The Dying Diplomats Club

by Matthew Benns

  ‘Oh dear,’ said La Contessa, looking at Nick, who remained engrossed in the note. ‘What have you found?’

  ‘We are assuming that Hu dropped the tube containing the baby formula invoice by accident when Pansy screamed and threw your mother’s priceless porcelain chicken at him,’ said Nick.

  ‘Obviously,’ said La Contessa. ‘I must say, for a detective you can be quite plodding sometimes.’

  Pansy, still shaken by events, was sitting on the sofa in the morning sunlight and finally piped up. ‘It still does not explain why Hu would seal the ends with dog treats.’

  ‘Exactly my point,’ said Nick. ‘What if he was not creeping up to the window to spy on us but was actually looking for Baxter to take the tube.’

  ‘You mean,’ said La Contessa. ‘He wanted us to find the note? But why?’

  ‘I think the answer to that is here in the delivery date: it’s due to arrive at Turner Towers next Monday.’

  ‘Ooooh, maybe it’s one of those Triad things where one gang member turns on another,’ said La Contessa. ‘We have a lot of that kind of thing back home in Italy: Mafioso thugs breaking the code of silence and singing to the polizia in hopes of pinning the crime on someone else. I remember my nonno —’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Nick quickly to change the subject from La Contessa’s grandfather. But it was too late.

  ‘I still remember when you put his old World War II rifle for sale on Gumtree,’ she said, her cheeks flushing red with anger. ‘And said it had never been fired and only dropped once.’

  ‘A joke I very much regret, my Pozzuoli princess,’ said Nick. ‘But I think this note means we have some real detective work to do now.’

  *

  ‘Come on, darling, pull,’ said La Contessa. ‘I really want to wear this dress to the races today.’

  ‘Perhaps the zipper has rusted through lack of use during the lockdown,’ said a red-faced Nick from behind his wife. ‘Should you try the blue one with the elasticated waist?’

  ‘Nonsense! Pull!’ she commanded.

  Nick gave one more mighty tug, which was followed by a loud tearing of fabric as the zip parted from the dress.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said La Contessa. ‘All my clothes appear to have shrunk during our time in coronavirus lockdown. Do you think it is because we have been home with the air conditioning running?’

  ‘I expect that’s it,’ said Nick, who was struggling to do up the trousers on his best suit. Finally he managed by pushing his belly up and over the top of his belt. ‘At least a return to the races gives us some clear head space from trying to solve Rose’s murder, along with all the associated corpses that have been piling up.’

  ‘My darling, you seem to have put on a little bit of weight,’ observed La Contessa as she effortlessly slid into the elasticated blue dress. ‘Are you going to be able to get that top button done up?’

  ‘My pick for Royal Randwick is inspired by Hu,’ said Nick. ‘He Runs Away.’

  ‘You have inspired my selection,’ said La Contessa.

  ‘My Swashbuckler in race six at Randwick?’

  ‘Few Too Many in race six at Doomben,’ said La Contessa. ‘However, I am a bit worried about leaving Pansy on her own.’

  ‘Baxter will guard her,’ said Nick. ‘What could possibly go wrong?’

  *

  After a successful day’s punting, La Contessa returned to her observation of Turner Towers and the wait for the delivery van.

  ‘Explain to me again why a delivery of baby formula is significant,’ said La Contessa from her familiar post at the telescope under the orange tree.

  ‘He clearly thought it important enough to try and get word to us about it,’ said Nick, who was sitting on the outside sofa with Baxter and Pansy. ‘So the least we can do is watch and see what happens.’

  ‘This is it,’ squeaked La Contessa. ‘A white van has just pulled up and the driver is waiting on the intercom to be allowed to drive into the basement.’

  ‘Right, I’m on my way. Wait here,’ said Nick, jumping to his feet and zipping through the gate. He shot across the road in time to discreetly follow the van in before the gates closed.

  ‘Can you see anything?’ said La Contessa, now beside her husband, causing him to jump in alarm.

  ‘This could be dangerous,’ he hissed. ‘I thought I told you to stay behind with Pansy.’

  ‘Oh, she’s here too, darling.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you brought the dog as well,’ said Nick.

  ‘Yowf,’ said Baxter.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, be very quiet and get behind me,’ said Nick. ‘These are Triads.’

  ‘Look, darling, they are taking the tins of baby formula out of the van and then putting tins that look exactly the same back in,’ said La Contessa.

  ‘I need to see inside one of those tins,’ said Nick. ‘I need a distraction. Oh no, La Contessa come back . . .’

  ‘Hello boys!’ purred La Contessa. ‘I seem to have lost my dog, Baxter. He’s handsome and brown and looks like a beagle – have you seen him?’

  As his wife distracted the men loading the van, Nick dashed to the rear, grabbed a tin and hurtled back into the shadows. At that moment, Arthur Minns came down the stairs.

  ‘Is there a problem, boys?’ he asked. ‘And what, madam, are you doing down here?’

  Pansy appeared with Baxter on his lead. ‘I’ve found him,’ she said and Minns went white at the sight of her.

  ‘Rose! Oh no, s-sorry, P-Pansy. You look s-so like your s-sister,’ he stumbled. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘She was helping me look for Baxter,’ said La Contessa. ‘And now she’s found him. Be a good boy and open the gate for us?’

  ‘Not so fast,’ said Minns suspiciously. ‘Why do I always feel that there is trouble whenever you and that damn dog are around?’

  ‘Oh you mean that time when you missed Baxter and hit poor Georgios Papadakis’s new car with your Rolls Royce?’ La Contessa smiled sweetly. ‘Accidents do happen when you don’t pay attention on the road.’

  Minns’s face had turned a volcanic shade of puce and he appeared to be reaching for something in his waistband when Pansy said, ‘Open the gate now, Arthur.’

  Minns grumbled and complied. As the gate swung open, Nick darted through and was joined by La Contessa, Pansy and Baxter. ‘Now let’s see what is in this tin,’ he said.

  ‘That looks to be exactly what it says on the tin,’ said La Contessa, peering over Nick’s shoulder as he opened the vessel liberated from the van in the Turner Towers basement. ‘Baby formula.’

  ‘Yes, my Imola investigator, but I believe what we seek lies beneath,’ said Nick, upturning the contents onto an opened copy of the newspaper. Three sealed plastic bags appeared in the pile of powder. ‘Voila!’

  ‘Golly,’ said La Contessa. ‘No, Baxter, get your nose out of there.’

  Nick opened one of the bags and gave it a tiny taste. ‘Crystal meth. Ice,’ he said grimly. ‘Nasty stuff.’

  ‘So someone is smuggling ice into China in tins of baby formula,’ said La Contessa. ‘That’s really rather clever, because the baby formula is worth a fortune too.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Nick. ‘And not someone: Arthur Minns, the chauffeur.’

  ‘Do you think that’s what Mr Hu was trying to tell us?’

  ‘Yes, that’s part of his message,’ said Nick. ‘I am afraid we have been guilty of the most dreadful racial stereotyping. Just because there are Triads involved, we assumed that the man with the Chinese surname was the villain.’

  ‘I agree – you have definitely been racist there,’ said La Contessa. ‘Now, you had better get on to Detective Inspector Cleaver before that van disappears.’

  At that moment Nick’s telephone buzzed into life with Cleaver’s name on the screen. ‘Speak of the devil,’ he said, before listening quietly and hanging up.

  ‘You didn’t tell him,’ said La Contessa.

  ‘I didn’t need to; he is already here. There’s bee
n another murder.’

  CHAPTER 10

  It’s Not So Good to Talk

  ‘Detective Inspector Cleaver has been very busy,’ said La Contessa as they watched several men being led from the basement of Turner Towers in handcuffs. ‘He must have caught them as they were loading the baby formula tins stuffed with drugs into the van.’

  ‘That’s absolutely right,’ said Cleaver, lifting the police tape to join Nick and La Contessa on the pavement. ‘My informant was right on the money.’

  ‘Your informant?’ asked Nick, who had been strangely quiet. ‘You have someone inside Turner Towers?’

  ‘Had,’ said Cleaver. ‘He is dead – must have been killed immediately after he called in the tip to me.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said La Contessa. ‘Who was he?’

  But before Cleaver could answer, Nick grabbed the detective’s shoulder. ‘Where is Arthur Minns, the chauffeur? Have you arrested him?’

  Cleaver sadly shook his head. ‘My informant told me that Minns was the contact for the Triads in the drug-smuggling ring but when I got here he was nowhere to be found. The Rolls Royce is missing too.’

  ‘Not the most inconspicuous getaway vehicle,’ observed La Contessa. ‘That should be fairly easy to spot.’

  ‘He must have done a runner just after we left,’ said Nick, ignoring Cleaver’s raised eyebrows. ‘So who was your informant and where is he now?’

  ‘I can take you to see the body for yourselves,’ said Cleaver, before adding ominously, ‘You may want to stay here, La Contessa; it’s pretty gruesome.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she replied. ‘What are we waiting for?’

  They were led outside to where the body of the Turner Towers murder victim had been found.

  ‘I can’t look,’ said La Contessa. ‘Who is dead?’

  ‘Yes I know, darling. Hu is dead,’ replied Nick, looking at the body of Hu, which was spreadeagled on the top of a Hills Hoist at the back of the property.

  ‘I know you know who is dead; I’m asking you to tell me so I don’t have to look,’ said La Contessa, her face buried in Nick’s shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry. I told you Hu is dead,’ said Nick.

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, I’ll look myself,’ said La Contessa, turning around to look at the body tangled on the washing line. ‘Oh, Hu is dead.’

  ‘That’s what I said: Hu is dead,’ said Nick. ‘It looks like he came to the end of the line.’

  ‘Yes, all washed up, I am afraid,’ said Cleaver. ‘He was a useful informant on Arthur Minns and his Triad drug smuggling until someone shot him.’

  ‘I’m afraid we had him pegged all wrong,’ said Nick. ‘We thought Hu was a villain, possibly a money launderer, when all along he was trying to warn us.’

  ‘Do you think his note was trying to warn us about Minns?’ asked La Contessa.

  ‘Quite possibly,’ said Cleaver. ‘Although the body count here is mounting. First Charles Turner; then his daughter Rose; then her mother, Victoria; Baxter’s dognapper, Brice; and now poor old Hu. We may be looking for more than one killer.’

  ‘You may be right, Inspector,’ said Nick. ‘The pressing question now is: Who killed Hu?’

  *

  ‘Are you sure villains always return to the scene of the crime?’ asked La Contessa from her usual post by the telescope under the orange tree. ‘It’s dark and I’ve been here for hours.’

  ‘Absolutely, my Rimini resolute,’ said Nick, sipping a martini while comfortably splayed on the sofa with Baxter. ‘Good detective work takes patience and perseverance.’

  ‘Oh, I think this may be him,’ said La Contessa. ‘A big black car has just sidled into the shadows.’

  ‘What did I tell you?’ said Nick, springing to his feet. ‘Come on, Baxter, let’s go and see what dastardly old Arthur Minns is up to.’

  Nick slipped out through the gate, Baxter hot on his heels, and drifted across the road like a wraith. He avoided the pools of light thrown by the street lamps and came up behind Minns as he was about to open the door to the basement.

  ‘Not so fast, Minns,’ said Nick, grabbing the chauffeur’s arm and jerking it up his back. Minns lashed out with his foot and Baxter attached himself to his ankle with a vice-like grip.

  ‘Ow, ow, get that dog off me!’ shouted Minns.

  ‘Not until you tell me why you killed Mr Hu,’ said Nick, as La Contessa hurried over.

  ‘Oh darling, you are so wonderful, you’ve got him,’ she said. ‘Oh yes, and you too, Baxter. Good boy.’

  ‘You have just enough time to tell us why you killed Mr Hu before Detective Inspector Cleaver arrives,’ said Nick.

  ‘What? Hu’s dead?’ said Minns. ‘I didn’t kill him.’

  *

  ‘Shall I order Pol Roget or Moet for the Champagne, darling?’ asked La Contessa.

  ‘When in doubt, my Lovere loveboat, order both,’ replied Nick sagely. ‘The question is why?’

  ‘Oh, it’s for our New Year’s Eve party tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m confused,’ said Nick. ‘We are in July not December. Do you mean a party for the end of the financial year?’

  ‘No, darling. I’ve decided that 2020 has been long enough already with this beastly virus, so I am having an end-of-year party to farewell it,’ explained La Contessa. ‘Wednesday will be the first of 2020 Redux.’

  ‘In that case, definitely order both,’ said Nick, settling back onto the sofa with a martini.

  ‘Hopefully in the new year we can finally get to the bottom of Rose Turner’s murder,’ said La Contessa. ‘Did you believe Minns when he said he did not kill Mr Hu?’

  ‘He certainly seemed genuinely surprised to hear Hu was dead,’ said Nick. ‘And at first, Cleaver did not have any evidence pointing to Minns’s involvement.’

  ‘Oh dear. I wonder if it is all the same killer. Who on earth could it be?’

  ‘Someone with motive to get rid of Hu and the strength to drape his body on the Hills Hoist,’ said Nick. ‘Someone keen to send a warning to stay away and stop snooping.’

  ‘Perhaps it is somehow linked to the number 25 that Hu kept sending us,’ said La Contessa. ‘You know, the Triad number indicating a traitor or spy?’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Nick, snapping his fingers and jumping to his feet so hastily that he almost (almost) spilled his martini. ‘There’s a betrayal here we have been ignoring.’

  He began to pace, thinking furiously, until La Contessa broke into his thoughts with distressing news.

  ‘Oh do stop sulking, darling,’ she said eventually. ‘Just because I said it is international Mai Tai Day.’

  ‘I still can’t believe we missed World Martini Day earlier this month,’ complained Nick.

  ‘Well technically, darling, you didn’t miss it because you do have a martini every day,’ said La Contessa.

  ‘It’s not the same,’ said Nick. ‘And I’m not making up for it with one of those dreadful Mai Tai concoctions either.’

  ‘Did someone mention a Mai Tai?’ asked Pansy, emerging from the bedroom for the first time in days. ‘I think that might be what I need.’

  ‘You are far too young for that kind of thing,’ said La Contessa. ‘I will make you one of my lovely refreshing green juices.’

  ‘Sucks to be you,’ muttered Nick under his breath.

  ‘Certainly, darling, one for you too,’ said La Contessa, heading into the kitchen.

  ‘Tell me, Pansy, did your sister, Rose, ever talk about her boyfriend, Wayne Durain?’ asked Nick. ‘Were there any problems?’

  ‘Not that she told me,’ said Pansy, sitting down on the sofa. ‘Even though we were identical twins, we were not really close like that. Why do you ask?’

  ‘It’s just that Wayne took up with Natalia Kowalski awfully quick after your sister’s death,’ said Nick. ‘Even allowing for the heightened emotions that come with being locked down in the same building for months on end.’

  ‘Here you are,’ said La Contessa, emerging with two juices. ‘
I think my husband may be on to something.’

  Nick started to dig around the old mail La Contessa had retrieved from Turner Towers.

  ‘Oh, I remember that note we found when I stole, er, I mean, borrowed, the mail just after Rose died,’ said La Contessa. ‘What did it say again?’

  ‘Meet me upstairs at 4. R,’ read Nick after pulling the note from the pile gathering grime on the table in the garden. ‘Does that look like your sister’s handwriting?’

  Nick showed the note with its green flowery script to Pansy.

  ‘Yes it does. As identical twins, our handwriting is virtually the same,’ she said. ‘Who do you think it was for?’

  ‘Maybe it was for Wayne?’ said La Contessa. ‘Could it be he went up there and they had a lovers’ quarrel?’

  ‘She could be quite fiery when she was angry,’ said Pansy. ‘What could they have been fighting about?’

  ‘Perhaps he was cheating on her with Natalia and she found out,’ said La Contessa. ‘A cheating man is enough to make any woman’s blood boil.’

  ‘That would put him very neatly in the frame for her murder too,’ said Nick.

  La Contessa scooted to her telescope and levelled at apartment 4 before straightening up and declaring, ‘They are home – come on, let’s go.’

  ‘Easy, my Tignale tiger,’ said Nick as his wife kicked off her leopard-print Ugg boots and pulled on her running shoes. ‘One theory does not lead straight to the cement motel. You need proof.’

  ‘Nonsense – we have the note,’ said La Contessa. ‘Come along, Baxter.’

  She stepped outside with Baxter, only to be met by their beaming neighbour.

  ‘My goodness, Georgios, another new car,’ said La Contessa. ‘And it’s the same as the others.’

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ asked Georgios, pointing to the new red BMW M3 parked on the grass embankment outside the apartment block. ‘And this time I won’t even park it on the road, so nothing can happen to it.’

  ‘I would hate to see it smashed like the other three,’ said La Contessa. ‘What on earth’s going on here?’