Cyanide Games: A Peter Tanner Thriller

by Richard Beasley

  ‘By reputation.’

  He nodded, and took a small sip of wine. ‘You know who John Richter is, of course? Citadel?’

  ‘I know who he is.’

  Tanner turned his glass back and forth by the stem. ‘When did you last speak to Joe?’

  ‘He’s allowed to call home once a week.’

  ‘How are the kids coping?’

  She looked at the table for a few moments before speaking. ‘A boy at Tom’s school – they’re just children, I know – he told Tom his dad was in jail because he’d stolen something. I don’t –’

  ‘What are you telling him now?’

  ‘I’m saying it’s a mistake that people in China have made, and that his father will be home soon once that’s sorted out.’

  Tanner nodded. ‘When’s he next in court?’

  ‘April,’ she said. ‘The twenty-ninth, I think.’

  ‘And there’s been no change to his plan?’

  ‘No change.’

  ‘Is that date proposed for plea only, or sentencing as well?’

  ‘I think it’s to let the court know what Joe intends to do.’

  ‘That’s what Li told you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Has Li been served with all the prosecution evidence now?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I still don’t understand the decision.’

  She shook her head, and pushed her glass to the centre of the table. ‘You don’t get the difference between twenty years and ten?’

  ‘I understand the choice may become stark eventually. In the meantime, though, if Joe is innocent there’ll be a weakness –’

  ‘Joe says he’ll be convicted no matter what weaknesses there might be,’ she interrupted, her voice cracking slightly. ‘The only issue is how long he stays in prison.’

  ‘What was he doing there, Melissa? He must have told you now.’

  She shook her head, and looked down.

  Tanner sighed. ‘I’m not trying to upset you,’ he said. ‘How are you, anyway, financially, are you . . . ? I’m not trying to pry . . .’

  ‘BBK are still paying Joe’s partnership drawings.’

  ‘That’s going to change if he pleads guilty.’

  She nodded, but said nothing.

  ‘When I asked about your finances, I was really meaning what will they look like once his drawings stop?’

  ‘My salary won’t cover the mortgage, so . . .’ She shrugged, and picked up her glass again.

  ‘Joe’s parents?’

  ‘They don’t have that kind of money.’

  ‘Have you heard from BBK? Since you got the computer back?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Have Li or Joe told Dennis of his plans to plead?’

  ‘I think they know,’ she said.

  ‘When did you last speak with them?’

  ‘They’ve stopped calling me.’ Her eyes welled and tears ran down either side of her face. As they did, he heard a door open, and a series of footsteps. Oliver, the middle child, waking from his afternoon nap. He was unsteady on his feet when he appeared, his hair damp and plastered to one side of his forehead.

  ‘Have you been crying, Mummy?’ he said.

  ‘No, no,’ she said, standing to walk over and hug him, wiping her tears away. ‘Mummy’s got a cold.’

  ‘Did this man make you cry?’

  ‘No, sweetheart, he didn’t. You remember Peter, don’t you? He brought presents.’

  ‘For me?’

  ‘Yes, for you. Say thank you.’

  ‘Thank you. Can I open it?’

  ‘Sure,’ Tanner said.

  ‘Let’s wait until Christmas,’ Melissa said. ‘We’ll open all the presents on Christmas Day. That’s what we agreed. Remember?’

  The child nodded slightly, acknowledging the memory, not his agreement.

  Tanner kissed her goodbye. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’d better go.’

  She smiled. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Say hi to Joe for me when he calls next. And . . . tell him what I said about the evidence again. For what it’s worth.’

  She nodded. ‘Thanks for the presents.’

  • • •

  Tanner checked his emails as he waited for a cab outside the Cheungs’ home, and found one sent a few minutes before from his clerk.

  Please ring Sally Cook from Sally Cook & Associates Family Lawyers re private matter.

  He’d never heard of Sally Cook & Associates. When his cab arrived, he returned the call. By ‘private matter’ he thought either Sally Cook herself, or someone close to her, was in the kind of trouble that required help from a member of the criminal bar. The number he’d been given looked to be a switchboard number, but on the third ring the principal answered.

  ‘Sally Cook.’

  ‘Sally? It’s Peter Tanner. I have a message from my clerk to call you.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘That was quick.’ She sounded nervous; caught off-guard.

  ‘Is there something I can help you with?’

  ‘It might be the other way around,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

  ‘I’m sorry to sound so . . . vague. I’ve been tossing up calling you for a while.’

  ‘Do you have a client in trouble, Sally?’ he asked. ‘Or are you calling about something concerning yourself?’

  ‘I had a client in trouble.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You’re defending Justin Matheson? The man charged with that – that girl’s murder?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was a long pause, and Tanner thought the line had dropped out. ‘Sally?’

  ‘I’m guessing he’s no longer a friend of John Richter’s.’

  ‘I think the relationship is unlikely to survive the trial,’ Tanner said. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘This conversation has to remain strictly confidential.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. There was again silence. ‘What’s this about, Sally?’

  ‘It’s about John Richter’s late wife.’

  ‘You knew her?’

  Sally Cook sighed. ‘I’m a divorce lawyer, Peter.’

  ‘She was your client?’

  ‘She was.’

  ‘Do you know something that could help my client?’

  ‘Perhaps we should meet?’

  20

  Sally Cook was halfway through a glass of wine when he arrived.

  They’d arranged to meet at seven the following night at a wine bar in Surry Hills. It had a long communal table, and she was sitting at the far end, looking at her phone.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, when he sat down. ‘I had a client I couldn’t push out the door.’

  ‘I was about to leave.’ She was somewhere in her forties, attractive, and immaculately groomed.

  ‘I like your suit,’ he said. It was charcoal grey, with a deep purple stipe. Underneath the jacket, she had on a matching purple shirt.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe what I have to spend on my appearance now,’ she said.

  ‘You do high-end divorces, I take it?’

  ‘The only kind worth doing.’

  He smiled, and looked at her nearly empty wine glass. ‘Same again?’

  ‘I might try a red.’

  ‘Anything in particular?’

  ‘Something earthy, but not too heavy. They’ll know what to recommend.’

  When he returned from the crowded bar he was carrying two large glasses of a red wine with a brown tinge. ‘It’s nebbiolo from Piedmont,’ he said. ‘Tannins not too heavy. Pepper and savoury characteristics. I forget what else he said.’

  ‘Sounds perfect.’

  Sally sipped her drink, then ran a hand up to her face to catch a loose strand of hair, which she tucked behind her ear. ‘I was married to one of your colleagues,’ she said. ‘Tom Hunt?’

  Tanner shook his head. ‘I don’t know him.’

  ‘He’s at the commercial bar.’

  ‘Then I hope you took all his mo
ney.’

  She smiled. ‘The hardest part was keeping mine.’

  ‘Divorced long?’

  ‘Five years.’

  ‘You have kids?’

  She shook her head quickly, and looked down at her wine glass. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I was married.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She died.’

  She looked uncomfortable for a moment, and was about to say something, but he put up his hand in a calming gesture. ‘It was a while ago now,’ he said. ‘Some days it even feels like that.’

  ‘My divorce doesn’t.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  She took a long sip of wine and then smiled.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘Nikki Richter. And her husband, John.’

  She nodded. ‘We can’t be having this meeting.’

  ‘What meeting?’

  She picked up her phone and retrieved an email, opening the photo attachment. She handed it to Tanner. He saw the face of Nikki Richter. There was a red swelling above her left eye, bruising to the throat.

  ‘John Richter did this?’ he said softly.

  ‘She sent me several of these.’ She took the phone back, found what she wanted, then handed it to him again. Another photo, to similar effect. In the email itself, a message from her then client, describing an assault.

  ‘How much of this is there?’

  She picked up her wine and took a long sip. ‘She first instructed me over a year ago.’

  ‘About a divorce?’

  She nodded. ‘The pre-nup was the main thing she was worried about. On top of the way he treated her.’

  ‘No exclusions for violent conduct?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘She’d done seven years with him. She got nothing up to five. Between five to ten years she’d get a million per year – fifteen if there was a child.’

  ‘She felt ripped off?’

  ‘He was constantly unfaithful,’ she said. ‘That’s why she first saw me. I’d acted for one of her girlfriend’s mothers. At first we just organised surveillance. We filmed him leaving clubs with other women, checking into hotels with them, or going to some apartment he owned.’

  ‘The surveillance was for what? Blackmail?’

  She put her glass down firmly on the table. ‘For property settlement negotiations,’ she said, raising an eyebrow, speaking slowly and loudly, ‘not blackmail.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘There was no way around the pre-nup contractually. We were looking for another way. Nikki wanted to do better.’

  ‘Surely she didn’t want all the Citadel mines?’

  She shook her head. ‘She was angry. She told me he got her hooked on heroin. She was lonely. He cheated on her from almost day one of the marriage. She felt like he’d stolen seven years of her life. She thought she was owed.’

  ‘How far down the track were you when she died?’

  ‘I told Richter’s laywers we’d get an AVO if he came back to the apartment. We’d told them we were going to file divorce papers ahead of schedule.’

  ‘Ahead of schedule?’

  ‘Technically, they’d only been separated for six weeks. We were going to argue that in truth they’d been separated for years, that the marriage had become a pretence.’

  ‘These photos, Sally,’ Tanner said. ‘My client says he didn’t hurt the girl he’s alleged to have killed. He says it had to be John.’

  ‘Why do you think I’ve been agonising over contacting you?’

  A plate of antipasto he’d ordered with the wine was put in front of them.

  ‘Thank god,’ she said. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘I could really go after Richter with this at trial.’

  She took an olive pit out of her mouth, and put it in a small bowl. ‘It’s one of the reasons I decided to call you.’

  ‘One of them?’

  She picked up her glass and sighed, looking over to the bar, then back. ‘Her death,’ she said. ‘I don’t buy it.’

  ‘You don’t buy it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t tell me Richter killed her too?’

  ‘I don’t know much about heroin addicts,’ she said. ‘And she told me she’d been one. She was very together every time she spoke to me, though. Every conference we had, every phone call. I’m not saying she was a genius, but she wasn’t a stupid woman either. She had a plan; she had a goal in mind. She didn’t strike me as someone who was on heroin.’

  ‘They found a needle in her arm and heroin in the apartment, didn’t they? She had a track record.’

  Sally shook her head, and picked up another olive. ‘I’m giving you my gut feel, Peter. Of course I don’t know for sure.’

  ‘Can I have those photos?’

  ‘There’s a problem.’

  He looked at her, waiting for her to explain.

  ‘Privilege. It survives her death.’

  ‘Can I speak to – ?’

  ‘Let me finish telling you why I called first.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘She also said she had something up her sleeve with John.’

  ‘Beyond the photos and surveillance?’

  ‘She’d seen something,’ she said. ‘Something about his work.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She wouldn’t tell me.’

  ‘How do you know it was about his work?’

  She picked up a piece of frittata, bit into it, and lost half of it in her lap. ‘She said that much, but wouldn’t give me details. She wanted to see how far we could go with the surveillance and the threats to go public over the violence. It was a last resort for her. She said she’d tell me if she had to.’

  ‘Did she keep some kind of evidence about this?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘All of this, if you could –’

  She grabbed his arm gently and held it. ‘Peter, privilege.’

  ‘Can we speak to – it’s her estate isn’t it? They could waive privilege, couldn’t they?’

  Sally smiled, and nodded. ‘The executor could.’

  ‘She had a will?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So we could speak to the executor and ask him – is it a man? Is there more than one?’

  ‘Just one. It’s a man.’

  ‘Can you – it would be better at first if you spoke to them. They could then contact me.’

  ‘I could, but it won’t help.’

  He looked at her, then leant back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. Now it was his turn to swear. ‘John Richter is her executor.’ He ran his hand through his hair, picked up his glass, and finished his wine. ‘We made a mistake, Sally.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We should have ordered a bottle.’

  She stood and looked towards the wine list on the blackboard behind the bar. ‘Allow me.’

  21

  The decorations were wrapped in tissue paper and sealed inside a plastic storage box. The box had Christmas Decorations written on it in permanent black marker; he could remember watching Karen write the words. She had a singlet on, and shorts. The weather must have been hot.

  ‘Dad?’ Dan’s voice had an edge of frustration. ‘I said, I can’t reach any higher.’ He was standing next to the tree, which was about seven feet high, holding a green bauble.

  Tanner got up from the couch and took the decoration from his son. He held it up near one of the top branches. ‘Here?’

  The boy nodded. ‘You’ll have to do the rest.’

  Tanner looked inside the plastic box, now full of crinkled tissue paper. He fished around for what decorations were left, and hung them randomly near the top of the tree. When he finished, he sat on the couch next to Dan.

  ‘Is it okay?’

  The boy shrugged.

  Tanner looked at his father, who was also sitting on the couch, drinking a beer.

  ‘It’ll look better when it’s dark and the lights are on,’ Karl said.

  Tanner took in the tree. It didn’
t look the way Karen used to do it. Some lack of balance; shapes and colours in the wrong spots. ‘I guess it’s not my area of expertise,’ he said.

  ‘It’ll look better when the lights are on,’ Karl said again.

  Tanner walked over to the wall. He flicked the switch and a hundred or more fairy lights came on. The effect was underwhelming.

  ‘You have to wait until it’s dark, Peter,’ his father said.

  ‘I was checking if they were working.’

  Karl Tanner nodded, but said nothing further.

  • • •

  After dinner, Tanner let Dan stay up later than usual to watch television, while he sat with his father at the kitchen table. He was drinking red wine, but his father was still on light beer; Karl had found that he’d lost the taste for wine when he came out of jail. They hadn’t spoken much since Dan had left the table and, when they had, it had been safe topics: sports, politics, the decline of fairness in the country. They were on the same page.

  ‘Do you have a girlfriend yet?’ Karl said suddenly, sounding uninterested in the answer.

  Tanner looked at his father. The man was in his early seventies now. He looked it, and he didn’t. He had deep lines in his fair skin, and long and widely spaced white hairs on the top of his head. His face was thin, and his eyes still electric blue.

  ‘You have someone in mind for me?’

  Karl wrapped his fingers around his beer bottle, and brought it to his mouth. He put the bottle down and looked at his son. ‘No.’

  ‘Let me know when you do.’

  ‘What happened with the lawyer? She was a prosecutor, I think you said.’

  Tanner swirled his wine. ‘Not compatible.’

  His father ran a hand over his mouth. ‘What is it?’

  ‘What’s what?’

  ‘It’s more than five years.’

  ‘There’s a statute of limitation?’

  Karl Tanner shook his head. ‘That’s a silly thing to say.’

  For a moment Tanner bristled. The man who’d got himself sent to jail for seven years – seven years when he was still needed as a father – was lecturing him on ‘silly’. He took a deep breath to let the feeling subside. ‘There’s always Maria,’ he said, trying to lighten the mood.

  Karl looked at him, a grim stare, unamused.

  Tanner leant back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. ‘She’s still here,’ he said softly.

  ‘What?’