Cyanide Games: A Peter Tanner Thriller

by Richard Beasley

  ‘Do you need money, Peter? A loan of some kind?’

  ‘Not before you ordered the Burgundy.’

  Alvares stared back, expressionless.

  ‘No, Alejandro. I don’t need a loan.’

  ‘Perhaps we should order food now,’ Alvares said. ‘Then you can tell me why you’re treating me to such a fine meal.’

  After the waiter took their orders, Tanner tried the wine. ‘You were right,’ he said. ‘A wine that’s hard to forget.’

  ‘Tell me what you want.’

  Tanner took another sip of the wine. ‘I know a man,’ he began. ‘He’s a man who regularly purchases amounts of – let’s call it a luxury consumer good. Amounts large enough for him to on-sell to friends and colleagues, and to turn a profit on those trades.’ Tanner waited for Alvares to acknowledge what he said, but he simply stared back at him. ‘I’m wondering whether it would be possible to find out where this man was sourcing his product from?’

  Alvares sat back in his seat. Any hint of humour drained from his eyes. ‘This is not a conversation we should be having.’

  ‘I know you’re a mere property developer, Alejandro. Could you find out anyway?’

  ‘Perhaps you’d be more comfortable having this conversation with one of my staff?’

  ‘I’m comfortable having it with you. I’m your lawyer. We can discuss anything in confidence. Could you find out?’

  Alvares looked at Tanner for what seemed a long time, before letting his eyes drop to his glass, which he picked up and sipped. ‘It depends,’ he said, putting the glass down.

  ‘On what?’

  ‘It would depend first on why I am doing this, Peter.’

  ‘You’d be doing it because I’m asking you to.’

  ‘Then why are you asking?’

  ‘I want someone else to supply this man with what he needs. Perhaps offer him a better price, for better quality.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To find out where and when he likes to take delivery.’

  ‘And why do you want to know that?’

  Tanner leant back in his chair as bread was delivered, and was silent until the waiter had left. His eyes never left Alvares. ‘Because I want him to do the extra four years that Tomas should be doing.’

  Alvares poured olive oil on his side plate and tasted the bread. ‘That doesn’t sound good for business.’

  ‘Whose business?’

  ‘Anyone’s.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to harm you,’ Tanner said. ‘It might harm your competitors.’

  Alvares chewed more bread slowly, then sipped some wine. ‘I’m not at war with anyone,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t want you to start one. I’m after one man only.’

  ‘Why do you want this done?’

  ‘I told you. Four years.’

  Alvares smiled faintly. ‘Why?’

  ‘This man helped put a friend of mine in prison,’ Tanner said.

  ‘Over a product?’

  Tanner shook his head. ‘Something else.’

  ‘Business shouldn’t be mixed with revenge.’

  ‘This isn’t revenge, Alejandro. I’m looking for leverage.’

  Alvares raised his eyebrows. ‘Even so.’ He sipped his wine, then dabbed at his mouth with his napkin.

  ‘Can you do this for me? I don’t expect you to risk anything. Just use the right man. Someone who knows how to stay anonymous.’

  Alvares smiled. ‘What is the timing on this, Peter?’

  ‘Not immediate,’ Tanner said. ‘It may take a trial run to develop trust. It has to be arranged to take place at a precise day and time. I’ll give you those details.’

  ‘You know,’ Alvares said, ‘this is a much bigger favour than we expected.’

  Tanner glared at him. ‘Your family owes me,’ he said. ‘This is what I want done.’

  35

  QF1 landed at Heathrow not long after seven am, but customs and London traffic meant Tanner and Lisa didn’t arrive at their Soho hotel until nearly ten. It hadn’t taken long to find Gabriella Campbell – she was using the surname Lucarelli, the same name as the relatives she was staying with, and was living in a town in a region Tanner had suggested be searched. A few days after he’d asked his clerk to make airline bookings for him, Tanner got an email from Paul Matthews stating that they’d found Klaudia Dabrowska. Tanner modified his travel plans, and would make a final call on whether to attempt to talk to her after he’d met with Matthews that afternoon.

  ‘You don’t want me to come?’ Lisa asked.

  ‘Today’s only about Matheson,’ he said. ‘Go be a tourist. You can do the whole town on one of those red buses.’

  ‘I’m not that kind of tourist,’ she said.

  • • •

  When Tanner walked out of the entrance to the Charlotte Street hotel, the morning grey had cleared to only a few billowy clouds, and the sun felt warm. He took his jacket off and carried it over his shoulder. He found his way to Mortimer Street and headed west until he found the building he was after.

  The façade was Edwardian baroque, but when he exited the lift on the third floor, he found the space had been newly fitted out, and the reception was what he’d have expected from a boutique law practice. The young woman at the front desk was on the phone when he walked in, but smiled as he approached, and held up a finger that he assumed meant that she’d be precisely one minute. Her nails were long by any standard of decency he was aware of, and bright cherry red.

  Her estimate proved correct. ‘Can I help you?’ she said.

  ‘My name’s Tanner,’ he said. ‘I have an appointment with Mr Matthews.’

  She asked him to take a seat, before calling to announce his arrival. As he was reaching for an IIS brochure that lay on the coffee table, a tall, thin man appeared in front of him, smiling faintly.

  ‘Peter,’ the man said in a slow, restrained voice. ‘Paul Matthews. Welcome.’

  Tanner stood, took the outstretched hand, received a firm grip in exchange.

  ‘How was your flight?’

  ‘Long.’

  ‘Any sleep?’

  ‘Some on the first leg.’

  Matthews gave a knowing nod. His voice was deep and echoed with authority, and his posture was ramrod straight. He was a year or two past forty, six foot four give or take a half-inch, with short black hair that was just starting to mix with some grey. He had by the barest margin enough of a chin to prevent undermining the impression of strength. He looked somewhere between a city lawyer who excelled in rugged outdoor pursuits and someone more dangerous than that.

  He took Tanner into a conference room. In the middle of the table was a large computer screen and keyboard. In front of the chairs that faced the screen where two frosted glasses of water, and a yellow legal pad with a pen on it, clearly for Tanner’s use.

  ‘Can we get you a tea or coffee?’ Matthews asked, motioning for Tanner to sit.

  ‘Coffee,’ Tanner said.

  ‘We’ve got a new machine. Cappuccino?’

  ‘Long black, thanks.’

  Matthews walked to the corner of the room, picked up the phone that rested on a small table, and ordered coffee.

  ‘You came through Singapore?’ Matthews said as he sat.

  ‘Dubai. I came with a colleague.’

  ‘He’s not coming?’

  ‘She’s here to talk to Gabriella Campbell. If she’s willing.’

  ‘You don’t think she will be?’

  Tanner shrugged. ‘She’s travelled a long way not to talk to anyone.’

  ‘You’ve tried previously?’

  ‘Through a friend of hers.’

  ‘And Campbell has nothing to do concerning the trial that involves Miss Dabrowska?’

  ‘Not directly.’

  Matthews gave a smile that could be mistaken for a grimace. ‘Does that mean indirectly?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘You can’t tell me?’

  ‘I probably could. I just don’t kn
ow.’

  Matthews nodded, then turned on the computer.

  ‘Are you ex-military or ex-police?’ Tanner said.

  Matthews raised an eyebrow. ‘There’s quite a difference,’ he said. ‘I was in the Royal Marines.’

  ‘Where were you posted?’

  Matthews paused. ‘Parts of the Persian Empire.’

  Tanner smiled. ‘What did you do in – Persia?’

  ‘I killed the enemy.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Anyone not on our side.’

  ‘What was your rank?’

  ‘Lieutenant colonel.’

  ‘That’s a high rank for someone so young, isn’t it?’

  ‘I might be older than I look.’

  Tanner nodded. ‘Why did you leave?’

  ‘You’re familiar with the rates of pay for the British Armed Forces, are you, Peter?’

  Tanner smiled and shook his head.

  ‘I’ve young children. My wife was sick of my absences, particularly considering the destinations.’ There was a pause. ‘Why are you asking me these questions?’

  ‘I ask questions for a living.’

  ‘Always such rapid fire?’

  ‘You’ve obviously faced real fire many times,’ Tanner said. ‘You couldn’t bust a friend of mine out of a Shanghai prison, could you?’

  Matthews grimaced. ‘Beyond my skill set, I’m afraid.’

  There was a knock on the door, and Matthews stood to open it. The girl from reception walked in balancing two coffee cups and a plate of biscuits on a tray.

  ‘So,’ Tanner then said. ‘Klaudia Dabrowska?’

  ‘Yes,’ Matthews said, moving his hand towards the computer.

  There were a number of difficulties to overcome in locating Klaudia Dabrowska. None were more than minor hurdles on their own, but in combination they’d slowed down a positive confirmation.

  Her profile remained on the Jade Models London website, but she hadn’t worked since her return. ‘They said she’d quit the agency,’ Matthews said, ‘and they didn’t have any contact details.’

  They’d found her father’s old address from the electoral register, but she hadn’t returned to live at the family home, and her father had moved since retiring. They tried to find out if she had any appointments with Dr Simon Anthony, but came up blank. In the end they found her father through his church. He’d moved homes, but not the Catholic church he’d been attending for years. They assumed she visited him, and a few weeks ago, one of their contract investigators had filmed Mr Dabrowska going to church for mass on a Sunday evening with a young woman who looked like Klaudia.

  ‘She has a sister and brother,’ Matthews said. ‘The sisters are only two years apart. From further than ten yards, they could be twins. Same colouring, almost the same height and figure.’

  Matthews played a video. It showed all four members of the family standing on steps outside a church. They were wearing long coats, and it was raining. Each man opened an umbrella and took one of the sisters by the arm before walking down the steps and along the footpath.

  ‘This is just over two weeks ago,’ Matthew said. ‘As you can see, our weather pattern has changed considerably since then.’

  Tanner looked carefully at the screen. ‘Rewind it, will you?’

  Matthews did as he asked, and took the film back to the steps of the church.

  ‘She’s – which one is Klaudia?’

  ‘Let me show you more,’ Matthews said.

  The next scene was at a cemetery, filmed at a distance. The four stood in front of a grave. One of the girls had some flowers in her hand, and she placed them next to the headstone. The film had been edited, because it jumped forwards seven minutes, and the four were now walking off, umbrellas down as the rain had stopped, and a beam of sunlight lit up a section of the graveyard. Matthews paused the film.

  ‘Our man walked past the grave to get to his car,’ he said. ‘He looked at the headstones next to her. Part curiosity, part thoroughness, I guess. Klaudia’s mother was buried in the Polish section of the cemetery, and three people whose surname was “Novak” were buried next to her. He put that in his short report.’

  ‘And?’

  Matthews sat back in his chair and let out a deep breath. ‘When I read his report, I did some checks on the name Novak. It was just an off chance – I wondered if that had been Marina Dabrowska’s maiden name. Anyway – she’s been using her mother’s last name since she’s come back. Klaudia Novak.’

  ‘And you’ve found something under that name?’

  ‘Klaudia’s father – his name is Karol – has never owned property. We did a property search when you first retained us, and nothing came up. When we searched Novak just to check, we found a property in both their names.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We found a recent purchase of an apartment that is in the joint ownership of Klaudia Novak and Karol Dabrowska.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Curzon Street, not far from Hyde Park. Mayfair.’

  ‘That sounds expensive.’

  ‘Three beds, two bathrooms. The last sale in the building for an identical apartment two months ago was over six million pounds.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘He’s living there. We’ve filmed him coming in and out a number of times, and three days ago we filmed her visiting him.’

  Tanner picked up his glass of water and took two long sips. ‘How do a retired salesman and an unemployed model afford a six-million-quid apartment?’ he said softly, almost to himself.

  ‘Shall we watch the last piece of film?’

  He clicked the mouse again to start the video. The weather had changed. It was a sunny day, people were walking down a busy street, the pavement almost gleaming white in the sun. In the background, behind a group of pedestrians, Mr Dabrowska and one of his daughters came into view. It seemed as though the person filming was standing right in front of them, perhaps a hundred yards away, with the camera going in and out of focus until he had them in sharp outline. As they came closer, Tanner could see that father and daughter were arm in arm. He focused on Klaudia.

  ‘Paul?’ he said.

  ‘They’re going to a doctor’s rooms,’ Matthews said. ‘This is seventy-two hours ago.’

  Klaudia and her father turn slowly and walk up a flight of steps. Karol Dabrowska pushes a button, and a short moment later opens a door for his daughter, who steps inside the building first.

  ‘I have a feeling she’s not seeing anyone about an ear infection,’ Tanner said, turning from the screen to look at Matthews.

  ‘No,’ Matthews said. ‘She’s recovered from that, it would seem.’

  • • •

  The footpaths outside the pubs and restaurants were thick with the post-work crowd by the time Tanner left IIS.

  The buzz among the clusters of drinkers evoked a memory. He’d travelled to the UK with Karen before they were married. It was September, not long after she’d finished an exam during her specialist training. It was a sunny afternoon, and they were meeting an old friend of his who was now working in London. He had a photo at home somewhere of them at Piccadilly Circus. He was holding his jacket in the picture, and sharp light was reflected in his sunglasses.

  A separate memory of his friend then flickered – of a phone call after his father had been charged, just before he’d been forced to leave his school.

  ‘Are you okay?’ his friend had asked.

  ‘Dad says it’ll be fine. Some . . . mistake.’

  ‘Yeah, but are you okay?’

  His words had vanished from his memory like ashes in a breeze.

  • • •

  The hotel bar was full when he arrived back, and rumbling with voices. He looked for Lisa, and spotted the back of her head through the French doors that led out to some tables on a terrace on the footpath. She was halfway through a cocktail of some kind.

  ‘What are you drinking?’ he asked as he took the seat next to her.

&
nbsp; ‘A Bellini.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I like peaches.’

  ‘I’ve had one in Harry’s bar,’ he said.

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Venice.’

  ‘Should I be impressed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What took you to Venice?’

  ‘The Australian Bar Association,’ he said. ‘I gave a paper on white collar crime.’

  ‘Is white collar crime particularly rampant in Venice?’

  ‘It’s rampant everywhere,’ he said.

  ‘How did your meeting go?’

  ‘Informative,’ he said.

  ‘They found your witness?’

  ‘They did.’

  ‘You’re going to try to speak to her?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said.

  36

  The flight from Gatwick to Catania took two and a half hours. Forty minutes after they’d collected their bags, they arrived at their hotel in Taormina.

  The Grand Hotel Timeo had views of Mt Etna from its terraces, and Russian accents through its salons. It stood on the cliff at the end of the pedestrian area of the old town, high above the beaches, its back under the ruins of an ancient Greek theatre. Calabria could be seen across the water, the toenail of Italy perched faintly above the horizon.

  Lisa didn’t speak when the terrace doors of their room were opened, or even when the bellhop poured her a glass of prosecco from a bottle that had been waiting in an ice-bucket on the balcony. Nor when she sat and looked towards Etna, which was lightly covered in soft clouds at its peak, smoke wafting from its caldera.

  ‘My clients can’t pay for this,’ she said finally, when Tanner sat next to her.

  ‘They don’t have to.’

  ‘Very generous of you.’

  ‘Thank the Mathesons.’

  ‘What does Gaby Campbell have to do with Justin Matheson?’

  ‘Citadel.’

  ‘Do they know you’re here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Would they approve of paying for a hotel like this if they did?’

  ‘If Justin gets acquitted.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’

  ‘Then I’ll pay.’

  It was nearly seven, and the pool below them was beginning to empty. A man was sitting on the steps at one end, two small children wrapped around him. They looked like twin girls. They had long, white curls, and he held them like prizes. Another man waded nearby, and they had a loud discussion about the excessiveness of the minimum wage in France, that ended in raucous laughter.