Deadly Diplomacy: Jess Turner in Australia (Diplomatic Crime Book 1)

by Jean Harrod

  “So what are you saying?” Her voice was incredulous. “There are two killers?”

  “You asked for my gut instinct.”

  She sat back. “You just said the same gun was used to kill Harris and Burton.”

  He nodded. “A Glock 17 pistol.”

  “So who would typically use that type of weapon?”

  “We would.”

  “The police?”

  He nodded, gravely.

  *

  Later, Sangster closed the door of the incident room and ran down the stairs two at a time. Just look where all this tiptoeing around the Chinese had got them. Chen Xiamen, a major player in this chaos had been allowed the space to vanish. Is that what the Government planned all along? Allow Chen to disappear so they wouldn’t have to confront him about the bribes he’d been paying? So they wouldn’t have to confront the Chinese Government and jeopardise the deal? So they could blame it all on Ellen Chambers and continue with the negotiation as if nothing had happened?

  He walked into his office and slammed the door, furious he’d allowed himself to be warned off talking to Chen. He went over to the window and stared out into the twilight. Traffic was building up in the street as staff cars queued to get out of the car park. He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling strangely disconnected. How long had he been in Brisbane now? Six years was it? He’d only transferred here because that’s what Liz had wanted. Perhaps he should go back to Sydney? Perhaps he should leave the police? Make a clean break of it. Do something else. Go somewhere else. Abroad maybe? There was nothing to keep him here now.

  He sat down at his desk to think. He didn’t like coincidences. They happened, of course. But a distinct pattern had emerged from these murders. Ellen Chambers had been murdered in a fit of rage. So what had sparked that rage? Was it the affair and pregnancy? Or the bribery and corruption? Or both? Had she been waiting for her killer on the jetty on Sunday night? All these questions kept rattling around in his head.

  You think she recognised her killer? The Consul’s words at the hotel this morning had lodged in his brain. Is that what the light in her eyes signifies?

  Yes, he thought, Ellen Chambers’ murder was personal. but Anthony Harris’s and Danny Burton’s weren’t. No, they were more like professional executions.

  The door squeaked open and Dalton peered round. “Okay to come in?” He walked in and sat down without waiting for a reply. “No sign of DC Roberts,” he said, clutching a file to his chest. “The guys went round to his house, but it was all locked up. They talked to the neighbours, but they haven’t seen him for a while. Didn’t even know he was a policeman.”

  Sangster raised an eyebrow.

  “So I talked to the guys in his team,” Dalton went on. “But they don’t know much about him either. He never gives out anythin’ personal. Prefers his own company and they leave him alone.” Dalton looked uneasy. “So I pulled his personnel file,” he said, handing it to Sangster. “I’d better put it back before anyone sees it’s missin’.”

  Sangster looked surprised; he didn’t know Dalton had it in him. He went to open the file, but Dalton rattled off its contents by memory.

  “Roberts joined the police in Perth in 1996,” he said. “In 2004, he transferred to Melbourne; and last year, he transferred up here. But this is where it gets interesting; for about 18 months before he came up here, Roberts left the Melbourne police to work for some security company.”

  “Which company?” Sangster asked, sharply.

  “I don’t know. I expected to find a letter of reference from them on the file. But there isn’t one.”

  Sangster frowned. “Find out, Dave.”

  “Will do.” Dalton scratched his head. “His file contains some... complaints about him from the public. He tends to go in a bit hard on occasion. Mind you, there are no actual charges against him.”

  “Didn’t he present good credentials from the other police services before we agreed to take him on?”

  “Yeah, but that’s how it works, isn’t it? They give good references to anyone they want to move on.” Dalton hesitated. “There’s been one complaint about him recently... from a prossie working in the Valley. Said he’d been rough with her.”

  “As a policeman or a client?” The Valley was the entertainment and red light area.

  Dalton’s eyes gleamed. “Client.”

  “For Chrissakes! What did Roberts have to say about it?”

  “Said he’d never been with the woman; and she was tryin’ to make trouble for him because he’d pulled her in for illegal street work. Anyway, she dropped the complaint.”

  Sangster’s eyes turned hard. “Find him, Dave. And get that prostitute in here. I want to know exactly what happened. And I want to know exactly where Roberts had sex with her.”

  “If he did.”

  Sangster ignored that. “And pull his official mobile phone records, and his home phone. I want to know everyone he’s been talking to for the last couple of months.”

  “Should I get permission?”

  “Just do it, okay?” Sangster stood up. “You got that, Dave. Find the security company Roberts worked for in Melbourne; find that prostitute; and pull his mobile phone and landline records.” He picked up the ballistics report. “Here,” he said, handing it to Dalton. “From the bullets found in Harris and Burton, the weapon used was a Glock 17. The gun has been modified with a silencer-capable barrel, which explains why no one heard anything.

  Dalton looked hopeful. “The modification should make the weapon easier to trace.”

  “If it was carried out by a registered gunsmith. The team are checking. They’ve circulated the information to other State police services in case the modification was carried out in their jurisdictions.” Sangster paused. “Of course, if it was done by a non-registered gunsmith, it’s going to be harder.” Sangster walked to the door. “I’m going to Roberts’ house now... I want to take a personal look at him.”

  Dalton didn’t ask any more questions; he was preparing himself for the blast he knew would follow his next bombshell. “One more thing, Boss.”

  Sangster turned round.

  “Anthony Harris’s wife phoned from Changi Airport just before boarding a flight home. She’s frantic because her daughter hasn’t been answerin’ her mobile or their home phone all night.”

  Sangster stared at him. “Hasn’t anyone spoken to Harris’s daughter since he was murdered?”

  Dalton shook his head. “The guys called round to his home, but no one answered the door. They tried the girl’s Uni, but no one’s seen her. They thought she’d gone to Singapore with her mother. So we assumed that’s where she was too.”

  Sangster could barely speak. “You assumed?”

  *

  Roberts’ house was clean. Too clean. Sangster stood in the living room, looking around. The smell of bleach permeated his nostrils. Even the carpet beneath his feet still showed the parallel tracks of recent vacuuming. Apart from the basic furniture, the place had been cleaned out. There were no personal effects anywhere. No books, no ornaments, no clothes, no photos. Nothing. Roberts had wiped the place clean and removed all traces of himself.

  Sangster walked over to the window and looked out at the neat suburban garden. Even the lawn had been recently mown and the hedges clipped. He could see the neighbours peering over the fence, wondering what was going on. He turned away and walked to the bathroom.

  “Nothing,” the forensic officer said as Sangster entered. “It’s all been scrubbed spotless. There’s not a single hair in the shower or sink; and nothing in the medicine cabinet.”

  “He knew we were coming.” Sangster went into the bedroom. The mattress was left exposed, with no sheets or bedcover to examine.

  The forensic officer followed. “We’ve been through all the cupboards and drawers. There’s no rubbish in any bin inside or outside the house. Must’ve bundled everything into a rubbish bag and taken it with him.” He glanced at the bare walls. “It’s as if he were nev
er here.”

  Sangster opened the wardrobe and a couple of drawers to check for himself. All empty.

  While the forensic officer went to check the kitchen again, Sangster remained in the bedroom. As the forensic officer opened the back door, a wind blew through the house and a chill descended. Sangster imagined Roberts standing in the doorway, laughing at him. Was he nearby, watching them now? Was he getting a kick out of this? In the silence, Sangster looked around and tried to conjure up Roberts’ face. He considered himself to be an expert on faces, but he could hardly remember what Roberts looked like. He’d seen him, of course, around HQ. But Roberts had never worked on his team or been involved in any of his cases. He was one of those nondescript quiet men who, from Sangster’s professional experience, often turned out to be the most dangerous.

  Sangster had no evidence. None whatsoever. But something about Roberts tripped all his alarm bells.

  24

  All the way from Police HQ, he was careful to keep a car between himself and the taxi.

  It wasn’t hard to follow because he knew where the meddling bitch in the back was going. But now they were stuck in traffic, he could feel himself getting wound up. He was sick and tired of all this running around; he should have left this stinking city before dawn. And he would have if it hadn’t been for her. But he had to get that diary. That was the deal.

  He pulled his cap down over his eyes and peered through the windscreen. He could see her looking out of the back window. She didn’t know who he was, but she could feel him in pursuit, like a deer fleeing the hunter. Last night, watching her on the balcony, he’d sensed she was going to be trouble. And what a runaround she’d given him all day. But the thrill of the chase was secondary to the thrill of the kill. The urge to slip out of the car and grab her now was strong. But he had to be patient. She was leading him to the diary. Once he had it, he could do whatever he liked. He held her life in the palm of his hand. He would decide when and how she died. And no one would ever know it was him. The police were running around like idiots. No clue. And that was the third thrill: being invisible. Truly invisible.

  Rolling his head from side to side to ease his neck, he closed his side window to keep the noxious city fumes out of his nose. He couldn’t wait to get away and breathe real air again. He could almost see the wide blue sky, and silver grass waving in the breeze through the saplings; and, at the end of the day, that huge, orange sun, setting behind stark, rocky gullies.

  The bush was calling him home.

  Suddenly her face flashed into his mind. He rubbed his eyes, but she was still there. Her dark, lifeless eyes stared up at him as she lay on the kitchen floor, with the desert rose he’d picked on his way home from school still in her hand. His heart started pounding. He’d been thinking about her more and more these days.

  He could still feel the knife in his hand.

  *

  Jess couldn’t breathe in the airless taxi. She couldn’t think either; the driver had the radio on so loud. She opened the window to let in some air, and checked her mobile. Still nothing from Susan. The girl had no idea what she was getting herself into. Jess thought back to her first meeting with Susan. Was it only yesterday afternoon? Her stomach turned. If only she’d given Ellen’s diary to Inspector Sangster straightaway.

  She rubbed her temples, wishing the traffic would move. What on earth was going on up ahead? Nervous, she twisted round again to look out of the back window. That woman driving the blue Holden behind was still there. Behind her, the driver of a white truck had his peaked cap right down over his eyes.

  Her mobile vibrated in her hand and she opened the text message from Simon.

  HC hadn’t seen that report. Nigel said he hadn’t read it due to pressure of work. Huh! Nothing more from Beijing yet. Really worried. Will phone later.

  Simon x

  A kiss at the end of the message. She smiled. A kiss? That was the first time he’d ever done that...

  Then she heard the news bulletin on the radio.

  Within the last hour, there has been another development in the Palms Resort triple murder investigation. Queensland police confirm that Federal Government Minister Anthony Harris and resort gardener Danny Burton both suffered stab wounds to the heart, after being shot dead. These two murders followed on from the killing of senior Western Energy Executive Ellen Chambers, whose body was found at the Palms Resort on Monday morning. She’d been attacked and drowned.

  Detective Inspector Sangster, who is leading the investigation, moved quickly to scotch rumours that a serial killer was operating in the Brisbane area. He said that details of the post-mortem stabbings had not been released to the public earlier for operational reasons. He also stressed that the general public should not be unduly alarmed: police believe the three murders were targeted. However, he urged everyone to remain vigilant. “Whoever carried out these murders is very dangerous, and should not be approached,” he said. “If anyone has any information, they should call the police immediately.”

  Poor Tom, Jess thought. He’d be furious news of the stabbings had got out. The last thing he needed was a media frenzy about a serial killer.

  “Bastard! The taxi driver shouted suddenly.

  Jess jumped and looked up at two angry eyes watching her in the driver’s mirror.

  “They should shoot him when they catch him,” he carried on. “Poor Tony didn’t deserve that. He’s one of the good guys.”

  “Tony?” she asked. “Oh, you mean Anthony Harris?”

  “He was a great bloke. I don’t know what’s happening to this bloody country. Things like that don’t happen here.”

  Jess just nodded.

  “The world’s gone mad. First that English woman is murdered, then Tony, then some gardener. What the bloody hell’s goin’ on, that’s what we all want to know. Here, in Brizzie, of all places. There’s probably a roadblock up ahead, lookin’ for the nutter. I bet that’s why we’re not movin’.”

  Jess thought that highly unlikely but she understood his strength of feeling. Then she realised the taxi driver had called the Minister Tony. “Did you know Anthony Harris?” she asked.

  The driver nodded. “Known him for years. He lives near us. His daughter and mine are on the same course at Brisbane Uni. That poor kid! She’ll be devastated about her dad. It’s a bloody tragedy for the family and for the rest of us.” Tirade over, he slumped back in his seat and stared morosely out of the window.

  Jess did the same until her eyes focused on a café window...

  That dark, wavy hair was unmistakable.

  Frowning, she wound down the window to get a better look.

  It was Nigel, sitting at a window table, engrossed in conversation with... Chen Xiamen. Oh my God! She shrank back into the taxi so they wouldn’t see her. What were they doing? How did they know each other? She tried to think, but she couldn’t come up with a rational explanation.

  She reached for her mobile to call Sangster to tell him where Chen was. But what if Nigel’s meeting with Chen was above board? What if the British Government didn’t want the Australians to know about the meeting? What if Chen was passing information to the British Government? She needed to check with Simon and the High Commissioner.

  First she called Simon and got his voicemail. “Call me back urgently, Simon, Please.” Frustration levels mounting, she called the High Commissioner and got his voicemail too. They were both still in meetings.

  “Come on! Get a bloody move on!” The taxi driver shouting at the traffic only added to her jitters. She looked over at Nigel and Chen, then over her shoulder. Something was wrong. Very wrong. All she knew was she couldn’t stay in this taxi a minute longer. “I’ll walk the rest of the way,” she said to the driver. “It’ll be quicker.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, with obvious relief.

  “Absolutely.” She pulled out her purse. “The Consulate-General’s just up the road.” She handed him the fare. “You can do a U-turn and get out of this traffic.”

>   “Thanks, doll,” he said, as he took the money and rammed the gear shift into drive. “Take care now. Mind you don’t run into that nutter.”

  Clutching her bag and briefcase, she jumped out of the taxi, and rushed across the pavement, and through the iron gate into the city Botanic Gardens where no car could follow. There, she dodged behind a tree and waited to see if anyone followed her in. Heart pounding in her ears, she waited. No one.

  She looked around. The railings bordered the main road all the way to the Consulate-General, which wasn’t far. Would she be safer walking down the street where there were cars and people, or inside the garden railings? Instinct made her decide to stay inside the gardens. She couldn’t forget the wheels of that bus this morning. Taking a deep breath, she started walking along the path in the direction of the Consulate-General. She could hear traffic noise behind the railings to her left; but to her right flowed Brisbane River. She looked over her shoulder. No one.

  Relieved to be in the fresh air, she slowed down, but her mind was still buzzing. How did Nigel know Chen Xiamen? The LNG deal had nothing to do with the British Government or the British High Commission. What’s more, how did Nigel know how to contact Chen? Even the Queensland Police couldn’t find him. Nigel’s sickly face yesterday sprang into her mind, his obsession with the LNG deal at the talks, the way he suppressed that intelligence report. What did it all mean?

  Come on, Simon, ring!

  Coming across a weeping fig tree, with extending branches providing a canopy of shade, she sat down on the seat underneath and looked out across Brisbane River. In the silence, she could feel her taut nerves jangling. A soft breeze from the water blew in her face. She sat very still, letting the peace wash over her until her body began to slow down. Soon, for the first time that day, she started to feel disconnected from all the madness around her. She felt safe sitting there, where no one knew where she was. But that peace wasn’t going to last.