Deadly Diplomacy (21 page)

She dialled Inspector Sangster and heard his voicemail click in. “Tom, it’s Jess Turner. I’ve just met Susan Chambers at Café Aqua, Queen Street. She didn’t bring the diary, I’m afraid. And she disappeared again without saying where she was going.” She hesitated. “She told me she’d spent the night at her boyfriend’s place. I don’t know his name, but I believe he works for the
Echo
too. So I hope that helps you find her. Of course, if she contacts me again, I’ll ring you immediately.” She paused. “Oh, and I’ve just seen Chen Xiamen in a taxi in town. He seemed to be heading away from the Convention Centre, so perhaps you’ve already seen him there.” She hung up, feeling bad about handing Susan over to the police, but she couldn’t do anything else now.

Suddenly the taxi driver slammed on his brakes. Her head jerked up to see a man dart out in the front of them. She grabbed the door handle, ready to jump out. But the man just dodged the traffic and ran across the road.

She sat back in the seat, trying to calm herself down as her taxi accelerated away and turned onto Victoria Bridge. As they crossed over Brisbane River, she looked down at the water and closed her eyes. She shuddered, imagining again Ellen’s white face framed by floating hair, and her mouth open in a scream, as she sank beneath the waves.

When the taxi finally reached the south bank and drew up outside the Convention Centre, Jess couldn’t wait to get out. She paid the driver and looked up at the three-storey building, with its huge glass entrance. She ran up the bank of steps to the front door, splashing through little puddles of water as she went. At the top, she stopped to brush the rain off her jacket and stamp the water out of her shoes. Standing there, something made her turn.

Below, she could see Inspector Sangster leaning against his police car bonnet, talking on his mobile. He had, of course, already seen her. He slipped his mobile into his pocket and ran up the steps to her. “I got your message,” he said, not in the least breathless. “What time did you see Chen?”

“About ten minutes ago, on my way here.”

He nodded. “I’ve no option now but to put out a full-scale search for Susan. We need to find her, for her own safety.”

Jess nodded. “I’m sorry, Tom. She’s distraught, unpredictable. I can’t tell you how worried I am about her… and that diary.” She stopped and glanced at him again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, instinctively.

She cut to the chase. “I believe someone stole my diary from my hotel room this morning, thinking it was Ellen’s.

His eyes narrowed.

She nodded. “When I got back from breakfast, I noticed signs that someone had been in my room: a drawer slightly open, a photo moved. The bed was unmade so I knew the cleaners hadn’t been in. I checked around, but I didn’t notice anything missing at the time. Now I realise my diary’s gone.” She paused for breath. “And when I was on my way to meet Susan, someone followed me and tried to snatch my briefcase.” She tried to make her voice sound calm. “He must have thought I had the diary in it.”

“Who was it?” he asked, quickly.

“I didn’t see. I was just aware of this presence following me, a shadow reflecting on the pavement, a dark figure darting into shop doorways. And then, when I was standing in a crowd of people waiting to cross the road, I felt this tug on my briefcase.” She stopped. Did someone try to push her under a bus? She wasn’t sure of anything now. “I stumbled into the road as I hung onto it.” She hesitated. “I might have been pushed.”

“
Pushed?
” He looked shocked.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“You said ‘he’. What do you remember about him?”

Jess thought hard. “I didn’t see anyone in the street, just a dark figure. I ducked into the department store in Queen Street to shake him off. Then I saw the back of a man, dressed all in black, standing by the escalator. One moment he was there, the next he’d gone. I’m sure it was him. I can’t tell you why though.” She paused. “He was tall.”

His face looked grave. “Right, well, we’ve had a call from Canberra. Your High Commissioner wants you to have a police escort for the rest of the day.”

She looked at him. “I was being followed because someone thought I had Ellen’s diary. But,
Susan
has it.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her,” he said. “But I must have one of my officers stay with you.”

She shook her head. “Look, I don’t need anyone for the time being. I’m here to meet John Langhurst. I won’t be going anywhere else. Then, I’m coming over to the police station at 2pm as planned. Let’s take it from there.”

He looked sceptical. “You’ll stay in this building?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, I’ll have a car collect you at 1.45pm and bring you to the station.”

She nodded. “After that, I’ll only be going to the Consulate-General to do some work. Then I’ll check into the Riverbank for the night. Oh, and my boss, Nigel Paxman, will be arriving from Canberra in the next couple of hours, so I won’t be alone.”

He gave a resigned shrug. “All right, but if Susan rings, you’ll let me know?”

She nodded. “By the way.” She reached into her jacket pocket. “Susan found this camera card tucked in the back cover of Ellen’s diary.”

He took it, eagerly. “Have you seen the photos?”

“Yes, Susan had them printed in town. But don’t get too excited. There are only three. They seem to be tourist snaps taken during Ellen’s recent trip to China.”

He looked disappointed. Turning, he ran down the steps to his car.

Jess watched him go, feeling alone again once his car drove off. She sighed and walked into the Convention Centre. But almost immediately, she spotted John Langhurst standing at the top of the stairs, watching the door with great interest. When he saw her, his face opened into a smile and he waved. Descending the stairs, he looked dignified yet natural. He may be the boss, she thought, but there’s no Nigel puff-up about him.

He walked over. “Lovely to see you again, Jessica.” He sounded subdued. “I hope you’ve got time for some lunch.”

“Can we eat in here?”

He looked dubious. “We’d be better off in the fish restaurant around the corner.”

She hesitated. Eating a big meal was the last thing she felt like doing; and she’d told Tom she’d stay put. “I’d be happy with something light in here, a coffee even.”

“Come on Jessica, you’ve got to eat.”

She had to admit she hadn’t eaten a thing at breakfast with everything that was going on. And the Chairman was trying to make an effort. “All right,” she said, not wanting to be rude. “That’s kind of you.”

“Good.” He smiled at her. “That’s settled then. We’ll walk if the rain has stopped and get some fresh air. It’ll do us good.”

*

Sangster stood in the mortuary studying Danny Burton’s X-rays. His skeletal structure looked entirely normal, except for the bullet lodged in the cranium. Sangster turned to Anderson who was at the autopsy table ready to start the post-mortem. “Can you get that bullet out first?”

“Patience, Tom.” Anderson was in deep concentration.

“Ballistics want to check it has the same firearm fingerprint as the one you got out of Anthony Harris.” He paused. “That bullet came from a Glock 17, fitted with a silencer.”

Anderson nodded. “Which means the barrel of the gun that fired it will be slightly longer than usual, with a thread at the tip.” He glanced over to check Sangster was listening. “The telltale sign was the damage done to the shape of the bullet as it collided with the silencer’s segments at the mouth of the barrel on exit.”

Sangster nodded with grudging respect. Was there anything this man didn’t know?

“Using a silencer,” Anderson went on, “would explain why no one heard gunshots at either crime scene. But it doesn’t explain how the killer got close enough to shoot them both in the head without them knowing anything about it.”

“How do you know they didn’t?”

Anderson looked down at the cadaver. “Because I can’t find a single defence wound on either of them.”

Sangster stared down at Danny Burton, now still and silent in death. He remembered Danny’s clenched fists in the interview room yesterday. He’d been such a life force, with his well-muscled body and tiger tattoo. But now his fiery eyes were closed; he looked young and peaceful lying on the table.

Anderson was bending over the corpse with a magnifier, taking a closer look at the knife wound to the heart. “There aren’t any serration marks,” he said. “This was a single stab to the heart, to the aorta to be precise. A very clean job by the look of it.” He looked up. “Normally bleeding from the aorta would be fast, like a kind of high-pressure hose. But there’s no sign of that here. Because this young man was already dead when the knife went in.”

Sangster nodded. “What can you tell me about the wound?”

Anderson looked again with his magnifier. “It’s a clean cut, made with a very sharp blade, probably high quality steel though we’ll test for that.” He stood up and stretched out his back.

It was only then that Sangster noticed the dark circles under Anderson’s eyes. He’d been working through the night again, and it showed. “Any idea what kind of knife was used?” he asked.

“Well it wasn’t your regular kitchen knife.” Anderson measured the depth of the wound to Danny’s heart. Then he was silent for a while. “I’ve seen this kind of cut made during pig butchery.”

“
Pig
butchery?”

Anderson stared at the wound again. “You know, Tom, It could be one of those bushcraft knives used for camping and hunting.” He glanced up. “Maybe your man’s a hunter?”

Sangster stared at him.
A hunter?
Of course, that would make perfect sense. That’s how he got up so close and personal. But it didn’t explain why he would shoot his victims, then stab them in the heart. “Right,” Sangster said. “I don’t think I need to see any more of this. You’ve confirmed the cause of death, but let me know straightaway if you find anything else. And get that bullet to ballistics.”

Anderson didn’t reply. He was bent over the table again, lost in his work.

Peeling off his gloves and gown, Sangster threw them in the bins provided and walked out into the corridor. He took a deep breath to get rid of the smell of death from his nostrils and looked around for his Sergeant.

Dalton was pacing around by the exit. There was no way he could observe an autopsy. Seeing Sangster, he waved some papers. “The Federal Police have given us the call log from Ellen Chambers’ mobile phone. We’ve been checking her calls over the last few weeks.”

“And?” Sangster tapped his foot on the ground.

Dalton shivered. “Can we get out of the icehouse, Boss?”

Sangster nodded, and they walked up the stairs together and out of the building.

Looking more comfortable in the fresh air, Dalton went on: “The calls are mostly to her colleagues and work contacts. She rang the personal mobiles of the Chairman and CEO of Western Energy a lot.”

“As you would expect.”

Dalton nodded, eyes gleaming. “
And
she called Anthony Harris several times.”

Sangster broke into a smile. “Are you saying she had
personal
access to him?”

Dalton nodded. “And there’s something else interesting. She called the British Embassy switchboard in Beijing three times over that period. Once before she left for China; once while she was there; and again when she got back. Don’t know who she spoke to though.”

Sangster’s eyes narrowed. “What about Chen Xiamen? Did she call him?”

Dalton’s face fell. “No. Not on her mobile anyway.”

Sangster frowned; that didn’t make sense. “Right, let’s get back to the Convention Centre. I want to talk to Western Energy’s Chairman and CEO again. And I want to ask the Consul about Ellen Chambers’ calls to the British Embassy in Beijing.

*

“How’s your fish?” Langhurst clasped his sun-tanned hands together on the edge of the table.

“Good, thank you,” Jess replied. And it was. She loved barramundi, a local freshwater fish. Although she’d eaten most of hers, he’d hardly touched his. He seemed more interested in her, and gave the impression of listening intently to everything she said. That’s quite a skill, she thought, making people feel interesting. Then she chided herself for being so cynical. The truth is they got on well, finding a wide range of political and economic issues to talk about. She found him interesting and well-informed. She hoped he found her the same. So, when he asked her about her education and career in the Foreign Office, she found herself telling him, which was unusual because she never talked about herself. But when he strayed into personal territory by asking about her family, she clammed up.

He got the message and sat back in his chair for a breather.

So did Jess. While there was a lull in the conversation, she looked around. Like most Australian restaurants, the furniture and décor were simple and practical. A huge glass tank full of live lobsters filled the front window to entice customers. But the advert wasn’t working today because only two other tables were occupied. The rain earlier must have put people off.

Langhurst looked wistful. “Ellen loved fish,” he said. “It was one of the things she liked most about Australia.”

“Me too.”

“You’re like her you know, Jess.”

“In that I speak with an English accent?”

“Ellen was well-informed like you.” He paused. “You even look like her, you know. That’s why I got such a shock when I saw you standing at The Palms yesterday afternoon.” He swallowed. “I thought it was her.”

Jess sat silent for a while. She didn’t want to ask him about Ellen, but she couldn’t help herself. “When did you last see her, John?”

“At lunch on Sunday at the Riverbank. I remember telling her I’d ordered lobster and prawns for the reception that night, especially for her.”

“Reception?”

He nodded. “We had an opening reception for the Conference. Of course, Ellen never showed up. If only she had…” He made an effort to rally himself. “It was a bit of a scrum in there. You know, crowds of people milling around, drinking and eating. I didn’t stay long. I can’t stand those parties.”