by Drew Lindsay
‘Her husband was found dead a couple of weeks ago. I’m trying to get the details but it’s being hushed up by the police.’
‘Dead as in murdered?’
‘The body was pulled out of Duck Creek at Clyde with a plastic bag tied over his head.’
‘Murdered,’ said Ben.
‘It was all over the media two weeks ago,’ said Rodney.
‘I don’t watch the news.’
‘Of course you don’t. You were featuring in it around the same time for all the wrong reasons.’
‘Leave him alone,’ said Rose.
‘A witch for God’s sake!’
‘Rodney…’
‘Alright. I’ll let up on him if he takes a look at this one.’
Ben picked up his coffee mug and took another sip. He remained silent.
‘You’ve been highly recommended to this new and very valuable client,’ said Rodney.
‘By who?’
‘Milba Berry. She’s friends with Sophia’s assistant.’
Ben nodded.
Rose moved her teacup to the fine china saucer. She looked at her husband. ‘Who else do you employ who could get a personal recommendation from someone like Milba Berry?’
Rodney concentrated on his coffee mug and didn’t reply.
‘Who else could rope in a client like Brenda Grant?’
‘Alright, I agree that he has this rather spooky way of drawing in some very high flying female clients,’ said Rodney.
‘I’ll do this one for double the hourly rate,’ said Ben.
Rodney sat bolt upright on the lounge. ‘Double?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’ll get less than you.’
‘I work harder than you. I take all the risks.’
Rodney looked at Rose. ‘He’s going to rip me off!’
‘I don’t think so,’ she said.
‘You always take his side. It’s not fair.’
Ben finished his coffee and placed the mug back on the coffee table. ‘If you give me all the other little details surrounding this job, we’ll go 50/50. If you just want me out there just to bounce some prowler, we go 70/30 in my favour.’
‘I’ll be damned,’ said Rodney.
‘What am I walking into?’ asked Ben.
‘The prowler may have nothing whatsoever to do with the murder of her husband.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’
Rose gathered up the coffee mugs and placed her own tea cup and saucer on the tray and left the room. ‘Dinner in 20 minutes,’ she called as she left the room.
‘Do we talk?’ asked Ben.
Rodney picked up his notebook and flicked through the pages. ‘I’ve pulled in favours and information from everywhere. I’m clutching at shadows and rumours and speculation.’
‘I work with those things all the time,’ said Ben.
‘Sophia Hunter may have the key to all the unanswered questions but she’s keeping her mouth shut.’
‘What unanswered questions?’
‘It may be all about an ancient necklace.’
Ben leaned forward on his chair. ‘I’m all ears.’
“****”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Harold Pickering stood just over 6 feet tall in his bare feet. He was Lebanese, in his early 30’s and built like a sumo wrestler. His hair was black and cropped short and his eyebrows were bushy. He always looked as if he was in need of a shave, notwithstanding the fact that he shaved regularly. His left ear stuck out further than his right due to some botched surgery following his involvement in a violent fight. The other bloke required more than ear surgery to get him back on his feet again.
Pickering looked out through the Sydney office window at the sparkling harbour with the Harbour Bridge in the background. ‘Nice view,’ he said.
‘You’re not here for the view from my office,’ said Nancy Fiumara.
‘You lawyers must make a packet,’ said Pickering.
‘We would make a lot more if people like you knew how to do your job properly,’ said Nancy rather sourly.
Pickering didn’t turn, although he felt like walking over and slapping her in the head. ‘I did the best I could. He wouldn’t talk and I usually make them talk.’
‘You killed him you stupid bastard!’
‘Be very careful Ms. Fiumara. You can’t afford to get on the wrong side of me.’
Nancy caught the edge to his voice and felt that perhaps she had overstepped the mark. She was silent for a while, smoothing out wrinkles in her grey business suit. ‘You must assume, as we do, that the wife is involved.’
‘I’ve been to her place. She has someone with her most of the time.’
‘Who?’
‘Some Aboriginal woman. Cute piece of work, but she may have seen me I think.’
‘Don’t they leave the house vacant during the day?’
‘Not in the last week they haven’t. I can’t just barge in there and start searching. The damn thing could be anywhere.’
‘He and his wife went to Tonga just before his untimely demise. He may have been trying to sell the necklace back to the King.’
Pickering shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘Risky. He could have sold it to any collector in Australia with less risk.’
‘And less profit,’ said Nancy. ‘Are you are certain he never said anything to you that would assist in recovering the item?’
‘I think he had a dicky heart, you know. He died too quickly.’
‘I think you killed him too quickly,’ said Nancy, folding her hands on the desk in front of her. ‘My client is extremely concerned that this may somehow end up in his lap.’
‘That is why your client has hired such an expensive lawyer,’ said Pickering.
‘And perhaps I should have hired a different person to get Mr. Hunter to talk.’
‘Dicky heart,’ said Pickering. ‘I’ve never let you down before.’
‘That’s true,’ said Nancy Fiumara, ‘other than now.’
Pickering remained silent.
‘Ultimately it would have been convenient for Hunter to die, but not until we had the necklace. It was important to get the necklace back to the person who Hunter stole it from. Once that had been accomplished, Hunter could have been severely punished for his wrongdoing.’
‘Like I said, I didn’t think he would die so quickly.’ Pickering turned around to face Fiumara. ‘I also don’t like having to go after the wife. I don’t think she knows anything. They lived separate lives.’
‘They travelled to Tonga together recently as we both know.’
‘They have business arrangements in Tonga. Clothing and shit stuff. I don’t think the necklace had anything to do with that trip.’
‘We’re not asking you to think,’ said Nancy rather forcefully. ‘Just make sure you get everything we need out of the wife and wear a mask or something. Don’t kill her.’
‘I know how to do my job,’ said Pickering.
‘My client has instructed me to withhold further payments until you at least find out something useful.’
‘You and your client should be careful as to how far you push your luck,’ said Pickering. He walked to the door and turned. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Have a look at this,’ said Detective Sergeant Hannam as he beckoned Sunia Stafford to his desk. ‘I’ve just managed to have a police inspector from Tonga police headquarters send me photographs of the necklace given to a king named Tupou IV by Queen Elizabeth. He pushed the laptop sideways so both could see the screen.
‘It’s not the same necklace,’ said Sunia.
‘It’s basically the same except for the addition this large white rock on the end of the main setting.’
‘Looks like a diamond. I’ve never seen anything like it before,’ said Sunia.
‘So the photographs we have of the necklace from Hunter’s computer show the necklace with the additional piece. It’s been added to the original necklace sometime after it was stolen.’
‘Does the inspector from Tonga have an explanation for this?’ asked Sunia.
‘I’m about to email him,’ said Hannam. ‘It’s after midnight in Tonga just now.’
‘Didn’t he make a comment when he emailed you the photographs?’
‘No,’ said Hannam. He stared at the photographs which they had found on Hunter’s lap top. ‘I think it’s time I made contact with a jewellery expert who may know what that beautiful white rock is.’
‘At least we’re all on the same page with the fact that Joseph Hunter had the necklace and was trying to negotiate its return to the King of Tonga.’
‘Joseph Hunter was a petty thief from the age of 15,’ said Hannam. ‘I’m betting he stole the necklace from someone, determined its identity and was either trying to sell it back to the original thief who had gone to the trouble of adding something to the necklace, or he was going to see if the King of Tonga would make a better offer for its return.’
‘I’ll run with that,’ said Sunia Stafford.
‘I have a feeling that Joseph Hunter didn’t try to determine why an additional stone had been set into the necklace.’
Sunia nodded. ‘The current Tongan monarch, King Tupou VI is an honourable man, unlike a few others before him. The current king will assist with all necessary inquiries.’
‘I expect he will rely on his police department to help us with these inquiries,’ said Hannam, although it has taken over a week for one of their Detective Inspectors to respond to my initial contact.’
‘There will be a reason for that,’ said Sunia.
‘I guess we’ll find out one way or another,’ said Hannam.
Ben looked at the photographs on Rodney’s laptop screen. ‘So you are showing me a necklace that was given to a King of Tonga about 20 years ago by Queen Elizabeth?’
‘It has taken me almost a week to obtain the photographs. I’m well ahead on the client fee at this stage. You’ve done stuff all,’ said Rodney.
Ben ignored the jibe. ‘You seemed to have determined that our potential client, Sophia Hunter…’
‘What do you mean “potential”? We’re taking the damn job.’
‘I may not,’ said Ben.
‘But you’ve seen photographs of this babe? You can’t walk away from her in her hour of need.’
‘Yes I can.’
‘You’ve seen the size of her…’
‘I like big knockers,’ said Ben. ‘You’ve got me. That doesn’t mean you can hook me into any job that comes along just because the client has big…’
‘She may be in grave danger. She’s vulnerable.’
Ben sat back. ‘I’m currently in a relationship.’
‘Bullshit!’
‘Brenda and I may be catching up in a few months.’
‘You call that a relationship?’ said Rodney. ‘This is bloody work for God’s sake!’
‘But you are luring me in with this client’s physical appearance.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Then why are we talking about her tits?’
‘Alright, forget her tits,’ said Rodney. ‘Someone killed her husband and this damn royal necklace is tied in. The current king of Tonga had this necklace stolen from his palace about 2 years ago. Our client’s now deceased husband was probably trying to broker a deal to sell the necklace back to the Tongan king and then he ends up dead with a plastic bag over his head in Duck Creek at Clyde.’
‘How did he die?’ asked Ben.
‘I’m working on that. Lots of tight lips there.’
Ben walked back to his lounge chair and sat down.
‘Sophia Hunter and her husband went to Fa Fa Island in Tonga a few weeks before he was murdered,’ said Rodney.
‘Why?’
‘Perhaps a holiday or business. I don’t know. You might be able to get that information from our client.’
‘Who is in charge of the Hunter murder?’
Detective Sergeant Fred Hannam. Parramatta Police Headquarters.
‘Special assignment?’
‘I’d say so,’ said Rodney. ‘He’s not with major crime.’
‘Who is he with?’
‘Perhaps you should ask him yourself.’
‘Dinner!’ called Rose.
‘You’ll take the job?’ asked Rodney.
‘I’ll let you know.’
‘You don’t have to sleep with her. She just needs help I think. That is what we do…right?’
Ben got to his feet. ‘There is a big difference between this job and others you have recently given me.’
‘How so?’
‘The other jobs were supposed to be safe and simple. Each one almost got me killed.’
‘And this one?’
Ben walked towards the dining room. ‘This one sounds dangerous from the outset.’
‘Perhaps not. I wouldn’t willingly send you into something that may be dangerous.’
‘Like hell you wouldn’t.’
Nancy Fiumara sat quietly as the old man paced in front of the huge unlit fireplace. She didn’t rush him. She knew it was best to let him speak rather than attempt to drag information out of him. The old man was probably in his early 70’s but he looked much older. His hair was white and cut fairly short. He wore dark rimmed glasses over a hook shaped nose. His skin was wrinkled and lined from years of not smiling or being particularly unhappy. He was around the same height as Nancy at 5 feet 7 inches tall. He wore a light grey suit which was now too big for his shrinking frame. The shoes were polished to a high military shine.
The house they were in was in the high class end of Mosman and many of the rooms in the two storey stone building, although mostly empty, commanded a spectacular view over Sydney Harbour. The lounge room Nancy was in was furnished with items that could have cost tens of thousands of dollars. Original oil paintings hung on every wall. She recognised a few of them. Marble sculptures stood on pedestals. Glass display cabinets against one wall contained jewellery, ornamental knives and a collection of very rare sea shells.
Closed Circuit TV cameras were festooned everywhere both inside and outside the house. The two cameras in the lounge room had been of concern to Nancy as issues discussed between her and her elderly client could have easily landed her in prison should the authorities get hold of video and voice evidence. At the same time such evidence could also have ruined the old man and he gave assurances that nothing was ever recorded during their occasional meetings. Nancy took him at his word and in fact she need not have worried. The old man was even more paranoid about having various discussions within his house not recorded in any way at all.
Eventually the old man stopped pacing and turned to face Nancy. ‘Obviously I am not happy about this state of affairs,’
‘Neither am I,’ said Nancy. ‘He was to obtain information as to the whereabouts of the necklace, take possession of it and then dispose of Joseph Hunter.’
‘And does he still insist that he wasn’t heavy handed. I understand he tortured him in some barbaric way for God’s sake! What was he thinking?’
‘He also injected a truth drug,’ said Nancy. ‘I’m betting that killed him rather than a few burns.’
The old man began to pace again. Nancy watched him carefully. ‘You didn’t summons me here to go over the death of Joseph Hunter again, did you?’
‘No.’
‘Something is troubling you Isaac.’
Isaac Ford leaned against the mantelpiece over the fireplace. He closed his eyes for a moment and slowly shook his head. ‘I’ve lived too long to have become embroiled in something as dangerous as this.’
‘It’s just a necklace. You’re surrounded by wealth. ‘It’s just a collector’s item loss,’ said Nancy.
The old man straightened and turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry to have to admit that I haven’t been entirely truthful with you my dear.’
Nancy’s body stiffened slightly. ‘You lied to me about the necklace?’
Ford nodded.
‘We promis
ed to be straight with each other,’ said Nancy. ‘The only way our kind of business dealings would work meant total honesty.’
‘I realise that and I’m very sorry. My personal situation has now become extremely compromised.’
‘Perhaps you should fill me in on the parts I’m obviously missing,’ said Nancy. Her face showed concern but it was not for the old man in front of her but rather what might happen to her if she had allowed herself to become involved in something that she may have rejected if she had been aware of the full situation.
‘The Tongan royal necklace was mine,’ he said.
‘No it wasn’t,’ said Nancy firmly. ‘You arranged to have it stolen from the Tongan Royal Palace and recently Joseph Hunter managed to steal it from you.’
‘I wish I had never laid eyes on the man,’ said Ford as he slumped into a thickly padded leather lounge chair. ‘He tricked his way into my house and my life. He was a fraudster and a charlatan.’ He glanced quickly at Nancy. ‘Don’t you dare say it!’
‘What, that it takes one to know one?’
‘Yes, that.’
‘He blackmailed me,’ said Ford.
‘You never told me that. You said that he offered to sell the necklace back to you but you couldn’t afford his asking price.’
‘He threatened to report me to the police for arranging to have the necklace stolen. He recorded our conversations with one of those sneaky video pen things. I’d made certain admissions which would have been quite damaging.’
‘What did you pay him?’
‘Twenty thousand dollars.’
‘What did he intend to do with the necklace?’
‘My source in Tonga discovered that Hunter had started negotiations to sell the necklace back to the King.’
‘Double dipping,’ said Nancy.
‘I suspect the King may have arranged for his police commander to set up a sting, although it was of concern that everyone seemed to delay further negotiations. I had a fair idea why but I don’t think Hunter did.’
‘Kings of Tonga would be reluctant to deal with a criminal like Hunter,’ said Nancy, ‘unless they placed extreme value on the necklace.’
