Deadly Diplomacy (6 page)

It happened by chance one evening, when he drove a woman home who’d been mugged in the street. When he pulled up outside her house, she jumped out of his patrol car and ran weeping into the arms of a man on the doorstep.

His Dad!

Instinctively, he’d leant his elbow against the driver’s window and hid his face with his hand. Stomach turning, he sat watching their tender embrace through his open fingers. He was torn between marching up to the front door and having it out with his father, or just driving away. In the end, he drove away. But he couldn’t let it lie; he had to find out the truth. So he went back the next day and talked to the woman’s neighbours, then to employees of the bank they told him she worked for. That’s when he discovered his dad had been in a relationship with the woman for over 20 years. He couldn’t believe it. How could he not have known? Impossible, yet true. It played on his mind for weeks and months after. He wanted to confront his father, but he could never quite bring himself to do it. Then, as time slipped by, the moment never seemed right.

Months later, he tried to broach the subject with his mother, wondering if she knew and would talk about it. He led in with little clues, but she never took the bait. And he certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell her, if she didn’t know. Eventually, he decided to leave well alone. Their marriage was their own affair.

But a week before she died, his mother told him about his father’s other family, breaking the news he had a step-sister. Sangster had wanted to ask so many questions, but her face just seemed to close down, as though she was either numb or she didn’t care. Maybe she didn’t care? Or maybe she’d learnt to shut down her emotions to cope with the hurt?

When clearing out the family house after she died, he’d found his early drawings of her in a box on top of her wardrobe. Now that box sat on a shelf in his study. He often looked at those drawings. That’s the way he liked to remember his mother, as happy and smiling. But to him, his parents’ union was nothing but a passionless deception that had put him off marriage for life. And that’s exactly what he’d told Liz on the one occasion she mentioned marriage. Liz didn’t say anything at the time. But she must have been thinking about it because after dinner, when they were washing up, she suddenly said: “If you love someone enough, Tom, you don’t think twice about marrying them.” Now, those words were swirling around in his head. Is that why she left? Did she think he didn’t love her because he didn’t want to get married? Was that it? Of course he loved her. She knew he loved her. Didn’t she?

He ran his fingers through his hair. He knew he wasn’t a good communicator. Perhaps it was because he’d grown up as an only child. He liked his own company; it was easier somehow. And he’d always found people a bit of a mystery, even back then. He would study their faces, then draw them. It was his way of trying to work them out, investigate them even. Now, he could read faces like an expert, which he found useful in his job. Any tilt of the head, or twitch of a cheek or lip, or even a long stare, would tell him everything. He could capture the essence of someone’s character in a single drawing.

Pursuing that talent, he’d qualified in contemporary fine art and design and began work, taking commissions for illustrations. Then he progressed on to portraits, his true calling. But that work alone wouldn’t pay the bills. Forced to cast around, he got some work as a court artist, which sparked his interest in the law and policing. Later, at a school reunion, he met a mate who was so enthusiastic about his career in the police, Sangster thought he’d give it a go too. And, while it hadn’t been his first career choice, it had become his vocation. Now, 20 years on, he was surprised at how well he’d done. He wasn’t motivated by a desire to get to the top, although he’d take that in his stride when it came his way. To him, every crime was an all-consuming puzzle that burned in his brain like a fever; and he couldn’t rest or relax until he’d solved it.

Dalton catapulted through the revolving door, interrupting his thoughts. “I’ve got Susan Chambers’ address,” he said, waving a piece of paper. “The guys went round earlier to tell her about her sister. She took the news badly, as you would expect. Then she acted weird; she pushed them out of the house, sayin’ she didn’t want any help. Now, she’s not answerin’ the door, or the phone.”

Sangster frowned as he closed his car door. “The DC’s just told me two Federal Agents are on their way from Canberra. They won’t get here until 4pm, so I can carry on here for another couple of hours.”

“Good, because we’ve just made an appointment for you to see the British Consul. He should be here around 2pm.”

“Not
more
Canberra folk.” Sangster sighed and looked at his watch. “Okay, but I
must
talk to Susan Chambers. Have you tried the
Brisbane Echo
where she works?”

“Yes, but they haven’t seen her.”

“Find her, Dave,” Sangster turned to go back into the hotel, “while I have another word with Danny Burton, the lad who found Ellen Chambers’ body.”

“What do you make of him, Boss?” Dalton asked, quickly. “Bit of a hoon, if you ask me.
He
says Ellen Chambers gave him the come-on.”

Sangster nodded. “He’s been hanging about the crime scene all morning, trying to be helpful. Even when he was supposed to be mowing the lawn, he was watching us. Convenient that
he
found the body, wasn’t it?”

“Perhaps he knew just where to look?” Dalton warmed to this train of thought. “Perhaps he followed Ellen Chambers down to the jetty and tried it on with some force. She fought back, and things got out of hand.”

Sangster looked thoughtful. “The barman said he saw someone walking behind Ellen Chambers on the path down to the jetty just before she was killed. It couldn’t have been Danny, he was still in the bar at that point.” Sangster pushed the revolving door.

Dalton shuffled through behind him.

“But that doesn’t mean Danny didn’t go down to the jetty, in the hope of getting some action.” Sangster turned to face Dalton. “He did leave the bar soon after her. Even if he didn’t kill her, he might have seen something.”

“Yeah.” Dalton hesitated. “Look, about earlier, Boss. I’ve booked some counsellin’ … to fix my problem. I want to stay on the murder team, more than anythin’.” He sighed. “I just wish I could deal with it as easily as you do.”

Sangster knew he had a reputation for being tough and remote amongst the guys. They were of the old school of policing; and let off steam with the help of the plentiful, local rum. But did they all think he found it
easy
because he didn’t join in? Irritated, he looked at Dalton, but he didn’t let fly. He knew Dalton had his work cut out at home: a wife with chronic fatigue and a couple of young kids to look after. But there was no point beating about the bush either; he wouldn’t carry passengers on his team. “You’ve got another couple of months to deal with it, Dave. Then that’s it.”

Dalton nodded, glumly.

Sangster checked his watch. “It’s manic back at HQ. The DC’s just rung to say he’s cancelled all leave and called everyone in.”

Dalton gave a wry smile. “That’ll upset Roberts. He’ll have to give up his fishin’ trip.”

“Roberts?”

“DC Roberts. He was here, earlier.”

Sangster frowned. “Do I know him?”

“Course you do. He’s that bald, exercise nut. You know him, always in the gym. Transferred here from Melbourne about a year ago.”

Sangster raised an eyebrow. “What was he doing here?”

“He said he had a few days’ leave and was goin’ out on a fishin’ trip.” Dalton frowned. “Except, thinkin’ about it now, he wasn’t dressed for fishin’. He was wearin’ smart black trousers and a shirt.”

“Was he now?” Sangster never could leave a loose end. “Better check he
is
on leave, Dave. Discreetly mind. Don’t go treading on any toes.”

Jess winced as the edge of the paper sliced into her thumb and a drop of blood oozed out. Wrapping a tissue around the cut, she glanced out of the window at the sound of the plane’s engines revving up. In no time, airport buildings were flashing by as they accelerated along the runway and soared into the blue sky, rising south over Canberra. Sunlight sparkled on Lake Burley Griffin below, its central water spout pulsing jets of water high into the sky. Banking right, the plane swooped over the Federal Parliament’s 75 metre high flagpole and completed its circle to head north over the business district and snow-capped Mount Ainslie.

Finally, she was on course for Brisbane.

Her mind turned back to the job. She wished she’d been able to smooth things over with Simon. But when she’d eventually found the private dining room in Parliament, he’d already gone. Of course she’d had a look at the place cards around the table. Simon had lined up exactly the right interlocutors for the Foreign Secretary: the Australian Foreign Minister; the Head of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade Paul Robinson; and the Heads of all the Security Agencies, which included ASIO and ASIS – the Australian equivalents of MI5 and MI6. Then, she’d just laid a copy of the agenda at each place setting and left.

“Newspaper, Ma’am?”

Jess smiled and selected a copy of the
Brisbane Echo
from the air hostess’s tray. She didn’t expect to see anything about the Ellen Chambers murder; her body wouldn’t have been found until after the daily papers had been printed.

But a business headline caught her eye.

WESTERN ENERGY ATTRACTS OVERSEAS
INVESTORS TO THEIR BRISBANE CONFERENCE

She scanned the article. The Conference was all about broadening the exposure of Australia’s metal and mining opportunities to international investors, particularly from the USA and Asia. When she saw it was due to start that morning at the Brisbane Convention Centre, she knew why Ellen Chambers had come to Brisbane.

She turned as someone slipped into the empty seat next to her, “Do you like sneaking up on people?” she asked the Australian Foreign Affairs’ China expert.

Derek Marshall’s sharp eyes twinkled. “Only on beautiful women.”

She had to laugh. Like Simon, Derek loved a joke. The pair of them were friends, sparking off each other and talking sport endlessly.

“Off to Brisbane, then?” Derek pushed his tousled grey hair off his forehead.

“That obvious, is it?”

Derek smiled and fidgeted in his seat. He was a restless soul, brimming with intelligence and energy. Being stuck in a plane seat for a couple of hours would be torture for him. “Is your trip connected to the Ellen Chambers’ murder?” he asked. “She
was
British, wasn’t she?”

Jess nodded, thinking as a Government expert on China, Derek would know all about the LNG deal, and the murder. “Did you know her?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I’d met her a couple of times at meetings and receptions, but I wouldn’t say I
knew
her.”

“What was she like?”

“Attractive.” Derek gave a rueful smile. “Sharp and capable. And a key member of Western Energy’s LNG negotiating team. She had a great rapport with the Chinese.” He peered over the seat in front. “They’re up the front… the Chinese LNG team… in business class. The Chairman of Western Energy invited them to attend his Company Conference.”

Jess tapped the newspaper. “I’ve just been reading about that. Is that why Ellen Chambers was in Brisbane?”

He nodded.

“So what are
you
doing with the Chinese, Derek? Are you their minder?”

“You could say that.”

She smiled. “So what’s happening with this LNG deal? I’d heard negotiations had stalled.”

He leaned in closer. “There’s
big
money involved. Important revenues for the Australian economy. Careers have been staked on it.”

Jess got the picture. “And your PM will want to go to the Federal election with this deal sewn up. It’ll earn big bucks for him to spend on the country.” She paused. “So what’s the problem? Why have negotiations stalled?”

“Oh, you know…”

She shook her head.

“The Chinese want
control
of the operation.” He lowered his voice. “A 55 per cent stake in the joint venture with Western Energy. They’re refusing to sign the binding agreement to accept the LNG until they get it.”

“Oh, that’s just brinkmanship.” Jess knew from experience the Chinese were hard negotiators. They knew exactly what they wanted, and would play a waiting game for as long as it took to get it. They had no deadlines to worry about; and no internal pressure from the Chinese public or media for quick results.

“The trouble is,” said Derek. “Our pollies need this deal
before
the Federal election campaign starts in November. They’ll want to factor in the revenues it will bring. But they can’t give too much control to the Chinese; there’s a lot of worry out in the electorate about the Chinese buying up the country and its resources.”

“Can the impasse be resolved?”

He shrugged. “Western Energy say they’re close to a breakthrough. If their Chairman can pull it off, the PM will be
very
grateful.” He hesitated. “That should give John Langhurst’s political aspirations a boost.”

“He wants to go into politics, does he?”

“So they say.”

“He’ll be a shoe-in, being married to the daughter of a former Australian Prime Minister.” She paused. “Tell me Derek, do the police have any idea who killed Ellen Chambers? Or why?”

He looked wary now. “I was hoping you might tell me. After all, we got that intelligence report from London.”

Intelligence report?

“And the information in it did come from
your
Embassy in Beijing,” Derek continued. “Of course after they got that report, our Federal Police had no option but to start an investigation. They’ve had Ellen Chambers under surveillance since she arrived back from China.”

“She was under surveillance when she was murdered?” Jess tried to keep the surprise out of her voice.

Derek nodded. “Along with Chen Xiamen, the head of the Chinese delegation.” He looked at her, sharply. “Didn’t you know? The Head of our SIS briefed your Deputy High Commissioner about it last Friday.”