John Richter moved his eyes from Fehrmann to the weapon. ‘Why do you have that?’
Fehrmann glared at him for a full five seconds. ‘To shoot you.’
‘What?’
‘Your father told me to shoot you.’
Richter narrowed his eyes and bit his lip. ‘I rang you, Stefan. I didn’t want to involve my –’
‘He told me to shoot you the moment you fail to cooperate.’ Fehrmann’s voice was deep and precise.
‘If you’ve spoken to –’
‘Shut up.’ He paused, making sure he was not going to be interrupted. ‘Where have you been before here?’
‘I went out with friends.’
‘Answer the question. Where have you been before here?’
‘Four of us went to a restaurant. At Olympus.’
‘Which one?’
‘Andiamo.’
‘Who saw you?’
‘What do you mean? The restaurant was –’
‘Did you see or speak to anyone you know?’
‘Um . . . not customers. The staff. I know the waiter, the front of house.’
‘How did you get there?’
‘Mario took me.’
‘What time did you get to the restaurant?’
‘About nine.’
‘What time did you leave?’
‘About eleven thirty?’
‘How much did you drink there?’
‘I don’t fucking know.’
‘How much?’
‘A few beers. Maybe three bottles of wine between the four of us.’
‘Did you all drink the same?’
‘I wasn’t measuring, Stefan.’
Ferhmann picked up the gun, and ran his fingers down the barrel, felt its weight in his left hand. ‘Did you all drink the same?’
Richter rolled his eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘And after the restaurant?’
‘Justin – the guy who’s still here – he and I went upstairs to the club.’
‘Was anyone there that you knew?’
‘A couple of hostesses. People may have recognised me. It was quite busy.’
‘Who recognised you?’
‘I don’t know. No one I know.’
‘What time did you leave?’
Richter breathed out, tried to calm himself. ‘Around three thirty.’
‘Were people there when you left?’
‘Just a few, and some of the staff.’
‘And you left with the girl out there?’
Richter nodded.
‘And Justin and . . . ?’
‘Klaudia,’ he said. ‘Her name’s Klaudia.’
‘She’s with Justin now?’
Richter nodded again.
‘And Mario drove you here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where did he pick you up from?’
‘Out the front.’
‘Had you met . . . the girl lying here. Had you met her before?’
‘No. She hasn’t been at the club long.’
‘What about the other girl . . . Klaudia?’
‘A few times.’
‘What was happening at the club with these girls?’
‘What do you mean “what was happening”? They served us drinks all night.’
‘Use your fucking imagination, John. Were you fooling around with them at the club?’
‘A little,’ he said. ‘Especially Klaudia and Justin.’
Ferhmann nodded. ‘What happened here?’
‘I told you,’ Richter said, his voice urgent. ‘I only meant to grab her bag.’
‘What happened when you got here before you took her bag from her, John?’
‘We had a few drinks.’
‘How many is a few?’
Richter shook his head like an annoyed child. ‘A few bottles of champagne.’
Ferhmann glared at Richter. He imagined shooting him. He wanted to see the surprised look in his eyes as the bullet went between them and blew a hole out the back of his head. But then he’d have another mess to clean up.
‘You buried your young wife three days ago,’ he said, ‘and tonight you’re drinking champagne?’
‘I –’ Richter started to say something, then stopped.
‘How much coke did you have?’
‘A few lines.’
‘And the others?’
‘Justin barely sampled it. Klaudia did a line. More like half. The other one less.’ The final words were almost a whisper.
‘What happened after that?’
‘Justin and Kaudia went off together. They were pretty wasted. He’s smashed.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘An hour maybe. A bit longer now.’
‘Did you touch this other girl in any way,’ Fehrmann said, ‘other than “grabbing her bag”?’ He used his hands to put quotation marks around his words.
‘No. And I was only trying –’
‘Did she touch you?’
‘What do you – ?’
‘Was there any form of fight?’
‘No.’
‘Did she scratch you?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘How much coke is here?’
‘I’ve got most of a thirty-gram bag left out there. I’ve got another in my bedroom.’
Fehrmann stood up, and motioned for Richter to do the same. ‘Let’s go and get it.’
Richter stayed seated. ‘Don’t you want to hear what happened? To Elena? I was just –’
‘I already know.’
‘But I haven’t –’
‘She wanted to leave,’ Fehrmann said. ‘You wanted to fuck her. Now she’s dead.’
‘I only meant to grab her bag.’
Fehrmann shook his head. ‘Go and do what I told you to do,’ he said.
• • •
John Richter walked back into the lounge from his bedroom carrying a bag of cocaine, and gave it to Ferhmann. ‘What are you going to do with it?’
‘Go back to the study, and shut the door,’ Fehrmann said. ‘Don’t come out until I tell you to.’
Once Richter had gone, Fehrmann went to the kitchen. He put some of Richter’s cocaine in a glass, and mixed it with water. He took two syringes from his bag. One was full of just enough alcohol. The other he filled with what would be a lethal dose of coke. When he was done he returned to the lounge and the other men.
‘If he’s still out of it,’ he said, ‘it’s plan A.’ The men nodded. He pointed at the shorter man, who was shaped like a body builder, rocks shoved under the skin of his arms and shoulders. Christ only knew how many steroids he took. ‘You take the girl. Get her out to the car and keep her there. Don’t hurt her, but encourage her not to make noise. You follow?’ The man nodded.
Klaudia woke as she was lifted off the bed. The bodybuilder put a hand over her mouth when she started to thrash and tried to scream. She succumbed to his strength soon enough and he carried her out of the room.
Justin Matheson was wasted. Fehrmann went with plan A.
The needle went in the vein. Just a gentle push was necessary. Bypassing the work of the stomach and intestines, the alcohol would make him unrousable for a while yet, and still very drunk for hours.
Fehrmann and the second man carried Matheson out to the lounge room and laid his body next to Elena’s. Fehrmann picked up the dead girl’s hand and ran her long black nails across Matheson’s face and chest. His breathing changed slightly, but that was all. The other man went back to the bedroom for Matheson’s clothes. They put his briefs and trousers back on him, threw his jacket and shirt over a couch, and left his shoes and socks under the coffee table.
Fehrmann took the bag of coke he’d been given, and put it in another small plastic bag he’d brought with him. He took Matheson’s left hand and squeezed his fingers around the bag lightly. He repeated this a few times, then did the same with the right. Then he put the bag in one of the pockets of Matheson’
s jacket. While he was doing that, the second man returned carrying the sheets and pillowcases he’d stripped from the bed.
‘Take them to the car,’ Fehrmann said. ‘Make sure everything’s all right with the girl.’ When the man left, Fehrmann walked into Richter’s study.
He found him sitting behind the desk, staring at the ceiling.
‘You’ve got linen here?’ Fehrmann asked.
‘What?’
‘Do you have clean linen here?’
‘Why are you – ?’
‘I know it’s a long time since you made a bed, John, but as soon as we’re gone, put some clean sheets in that bedroom.’
‘Why?’
‘Just do it. Then wait another ten minutes, and ring an ambulance.’
‘An ambulance? But –’
‘You’re going to tell them there’s an injured girl here, and you don’t think she’s breathing. There’s a man lying in the same room, so drunk he can barely talk. If they ask whether drugs are involved, you’re going to say yes, and what kind.’
‘I will get –’
‘Ask for the police too.’
Richter shook his head violently. ‘No, Stefan, I’m not –’
‘When they arrive, you’re going to tell them what happened.’
‘What?’
‘You went to your club. You’re depressed. You had too much to drink.’
‘Stefan, I can’t –’
Fehrmann moved swiftly to the desk and grabbed Richter by the throat. He pushed his head back against the chair. ‘Listen to me. You came back here with your friend Justin and the two girls. Justin was very drunk. Are you following me, John? Please tell me you’re following?’
Richter clenched his jaw, but nodded as much as he could. Fehrmann released his grip, but put his face closer to that of his boss’s son.
‘If the police ask you whether you’ve taken any drugs last night, what are you going to say?’ He glared at Richter, who said nothing. Stefan Fehrmann hit the heir to the Citadel throne across the top of his head with an open palm as hard as anyone had ever dared. He grabbed him by the face, his thumb pressing on the right side of Richter’s jaw, his fingers on the left. ‘What are you going to say, John?’ Fehrmann said slowly.
‘Yes,’ Richter said, barely audibly.
‘And who gave you the cocaine?’
Richter looked at Fehrmann helplessly.
Fehrmann released his grip, straightened and smiled. ‘Why, Justin gave it to you, John, don’t you remember?’
Richter cautiously touched his jaw, and nodded. ‘I could get –’
‘You were very upset about the death of your wife. You made some errors of judgement tonight because of grief, and a great deal of alcohol.’
Richter sighed, then nodded.
‘After Justin brought out the coke, you went into your study with the girl who miraculously is still alive after coming here.’
‘With Klaudia?’
‘With Klaudia. You two went to your study to talk, and you left the dead girl and Justin out in your lounge room. Okay?’ He waited.
‘Okay,’ Richter said.
‘You took her back to her house, and Mario drove you both. Then when you got back, you found the other girl bleeding in your lounge room, and Justin paralytically drunk. You called the ambulance, you called the police, and you’re so sorry this has all happened.’
Richter glared at the ground for a moment, thinking. ‘Wait. Justin? Is he – ?’
‘Justin and Elena must have had some kind of argument. He wanted to fuck her, and she said no. Sound familiar? There was a terrible accident, Elena hit her head on your coffee table, and now she’s dead.’
Richter shook his head. ‘But – but Justin, he’s going to say –’
‘Who cares what Justin says?’
Richter stood and shook his head, smiling in frustration. ‘Justin is going to say he was with Klaudia. He’s going to say I was with Elena. How is that – ?’
‘He’s going to say that, John. But Klaudia isn’t. She’s going to say she was with you, and that you took her home. I’m going to have to make it worth her while to say that. I’m going to have to convince her that’s the only option she has. Do you know how much work that will take? Do you know how much it will cost?’
Richter ran his hand across his eyes and forehead, then through his hair. He stared at a spot on the ground. ‘Can’t – can’t Elena just . . . disappear?’
Fehrmann had to stifle a laugh. ‘Disappear?’
‘Yes,’ Richter said. ‘Disappear.’
Fehrmann walked up to Richter, who took a step back. Fehrmann placed his hands softly on his shoulders, though, and shook them gently. ‘Where did you go tonight, John?’ he said.
‘I told you.’
Fehrmann nodded, and frowned thoughtfully. ‘And how many CCTV cameras will have caught you with this missing girl? How many do you think are running at any one time inside and outside of – what’s it called? Pantheon?’
‘Could – ?’
‘What are you going to tell the police when they start investigating this girl’s disappearance? What about Justin? Does he disappear too? And Klaudia? Does that sound like a good plan?’
Richter shook his head and pushed Fehrmann’s arms away from him. ‘I’m stressed. I’m not thinking straight.’
‘Klaudia will say what we tell her to say. She does not disappear. You need her.’
Richter nodded. ‘So why’d she leave then? Why did Klaudia leave so soon. Before . . . you know . . .’
‘She wanted to go home, John. Or you can say you decided not to try to fuck her, if that makes you feel better. You’re such a good little boy. So cut up over your wife’s death. You took Klaudia home, then came back to a mess.’
‘I don’t want to say –’
‘After you’ve called the ambulance, you call your father. He’ll arrange a lawyer to get here for you.’
‘My father will –’ Richter said, but couldn’t complete the sentence.
Stefan Fehrmann laughed, a deep, real laugh, which stopped as sharply as it began. ‘John, if I was your father,’ he said, ‘I would be digging a grave for you next to that girl out there.’
13
The cab ride to Qingpu took just over an hour. The prison was surrounded by gardens, and Tanner thought he’d been taken to the wrong place at first.
Five days before, he’d been with Melissa when Michelle Barrett, the Consul General, had called. She’d just returned from visiting Cheung. They’d been expecting to see him in the detention centre, but the police rang Clarkson that morning and said he’d been moved to Qingpu. They didn’t know why – the prison was usually for people who’d already had their trials and been convicted, not for prisoners on remand.
Cheung was physically well, Barrett said, although his mood was subdued, which was understandable. Barrett said he understood what charges had been made against him, and what was in the indictment. He hadn’t wanted to discuss any of that with them.
Three days later, Melissa was granted an access visit. They’d let her stay for an hour. When Tanner met her in the hotel café after, he could see she’d been crying. He’d pressed her on what they’d talked about, but it seemed she was in shock, almost unable to speak.
‘He must have told you something, Melissa. Does he have any idea what’s happened?’
‘He told me he could only speak to his lawyer about it.’
‘You’re okay with that? You must have –’
‘I’m not okay with any of this!’ Her cry had brought a temporary hush across most of the café. Then she’d burst into tears. He’d tried to talk to her about it again that night at dinner, but she shook her head, and refused to say more about her visit.
He’d called the offices of the lawyer Yinshi Li after lunch with Melissa, and again the next morning. Both times he was told Mr Li would call him back, but no call had come. He’d given up on being able to see Joe, and their flight back to Sydney was booked for
the next day. Then the consulate called him, and said he’d be allowed a visit too. He was surprised, but hopeful.
In the main building a large number of prisoners, all dressed in blue, were seeing loved ones or friends. There was a drone of voices in the hall, and to his untrained ear it sounded to Tanner like a dozen or more arguments were breaking out. The smell was no different to the other prisons he had visited. Aggressive fumes from ammonia and chlorine, beyond which human waste lurked. For some reason, the smell made Tanner think of death. He wondered if this was his imagination. He’d been told as a young lawyer this was how prisons smelt. The sense of death though, that was completely real.
Tanner scanned the tables, and saw Cheung in a far corner. Cheung raised his hand in a gesture of hello when he saw Tanner approach. At the table next to Cheung, a prisoner was nursing a young child.
Joe Cheung shook Tanner’s hand, then gestured to the chair in front of him.
‘Unusual place for BBK to open a new office,’ Tanner said.
‘We’re always opening a new office somewhere,’ Cheung said. He smiled faintly. He had dark rings under his eyes.
Tanner looked around the large hall. ‘The fit-out’s not up to your Sydney office standards.’
‘Everyone’s worried about overheads these days.’
‘I’ve always wanted to come to China.’
‘What do you think?’
‘It’s a long drive to the Great Wall. The least you could have done was get arrested in Beijing.’
‘The Pudong skyline’s pretty spectacular, though, don’t you think? You’re at the Hyatt, right?’
Tanner nodded. ‘They must think I work at BBK. They keep asking me to fix up your bill from when you were last there.’
‘I left in a hurry.’
‘You’ve lost weight. How’s the food in this place?’
Cheung shrugged. ‘I’d kill for some Peking duck.’
‘I should have brought you some.’
‘Have you had it here?’
‘I’m guessing it’s better in Beijing.’
Cheung smiled. ‘Unless you know where to go, it’s actually better in Sydney.’
‘How are you doing, Joe?’
Cheung looked at the prisoner to his left, who was stroking the plump, rosy cheeks of his child. He turned back to Tanner and shook his head.
‘You’ve seen the lawyer?’ Tanner asked.
Cheung nodded.
Cyanide Games: A Peter Tanner Thriller Page 10
