Cyanide Games: A Peter Tanner Thriller

by Richard Beasley

  He smiled. ‘Haven’t you just been telling me that’s what these cases are all about?’

  16

  The next night, Tanner took his son to dinner at an Italian restaurant just out of the city that they’d been going to since Dan was a small child. He’d been working late for the last fortnight, away in China for a week before that. He wanted some time with his son away from the distractions of the house and TV.

  It had been six years, but when they were taken to their table for two it still felt like there was an empty place where Karen should be. She’d died when Dan was in kindergarten; he was now weeks away from finishing primary school. Those years had swept by him. When the pain stopped, Tanner didn’t feel connected to the world. Part of him had become uncoupled, and watched the remainder go through the motions of life. He wasn’t sure if he was heading away from the catastrophe, or still caught within it. Life only seemed real when he talked to his son. The rest felt like a kind of dream. And on fleeting moments, he wondered if this was how he coped with the job of defending the guilty. Perhaps not just the guilty. Those who were both guilty and depraved. Was it by making his life a play, part of him standing outside it, that allowed him to be the spokesman for evil?

  This was the excuse now. He no longer remembered what he’d told himself before Karen had died.

  ‘Mrs Bussell spoke to me,’ Tanner said after they’d ordered drinks. ‘She rang me at work.’

  Dan nodded, but said nothing.

  ‘Do you know her daughter? Is it Kate?’

  ‘She’s in my class.’

  ‘She said Kate might give us a call. She might ask you to a movie.’

  The boy looked shocked at first, then hid whatever it was he was feeling. ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘It’d be mean to say no, don’t you think?’

  Dan looked at him blankly.

  ‘You should be pleased there’s a girl who likes you.’

  ‘She doesn’t like me.’

  Tanner smiled. ‘Is she nice?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you like the – do you think she looks okay?’

  ‘Normal.’

  ‘You’re going to want a girlfriend soon. Trust me.’

  ‘When are you going to get one?’

  The question had become more frequent. The first time Dan had asked was about three years earlier. This year he’d asked more than once.

  ‘You know how busy I am.’

  ‘Last time you told me all the women you liked are in prison.’

  ‘You thought I was joking?’

  ‘You said they had to be innocent, but in prison.’

  ‘That’s a limited market.’

  The waitress came to take their food orders. Dan looked at his father. ‘Can we have the bistecca?’

  Tanner paused for a moment. ‘It’s a kilo of steak.’

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘Will it be enough, then?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Medium-rare okay?’

  ‘You say there’s no other way.’

  When the waitress left, Tanner leant forwards in his seat and spoke conspiratorially to the boy. ‘If I was younger, and I was looking for a girlfriend, I’d like our waitress.’

  Dan turned and looked quickly at the woman, who was now talking at the next table.

  ‘Why don’t you ask her to a movie, Dad?’

  ‘She looks twenty.’

  ‘Too young?’

  ‘If I was mid-sixties, she’d be perfect.’

  ‘Are you talking garbage again?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in twenty-five years.’

  Over gelati, the boy quizzed him about whether anything more had happened with Joe Cheung.

  ‘I’m trying to find some things out,’ Tanner said.

  ‘He’s still not telling you much?’

  Tanner shrugged. ‘It’s hard for him to tell me anything when I’m here.’

  ‘You think you can get him off?’

  ‘His Chinese lawyer will have to do that.’

  ‘Will they?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘You told me he’s not guilty.’

  ‘He isn’t.’

  ‘Why not, then?’

  ‘It’s a different system to ours. Apparently his lawyer gets sent to jail too if he pleads not guilty and loses.’

  Dan looked up from his gelato, a puzzled expression on his face. ‘I don’t get that.’

  ‘The Chinese have a well-developed sense of humour when it comes to criminal defence lawyers. Or maybe it’s a more developed sense of justice.’

  ‘I don’t get that either.’

  Tanner looked at his watch. ‘Finish up,’ he said. ‘I’ve got work to do after you’re in bed.’

  ‘Murder?’

  Tanner picked up his coffee cup. ‘Yeah.’

  • • •

  Tanner first heard about Elena Mancini’s death while in China, checking the front-page news back home on his iPad.

  What most attracted his attention was where the victim had been found – on the estate of Hendrik Richter, the founder of mining giant Citadel Resources. Richter’s son John lived where the girl had been killed, but another man had been arrested and charged – Justin Matheson, an investment banker from Stott Ackerman.

  Ten days after Tanner’s flight from Shanghai had touched down at Sydney Airport, his clerk gave him a message to call Charles Porter of Sharrop & Prentice regarding Justin Matheson. Sharrop & Prentice were one of the country’s top-tier law firms, and he’d acted for one of their clients the previous year, a company director who’d had a lucky escape on an insider trading charge. Tanner guessed that, as the Mathesons had money, they’d gone to the big end of town, bypassing the more boutique-sized criminal firms. It would be a no-expense-spared defence. Tanner and a few of his colleagues at the criminal bar called them ‘no budget’ matters.

  It was no great surprise that Porter had called him – Tanner guessed his name may have come up when Porter discussed who to use with his partners. There wasn’t a long list of defence counsel who got briefed in high-profile murder cases. For a wealthy defendant like Justin Matheson, five or six names at most would have been considered.

  ‘You may have heard you weren’t the Mathesons’ first choice,’ Porter said after a brief exchange of pleasantries when Tanner returned his call.

  ‘Was I second?’

  ‘Justin’s parents wanted Trevor Jennings.’

  ‘Justin’s parents? He’s the one in custody, isn’t he?’

  ‘They’re the ones who’ll be paying the legal fees.’

  ‘Your client’s the accused, not his mum and dad.’

  ‘They want to meet before we formally retain you.’

  ‘I don’t do beauty parades.’

  ‘You come highly recommended by –’

  ‘Justin was denied bail, wasn’t he? I read that in the paper. Who appeared for him then?’

  ‘Jennings.’

  ‘So he’s already been sacked?’

  ‘Bill and Judith didn’t –’

  ‘Relax, Charles,’ Tanner said. ‘That decision just increased Justin’s chances of acquittal. And don’t get me wrong, it’s a good idea to do some due diligence on who to use as counsel. Contact Silverwater and make a date for us to go and see the client. Then put together all the material you’ve got so far, and get it to me today.’

  ‘First we’d like to –’

  ‘Once you’ve done that, then I’ll do your screen test.’

  • • •

  Tanner was introduced to William and Judith Matheson in a Sharrop & Prentice conference room. Judith was perhaps sixty, painfully thin, still beautiful, and impeccably groomed, though the carefully applied make-up couldn’t conceal the ravaged look of someone who hadn’t slept in weeks. Dr William Matheson looked just as Tanner expected of a Macquarie Street obstetrician: old-school hair product holding perfectly combed greying locks; a golf club tie with a Windsor knot. The suit had to be ten y
ears old, and didn’t fit properly. It was either off the rack, or more likely from an overrated hustler from Hong Kong, who’d been supplying Dr Matheson and his colleagues with suits that didn’t quite fit for thirty years.

  Tanner sat on the far side of the conference table, his back to the windows, leaving the harbour view to the Mathesons – they were the ones paying for it. When Porter sat down, he was with another lawyer. He introduced him to Tanner, who failed to catch the name. He wore a sharp suit, a two-hundred-dollar haircut, and a look of supreme self-confidence.

  Porter started the meeting by telling Tanner what arrangements had been made to meet with Matheson at the Silverwater Correctional Facility the following morning.

  ‘Who’s going to be my junior counsel?’ Tanner asked, looking at Porter.

  ‘We thought – and Bill and Judith are comfortable with this – that Henry could fulfill that role, rather than –’

  ‘Who’s Henry?’

  There was a slight pause, then the lawyer next to Porter put up his hand.

  Not every lawyer should appear in court. Tanner felt that included half the independent bar. ‘No,’ he said.

  Porter shuffled in his seat, and his eyes moved quickly to Bill Matheson, then back to Tanner. ‘Peter –’

  ‘No.’

  Porter smiled tightly, and lifted both hands, palms towards Tanner, as if to politely tell him to shut up. ‘As I said, Peter, Bill and Judith are comfortable with –’

  ‘I’m not,’ Tanner said. ‘I don’t mean any disrespect to anyone, including to – I’m sorry . . .’

  ‘Henry.’

  ‘. . . but my assisting counsel will come from the criminal defence bar.’ Tanner then wrote three names in his notebook. He tore the sheet off, folded it, and handed it to Porter. ‘In order of preference,’ he said.

  Porter smiled a forced smile. ‘You don’t seem to be leaving scope for negotiation.’

  ‘I’m not. Let’s move on.’

  Porter nodded, and scribbled something on his pad. He then started to say something, but Bill Matheson cut him off.

  ‘Mr Tanner,’ Matheson began, ‘our son shouldn’t be in jail.’ He hesitated over his words, like a man who’d rehearsed a speech, but who’d suddenly forgotten, if not the notion behind it, then the means of putting it together. ‘He shouldn’t be there,’ he said forcefully. ‘This whole thing is . . . wrong. You must win this case.’

  Must? Tanner paused before he responded. This was a man torn up by anger and worry, but also by shame. Nothing remotely like this had ever happened to the Matheson family. He was probably still in shock, still expecting at some stage to be told his son’s arrest was some awful mistake. Bill Matheson also sounded like a man used to getting his own way. A man whose commands had been followed all of his adult life.

  ‘Dr Matheson,’ Tanner said, ‘I know you and your wife believe your son is innocent. If Justin tells me tomorrow he didn’t commit this crime, I’ll do everything I can to secure an acquittal.’

  ‘He should’ve been granted bail,’ Bill Matheson said.

  ‘I can’t change the law, Dr Matheson. Justin’s charged with murder. I’m sure you already know from his bail application that if you’re on a murder charge there’s no presumption in favour of bail. Just the reverse – you have to show cause why detention isn’t justified.’

  ‘Is innocence a reason for bail?’ Judith Matheson said, almost pleadingly. She ran her fingers nervously over a strand of white pearls that hung around her neck. ‘Our son couldn’t have done this. He wasn’t with that girl. John Richter was.’

  ‘I’ve read Justin’s statement, Mrs Matheson. And I’ve read the police interviews.’

  ‘We know he was drunk. We know he shouldn’t have been there. He – he could not have done this.’

  ‘The prosecutors are going to say that people do all kinds of things when they’ve had too much to drink.’

  ‘Justin would never –’

  ‘And just to finish that thought, I’m sure Charles has discussed with you that Justin has some options here. Intoxication isn’t a defence to manslaughter, but it is to a crime of specific intent like murder. If he – If he was to instruct us that maybe he was involved with how this girl died, then I could base a defence to the murder charge on how drunk he was. I think the prosecutor would probably take a pass on murder and accept a plea to manslaughter.’

  ‘He doesn’t need some technical defence, Mr Tanner,’ Bill Matheson said loudly, anger in his voice. ‘Justin didn’t hurt this girl. And John Richter got him drunk, and it was his cocaine too.’

  ‘That’s not what Richter says, and it’s not what the other woman . . . Klaudia . . .?’

  ‘Klaudia Dabrowska,’ Porter said.

  ‘. . . that’s not what she told the police. She’s told them she was with Richter.’

  ‘She’s –’ Bill Matheson’s voice was full of choking rage. ‘Do you know how much money the Richter family has? This girl was with Justin. He didn’t touch the other girl.’

  Tanner nodded slowly. ‘His DNA was found under her nails. We’re going to have to deal with that.’

  Matheson took his eyes off Tanner and glared at a spot on the conference table, like he was trying to burn a hole in it. The muscles on either side of his jaw tightened. ‘Justin did not do this . . . John Richter . . . these boys were at school together. He was a violent teenager. On the rugby field –’ For a moment, Dr Bill Matheson’s voice almost cracked. He straightened in his chair, and breathed out slowly.

  ‘Justin was at Richter’s house when this girl died,’ Tanner said. ‘He was drunk, and he’d taken cocaine. John Richter called the police, and the ambulance. The other girl says Justin was with Elena. She says Justin gave them the coke. The police found the same coke in Justin’s jacket. Justin’s DNA is on the dead girl. That’s why Justin didn’t get bail, and that’s why the case against him is strong.’

  Tanner paused to see if either of the Mathesons wanted to respond, but neither spoke. Judith looked on the verge of tears again.

  ‘I’m noticing Justin’s wife isn’t here,’ Tanner said. ‘I can imagine a few reasons she’s not pleased with him at the moment. Is she going to support him at trial?’

  ‘That’s a work in progress,’ Porter said. ‘Because of the cocaine, the police got a warrant to search Justin’s home. The children were there when they came. They’re five and two and a half, I think . . .’ He looked to Bill Matheson for confirmation, who nodded. ‘You can imagine the scene?’

  Tanner nodded. ‘I’d like to go and prepare more for meeting Justin tomorrow.’ He stood and looked at Porter, and pointed to the sheet of paper with the three names. ‘That’s the first call you make once I leave here.’

  ‘Mr Tanner,’ Judith Matheson said, still struggling to stay composed. He sat back down.

  ‘Call me Peter.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Peter. It’s – it’s very important to Bill and I that you believe our son is innocent. I’m sure – I’m sure you’re very good at what you do. Our son’s not a killer. We need to know that whoever is representing him believes that like we do.’

  Tanner tried to formulate the right words, ones that would not seem too distant or harsh. The truth was it didn’t matter what he thought. People have trouble understanding that. Even he did at first.

  ‘I wasn’t at the Richters’ house the night Elena died, Judith. If Justin tells me what he’s told you, I’ll defend him with every effort I have.’

  ‘But we –’

  ‘I’ll defend him to the best of my abilities, Judith. That’s the most I can offer.’

  17

  Hendrik Richter took off his sunglasses and put them on the dining table of his outdoor terrace. He placed his fingers gently on his eyelids and rubbed slowly.

  He’d been working hard for over forty years. Once he’d answered only to a few; now he had to worry about shareholders, investors, fund managers, joint-venture partners. The price of commodities was volatile. Coal in p
articular had headed south, and he now had the climate change industry ceaselessly yapping at his heels. Life had once been one new find, one new acquisition, after the other. But the world no longer sat still so he could gobble it up.

  He picked up his sunglasses with one hand, and pushed the bowl of his half-finished lunch away with the other. The cook had given him a quinoa and baby spinach salad with low-fat ricotta. It had been dressed with far too little oil. He wondered who set the menu. It was probably his board – they wanted him to live forever.

  ‘Apologies for the tasteless salad,’ he said.

  ‘That’s quite all right, Hendrik,’ Andre Visser said. He was busy punching out emails on his phone.

  ‘So, this other boy, Matheson,’ Richter then said. ‘He’s going to blame John? Based on what was said at his bail hearing?’

  ‘Hardly unexpected,’ Visser said.

  ‘How concerned should we be?’ Richter asked. ‘Beyond the obvious?’

  ‘None of it enhances John’s reputation,’ Visser said softly, putting his phone into the pocket of his jacket, and turning his gaze onto the still waters of the pool below the terrace. ‘Measures are in place, though.’

  ‘The girl’s gone?’

  Visser nodded.

  Richter slowly cleaned the lenses of his sunglasses with his napkin, then put them back on. He picked up his glass, drank the final sip, and then looked at Visser. ‘You obviously suggested this meeting for a reason, Andre?’ he said.

  Visser took a piece of paper out of the inside pocket of his jacket and slowly unfolded it. He handed it to Richter. ‘We’ve drafted this.’

  Richter took off his glasses and examined the document. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A press release. Regarding what was implied in the bail hearing. Just refuting the idea that John might have had anything to do with this girl’s death.’

  Richter looked up from the paper. ‘She was found dead in his lounge room,’ he said softly, almost to himself.

  ‘It reminds people who called the police and the ambulance,’ Visser said. ‘And whose skin was found under the girl’s nails.’