construct the mine, and start producing copper and gold in two and half, maybe three years? It’s a huge mine, after all?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Do you think that – once they’re up and running – there’s some unwritten part of the mine plan that says Joe Cheung can go home now? Now we’re certain we’ve scared him enough to keep his mouth shut forever?’

  She looked at him for a long moment. ‘You think that’s what’s happened?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’m sure he’s in prison because of something to do with Campbell’s report. He’s told if he’s a good boy, he gets out in five years. We both know that once Citadel gets its mine going, and the royalties start rolling in for the state, there’s no stopping it.’

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘We need a copy of Campbell’s report. And Anne Warren’s.’

  She looked at him, her head tilted. ‘How are you going to do that?’

  ‘By committing one or more major criminal offences.’

  ‘Is that a serious answer?’

  He smiled, but only for a second. ‘Let’s go to the bar for a drink after dinner,’ he said. ‘Maybe alcohol can help with a plan.’

  31

  Tanner’s phone buzzed at three fifty-five am on Sunday morning. He fumbled for it on his bedside table, and blinked until he could see. It was Tom Cable.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In my car. A few blocks away from her house.’

  ‘You’ve been in?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Any trouble?’

  ‘No. It’s an old worker’s cottage. It had double sash windows. I took some wood out of the meeting rail when I forced it open, but I brought some stuff to tidy it up. She’ll never know.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘No computer. She’s got wifi, it came up on my phone. Probably took her laptop to Sydney.’

  ‘Did you check the house?’

  ‘There was nothing. No electronic devices, no USBs, no phone bills. No copies of the reports you’ve mentioned. I got one thing, it might help.’

  ‘W
hat?’

  ‘An old address book. Broken spine, pen marks all over the cover, pages loose inside. Looks like she’s had it half her life. I checked it just in case by some miracle she’s got this missing girl’s address.’

  ‘I take it she doesn’t?’

  ‘She had “Gaby” written in it, but under “C” for Campbell. I took a photo of it with my phone. It had a residential phone number, and a Sydney address.’

  ‘That won’t help.’

  ‘Just give me a sec. Gaby’s name had a circle drawn around it, and then an arrow to a new addresses, also in Sydney. Different coloured pens. I’d say for when her friend moved.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘The old address – maybe it’s just the last place she rented, or maybe it’s her family home? Where she lived when these girls first met?’

  ‘What’s the address?’

  ‘Botany, 72 Maddison Road. So it’s a house, not a flat.’

  Tanner closed his eyes and massaged the middle of his forehead with his fingers. ‘Can you find out if that’s where her parents live?’

  ‘You’re not –’

  ‘Who would you trust?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Who would you trust most in the world? Gaby Campbell is a young scientist. She’s had a report buried and lost her job. She’s not going to throw her work away. Her employer might, the mining company might, but she’ll find a way to keep what she’s done.’

  ‘Her parents?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Could you go see them? Talk to them?’

  ‘I’m thinking.’ If he approached Campbell’s parents, why would the result be any different? He might only succeed in spooking her more. ‘We’ll talk on Monday,’ he said. ‘Go get some sleep.’

  ‘I think you should go see them,’ Cable said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because that will be more legal than having me break into their house.’

  • • •

  Tanner walked into the restaurant at five to eleven. It was in a pedestrian laneway off George Street in the city, near the Ivy restaurant and hotel. He took a seat at the back. Nadine Bellouard arrived a few minutes later. He ordered coffee, then thanked her for coming.

  ‘Was it any help?’ she asked.

  ‘Some.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I know more than I did.’

  ‘Is that good for Joe?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  She sighed. ‘What now, then?’

  ‘What you gave me, Nadine, it might be part of the proof of a crime. Maybe more than one.’

  Her eyes widened, and she didn’t speak for several moments. ‘What kind of crime?’ she finally said. ‘Is this why Joe – ?’ Her voice rose, and he held up his hand to calm her.

  ‘There’s some documents I need to see,’ he said.

  ‘I told you last time, Pete. Accessing our computer system would –’

  ‘You know where the hardcopy files are, don’t you? For the work being done for Citadel? You could find out?’

  She nodded slowly.

  ‘Can you get me a security pass?’

  ‘A security pass?’ she said too loudly. ‘Our passes have our photos on them, Pete.’

  ‘I don’t want yours.’

  ‘If you got caught, they would –’

  ‘I won’t be using it. Someone I trust will.’

  She glared at him. ‘You trust people who . . . break into an office and – what? Steal things?’

  ‘I trust them more than half of the lawyers you work with. No one will steal anything.’

  ‘Then what will they be doing?’

  ‘This is for Joe, Nadine. Nothing gets stolen.’

  She rubbed her temple like she was in a mild degree of pain. ‘How are you planning to do this?’

  ‘Late at night.’

  ‘Our lawyers work long hours.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘It goes on a computer log. If anyone checks, it’ll show whose pass was being used to enter the building at what time, and what floor they went to.’

  He leant forwards and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘If nothing goes missing, no one’s going to start looking at computer logs of who’s been going into the firm at what time.’

  She took a sip of the water that had been put in front of her with their coffees and looked away from him. He thought it better to let her process her own thoughts than keep talking, so they sat in silence until she spoke again.

  ‘I can’t think of a way I can get you a pass, Pete, even if I wanted to.’

  ‘Someone could misplace one, surely?’

  ‘If you lose it, you’re supposed to get the old one deactivated straight away. People wear them, anyway. I don’t know how I’d –’

  ‘Do temporary passes get issued? To people who are at the firm for short periods for some reason?’

  She shook her head. ‘You have to jump through too many hoops to get one.’

  ‘People must sometimes leave them on their desks, don’t they?’

  ‘I haven’t been paying attention to what people do with their passes.’

  ‘I only need to borrow one for one night, Nadine. There’s a way of doing this. Just be observant for a few days.’

  She shook her head. ‘You’ve been around criminals for too long.’

  ‘It won’t be as hard as you think.’

  She finished her glass of water, then stood. ‘I have to go. I said I’d only be ten minutes.’

  Tanner stood too. ‘I meant what I said about a crime.’

  She glared at him, then slowly shook her head. ‘I have to go.’

  • • •

  Tom Cable was sitting in the reception area of Tanner’s chambers when he arrived at work two days later. When Tanner approached, he looked up from his paper and put it back on the coffee table. Tanner motioned for him to follow him to his room.

  ‘What’s on it?’ Tanner asked after Cable took a flash drive from his pocket.

  Cable took a seat in front of Tanner’s desk. ‘Can I have a Coke first?’

  ‘It’s a small demographic of people who drink Coke at this hour.’

  ‘So is the demographic of members of the bar who organise break and enters.’

  Tanner nodded, and rang for the Coke. ‘Was it hard?’

  Cable shrugged. ‘An element of risk. They were out, of course, but it’s a semi, and the neighbours were home. No alarm, no dog. I got a small bathroom window to slide open.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Lucky I’m still slim.’

  Tanner put the flash drive into his computer. ‘What’s on here?’

  ‘Emails,’ Cable said. ‘I had a quick look in Word. It all just looked like the work stuff, not much else.’

  ‘How many emails?’

  ‘A lot. I took the inbox for the last year, the sent file and the trash.’

  The emails to Gabriella Campbell from her parents in the Sent box dated back eight months. Some contained family news, some asked what she was doing. One asked if she now knew her timetable for coming home. Others were responding to emails she’d sent, mainly prompting questions about her travels.

  They read through Campbell’s emails in chronological order. ‘This one on 3 January,’ Tanner said, pointing at the screen. ‘“So much gelato, I’m piling on the pounds”. Then here on February 5, “A bit slow now, but Marco says things pick up quickly after March when the tourists start to come back and I’ll be flat out.”’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘A shop or a restaurant.’ Tanner pointed to an email sent three weeks before. It said, ‘“Finally did a walking tour of the volcano today. I’ll tell you about it when I call tomorrow.”’

  ‘Volcano?’

  ‘She’s in Naples,’ Tanner said, ‘or maybe Sicily. There’s not many places in the world you can walk around a volcano and pile on the pounds eating gelato.’

  ‘What now? You going to send her an email?’

  Tanner sat back in his chair. ‘Let me t
hink about it.’ His phone rang. ‘I have to take this,’ he said.

  Cable started to rise from his seat, but Tanner gestured for him to stay where he was.

  ‘Nadine?’

  ‘Use mine.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Use my pass.’

  Tanner looked across his desk to Tom Cable. ‘The person I have in mind doesn’t look like you.’

  ‘It’ll get him in the building and up the lift to my floor. Make sure he doesn’t wear it face out. The guard on the security desk didn’t check mine when I went in late last night. Just use it.’

  ‘Surely you can –’

  ‘You said a crime, Pete. I’ve thought about it. I’ll leave it in an envelope at your reception after work. Just don’t get caught. If the security guard wants to look at the pass, your guy has to turn around and leave.’

  ‘My guy,’ Tanner said, still looking at Cable, ‘he’s very experienced.’

  ‘We’re on level thirty-six,’ she said. ‘There’s a set of roller cabinets on the harbour side of the building where most of the Citadel files are stored. Joe’s office is – it was opposite them.’

  ‘Nadine?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  When he ended the call, he looked at Cable. ‘You own a decent suit, right?’

  32

  Tom Cable had broken into hundreds of homes and businesses. Not once had he been given a pass that opened the doors for him. The suit and tie were a first for a B&E too.

  He walked into the atrium of the tower at eleven thirty on Friday night. That afternoon he’d walked through the foyer to get his bearings. He knew what lift to go to, and where the security cameras were. If he had to leave in a hurry, they wouldn’t get a good look at his face.

  When he walked past the security desk, the guard glanced at him for a moment, and Cable said, ‘Hi,’ without looking directly at the man, and got a, ‘Hello, sir,’ in reply. He used the pass to summon the lift, and again to lock in floor thirty-six.

  When the lift opened, he found himself in a brightly lit foyer. There were doors on his left and right, both requiring the use of the security pass to enter the floor proper. He could see some light through the glass panel of the door on the east side of the building, but the west side was darker. He chose that side first.

  When he stepped into the corridor, his stomach tightened – the lights flickered into life. He stood still and listened, heard nothing but the buzz of the lights above him, and only moved again when he realised that he’d merely triggered a sensor. He slowly started to walk around the passageway that ran between the assistants’ work stations and the external offices.