Cyanide Games: A Peter Tanner Thriller

by Richard Beasley

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She didn’t do any modelling after your marriage?’

  ‘She didn’t want to.’

  ‘Forget her desires unless I ask you. She didn’t, correct?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She didn’t work after you married?’

  ‘She did some charity work with my mother.’

  ‘She had no paid employment?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She’d broken her ankle not long before you met her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She had to have three surgeries on her ankle over the next couple of years?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She took a lot of pain killers during this time?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes.’

  ‘You say unfortunately, I imagine, because she developed an addiction?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You also discovered she began taking heroin?’

  ‘I learnt that.’

  ‘You didn’t know at the time?’

  ‘Not for – not until she had to go into a rehab facility.’

  ‘Remind me – you were married when that happened?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you didn’t know your wife was taking heroin?’

  ‘Relevance, your Honour?’

  The judge looked at Tanner.

  ‘Mr Richter says my client took cocaine to his house. This is related to that topic.’

  ‘I’ll allow it for now,’ Knight said.

  ‘It sounds bad,’ Richter said. ‘I know. I – my job is crazy. If I could show you my diaries for each year. I was out of Sydney more nights than here. She hid things pretty well. I honestly didn’t know until . . . she got sick, lost weight, wasn’t eating. She told me, and we got her some help.’

  ‘Did you know about the pain killers?’

  ‘I didn’t . . . at first I didn’t think much about them. I thought she needed them. It was only when I found out about the heroin that I realised she had a problem with the pain meds too.’

  ‘So she went to rehab?’

  ‘For twelve weeks, I think.’

  ‘And how was she when she left the clinic?’

  ‘Better.’

  ‘She stopped taking heroin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the pain killers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yet three years later she’s back in the same clinic?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Again because of heroin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And cocaine?’

  ‘So we found out.’

  ‘And this time, did you know she was taking these drugs?’

  ‘I discovered it more quickly this time, you know, I recognised the signs.’

  ‘So she did another twelve weeks in rehab?’

  ‘I think it may have been a hundred and twenty days this time, and a lot of follow-up sessions when she was no longer a resident.’

  ‘Both times before she was admitted to the rehab facility, she’d been taking drugs for many months?’

  ‘I know I should have seen it before I did, but I honestly didn’t.’

  ‘Who supplied your late wife with heroin and cocaine, Mr Richter?’

  Richter took a deep breath and sighed. ‘She wouldn’t tell me. I had an inkling it might have been some friends of hers, but she’d never say.’

  ‘What gave you that inkling?’

  ‘Just gut instinct. A feeling.’

  ‘Gut instinct? Did you see anyone give Mrs Richter heroin or cocaine?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not even when you went to nightclubs or parties together?’

  ‘The witness has answered this, your Honour,’ Aitken interjected.

  ‘How did she pay for the drugs?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Tanner had been asking his questions quickly to keep Richter unsettled. He had to balance that with not going so fast that it became a blur for the jury. He took a breath now, and decided to say each word of the next series of questions more slowly. ‘Where did she get the money to pay for these drugs?’

  Richter shook his head. ‘We had a joint bank account, Mr Tanner, I –’

  ‘Because she wasn’t working, right?’

  ‘No, but –’

  ‘So she wasn’t earning any money?’

  ‘As I said, we had a joint account, and –’

  ‘So if I asked you to produce the bank records for that account for the years we’re talking about when your late wife was taking so much heroin and cocaine she needed to go to rehab, they’ll show her withdrawing large sums that would fit with the purchase of those very expensive drugs, would they?’

  ‘I object, your Honour,’ Aitken said. ‘Mr Richter’s not on trial. This whole line of questioning has gone far enough.’

  ‘Did you subpoena any bank records, Mr Tanner?’ Knight asked.

  ‘I don’t know what answers I’m going to get, your Honour.’

  ‘No, then?’

  ‘No, your Honour.’

  The judge wrote something in his court book. ‘You can proceed with the general line of questioning, but I’m not holding things up to get bank records.’

  ‘If it please the court,’ Tanner said. He turned back to Richter. ‘Did your wife pay for her drugs from your joint money, Mr Richter, without you noticing?’

  ‘I think some people gave them to her from time to time as well. So-called friends.’

  ‘You mean they bought them for her?’

  ‘You can put it that way if you like. I’d say –’

  ‘Mr Richter, your late wife wasn’t friendly with any cartel bosses, was she?’

  Aitken objected, but Richter answered anyway. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So anyone giving her drugs had themselves acquired them from someone else, correct?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Very generous, don’t you think? Giving her drugs for free?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Who were these people?’

  ‘I told you, I don’t know.’

  ‘Your Honour, at this point the defence wants to show Mr Richter a photo of his late wife from the law firm files you granted us access to. I told the Crown about it this morning. My friend told me he was going to object. I think it’s a matter that’s going to take some argument.’

  ‘I’d ask that the court be closed while we have this debate, your Honour,’ Aitken said. ‘If you rule in my favour but we don’t go in camera, Mr Richter will have been unnecessarily embarrassed.’

  ‘Mr Tanner?’

  ‘I think I’ve already said that we think the public has a right to know everything that’s going on in this case, your Honour.’

  The judge shook his head. ‘Not for the time being,’ he said. ‘Members of the jury, I’m going to ask you to go back to your room now, while the parties debate an issue of relevance and admissibility. It could take a while. If it looks like we won’t get back to the evidence, I’ll call you back to adjourn for the day. I’ll now ask the court officers to clear the court.’

  • • •

  Once the court was cleared, the photo of Nikki Richter was put up on an easel so the judge and counsel could see. Tanner had asked Porter to get a large blow-up. It showed Nikki Richter from the top of her chest up. The bruising on her throat was obvious. Even Tanner couldn’t pretend the picture wasn’t prejudicial. That was the point.

  ‘You want to suggest to the witness he did this, Mr Tanner?’

  Tanner wanted to suggest to the witness that he’d killed Elena Mancini. The photo of Nikki Richter was one step on the way. ‘Those bruises aren’t self-inflicted, your Honour.’

  ‘Let me hear from Mr Aitken first. It’s his objection.’

  ‘This is just character assassination, your Honour,’ Aitken began. ‘It’s not sufficiently relevant, and it’s not admissible under the tendency rule.’ Aitken’s reference to the tendency rule was to a
rule that provides that evidence of a person’s character or conduct isn’t admissible to prove they have a tendency to act in a particular way unless that evidence had a significant probative value in a case. That was the contest here.

  ‘The jury’s here to decide whether Justin Matheson killed Elena Mancini. This photo has nothing to do with that. All it might do is make them prejudiced against the witness. There’s no evidence of Mr Richter having a reputation as being a violent man, or being of that character.’

  ‘There’s evidence of that in Ms Cook’s files, your Honour,’ Tanner said.

  ‘Any criminal convictions for violence?’

  ‘None, your Honour. This is a man of good character. A successful businessman, well regarded in that community. Your Honour knows there was a pre-nup, that allegations were made that the witness denies, and that those allegations were made in the context of trying to better – by tens of millions of dollars – what the pre-nuptial agreement stipulated. This is a red herring to detract attention from the evidence of not just this witness, but from the evidence I’ve called to which there’s been no challenge – like the accused’s DNA being found under the victim’s nails.’

  The judge nodded slowly. ‘Mr Tanner?’

  ‘The key fact in issue is whether my client harmed Elena Mancini. He denies that, so whether Mr Aitken likes it or not, it’s a fact in issue as to whether the prosecution’s main witness is telling the truth. Elena Mancini died in Mr Richter’s house. She got there in his car. He’s one of two men there when he called the ambulance. Next, let’s look at Ms Cook’s file. It reveals that Mr Richter’s wife was making allegations against him that he’d been violent during their marriage. This photo shows real injury. What’s the response to the allegation? That she had it done to herself to get some more money?’

  ‘That’s precisely what Mr Richter thinks,’ Aitken said.

  ‘Really, Mr Aitken? I suppose you think battered wives all just walk into doors?’

  ‘I resent that, your Honour, and I ask my friend to withdraw it.’

  ‘Let’s keep personal remarks out of it,’ the judge snapped. ‘Is that clear, Mr Tanner?’

  ‘This evidence is highly probative,’ Tanner said. ‘It goes without saying it’s prejudicial. So is evidence of guilt. This is a crime of violence against a woman. This photo is direct evidence of violence against another woman by a man with the means and opportunity to have killed Elena Mancini. The defence shouldn’t be prevented from using it because it’s embarrassing to Mr Richter. If he denies hurting his wife, he can say so.’

  Knight closed his eyes. ‘I’m going to rule on the use of the photo in the morning,’ he said. ‘Can you carry on without it for the time being, Mr Tanner, or move to another topic?’

  ‘With respect, your Honour, I don’t want to move on to another topic. I just did. This one.’

  ‘I’m not ruling against you being able to ask Mr Richter questions about the allegations made by his late wife’s lawyer. I need time to reflect on that photo. It’s highly prejudicial, and I have to consider if that outweighs its probative value. It could have a dramatic impact on the jury. You can continue without it until tomorrow. We only have three-quarters of an hour to go today by the time we get everyone back.’

  ‘The prosecution was able to show photos of Elena Mancini’s dead body, surrounded by her blood, your Honour. I ought to be able to use that photo.’

  ‘There’s absolutely no analogy there, Mr Tanner, and you know it,’ the judge said, his voice rising. ‘Let’s get the jury back and open the court. I’ll rule on the photo in the morning. It can be marked for identification as “MFI 8” in the meantime.’

  • • •

  ‘You were asked about a letter your late wife’s lawyers wrote to you, regarding her desire for a divorce,’ Tanner began once the jury had taken their seats. ‘Do you recall that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It contained some strong allegations about your behaviour towards her.’

  ‘None of them were true.’

  ‘Your wife said you assaulted her.’

  ‘That never happened.’

  ‘You say it was to extract a better deal on your pre-nuptial agreement?’

  ‘That was the conclusion we all drew.’

  ‘Who’s we?’

  ‘My family, and my lawyer.’

  ‘So you say your late wife told lies for more money?’

  ‘Or the lawyer told her to. I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re suggesting, are you, it was all Ms Cook’s idea? These allegations?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘What I know is that what was alleged wasn’t true, and that it was done just before we got a letter that demanded a lot of money from my family. It looked to us like blackmail.’

  ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘That’s how it looked.’

  ‘You gave a eulogy at your wife’s funeral, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you mention she was blackmailing you?’

  ‘I object,’ Aitken said forcefully.

  ‘No, Mr Tanner,’ the judge said loudly. ‘That question is completely out of line.’

  There was some murmuring in the gallery, and some deep breaths and other noises of both real and mock outrage.

  ‘I’ll withdraw it then, your Honour.’

  ‘You’re warned, Mr Tanner.’

  As the judge spoke, Jane Ross handed him a post-it note: Jury didn’t like that.

  Tanner looked at her and nodded. ‘Excuse me for a moment, your Honour.’ He then opened a folder that was next to the lectern, and took out a yellow A4 envelope. From the envelope he took a document, looked at its front page, then placed it on top of the lectern, before looking up at John Richter.

  ‘Do you have another question, Mr Tanner?’ the judge said.

  ‘I do, your Honour.’ Then he glared at the witness some more. ‘Your late wife wasn’t the first woman to make an allegation of assault against you, was she?’

  As soon as Tanner had asked the question, James Carrington, Richter’s legal advisor, who was sitting in the gallery in front of Hendrik Richter, jumped up to speak to one of Aitken’s instructing solicitors. There was a hushed conversation, following which the solicitor quickly spoke to Aitken.

  ‘Excuse me for a moment, your Honour,’ Aitken said, as his solicitor whispered in his ear.

  Richter sat silently in the witness box, waiting to see if he had to answer the question.

  ‘Yes, Mr Aitken?’ the judge said impatiently.

  ‘I object to the question,’ Aitken said as his solicitor left his side. ‘I apologise, your Honour, but I need a few moments to take instructions on this. It may also be that I’ll have to ask for the court to be cleared again to explain my objection, so –’

  The judge held up his hand, then shook his head and sighed. ‘Let’s go to my chambers first,’ he said angrily. ‘Members of the jury, I apologise for this further interruption. I’ll adjourn for fifteen minutes.’

  ‘May I have five minutes before joining you, your Honour?’ Aitken asked.

  The judge looked at him, nodded, then hurried off the bench.

  When the lawyers walked into the judge’s chambers five minutes later, he was standing.

  ‘What’s going on, Peter?’ he said.

  ‘All I did was ask a question, judge.’

  ‘Cut it out. What do you have?’

  ‘Another one of Mr Richter’s victims, judge.’

  ‘Judge, my objection –’

  ‘Be quiet for a minute, Richard.’ The judge looked at Tanner. ‘When did you first know about this?’

  ‘It’s an allegation that’s not true, I’m instructed,’ Aitken said.

  ‘Mr Aitken, please.’ Knight looked at Tanner again. ‘You’ve got a document?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘It could not have been obtained lawfully, your Honour.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Tanner said.

  ‘What do you have, P
eter?’

  ‘A deed,’ Tanner said. ‘The victim was paid off.’

  ‘That’s not –’

  ‘How did you get it?’ the judge asked.

  ‘I don’t think I have to disclose that, judge, with respect.’

  ‘You might have to if you want to use it. I mightn’t let you if it was illegally obtained.’

  ‘It was given to me, judge,’ Tanner said. ‘I didn’t steal it.’

  ‘How did the person who gave it to you get it?’

  ‘Your Honour,’ Aitken interrupted, ‘if this is a deed between a woman named Felicity Horton and Mr Richter, I’m told that it prohibits either party from –’

  ‘She’s dead,’ Tanner said, cutting Aitken off.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Knight said.

  ‘Felicity Horton. Felicity Cairns was her married name. She died three years ago.’

  There was silence in the room.

  ‘How did you get it, Peter?’ the judge asked again.

  Tanner shook his head. ‘If I have to use it, or when I try and tender it, then with respect, judge, I’ll tell you.’

  The judge raised his eyebrows.

  ‘You’ve already used it,’ Aitken said. ‘Mr Tanner shouldn’t be allowed to ask questions of this witness based on knowledge he’s obtained through unlawful means.’

  ‘I told you, Richard,’ Tanner said angrily, ‘the deed was given to me. And I already knew of the incident behind the deed before I had it.’

  ‘How?’ Knight asked.

  ‘Through the same means I get all my useful information, your Honour. Third-hand hearsay and rumour. The question I asked this witness was not prompted by the document I was given. I was going to ask it anyway, and the information available to the defence was credible enough for me to feel comfortable as an officer of the court to ask the question I just have. If you need me to say that in open court, I will.’

  The judge nodded slowly. ‘If you want to use the document,’ he said, ‘I’ll need an affidavit stating how it was obtained. You might need to call who gave it to you.’

  Tanner sighed and nodded but didn’t reply.

  ‘You didn’t feel the need to tell Richard about it?’

  ‘I only got it Friday, judge. As your Honour knows, besides, I only have to give notice of a specific defence or an alibi. This is neither.’