by Jean Harrod
Slipping her mobile into her jacket pocket, she looked around the room to check she had everything. Her eyes softened as they came to rest on the photo of Jack and Amy on the bedside cabinet. Picking it up, she brushed her fingertips across the glass and tucked it into her cabin bag.
3
His face hardened as he touched the knife in its sheath. His heart was pumping so hard he could hear the sound of his own blood coursing around his body. Fear was primeval, it took total control of the whole body and mind; whereas panic was just a nervous collapse and a waste of energy. But it wasn’t fear or panic driving him that morning; he was incapable of feeling either emotion. It was pure exhilaration. The day he’d waited so long for had finally arrived.
He stopped to look up at the sky. Light was beginning to streak in from the west, breaking up the purple blackness of night. He listened. The crickets had ended their night chorus. There were no bats flapping around the trees either, which meant they were back at their daytime roosts at the creek.
Satisfied the hotel forecourt was empty of cars and buses, he slipped up to the front entrance and looked through the window into the lobby. Except for a lone receptionist, it was deserted. He took a step back and scanned the building’s white-washed façade and four floors of guestrooms. Was anyone watching? But the rooms were still in darkness; and their doors and windows shut tight. All he could hear was the hum of air conditioners vibrating in window frames.
He took another look over his shoulder and hurried on. For a tall man, he was light on his feet, a way of walking that came naturally. He’d been born robust; it was in his genes. And of course he kept himself supremely fit.
As he skirted around the side of the hotel, his eyes darted everywhere. The fresh morning air cooled his cheeks after the night rain. He sniffed the air, like an animal in its territory, and breathed in the scent of damp earth mingling with fallen eucalyptus leaves from the gum trees. The heady aroma energised him, making him feel alive. This was his time of day. Both the early morning and night were perfect for hunting. That was in his genes too.
He was just so ready.
From his vantage point, he studied the hotel grounds. Not a soul about except for one rookie cop posted down at the crime scene. He shook his head in disbelief. Where were forensics and the top guys? The swirling sound of the sea and the strong smell of brine told him the tide was coming in. He looked up at the sky again. There was still no crescent sun on the horizon, which meant he had a few minutes to take a closer look. Just to make sure.
Sidling into the bushes, he tracked his way under cover down to the jetty. Now, he was real close to the young cop, but the idiot was too busy having a quiet smoke to notice him.
He trained his night vision monocular on the corpse, running the scope over her whole body.
Look at the state of you. Well, you’ve only got yourself to blame, you know. You shouldn’t have told anyone. That was your mistake. And now you know why... the devil was by your side!
His fingers tightened around the knife as he drew it from the sheath. He took a few silent paces forward into the shadows of a palm tree, eyes burning as he watched the young cop throw his cigarette butt on the ground and stamp on it, completely unaware of the threat. The anticipation of the kill washed over him like a wave of excitement, the desire strong in the pit of his stomach. He so wanted to draw blood; to feel that joy again; that release. But he knew he wouldn’t do it, even though he could. He shrank back into the bushes. It wasn’t empathy or guilt that stopped him killing the cop; those emotions were beyond him too. It just wasn’t in the plan.
Making his way back up to the hotel, he slipped through the staff entrance at the rear of the building. No one about. He ran up the stairs to the next floor and paused outside the stairwell door to peer through the small window. No one in the corridor. He slipped on his gloves. Knowing he didn’t have to worry about CCTV in this hotel, or the police, yet, he pushed through the door and walked along the corridor to the room he wanted. Quickly, he inserted a key card into the lock. It clicked open and he stepped inside. The door swished closed softly behind him.
He looked around. Now, where is it?
He headed straight for the open suitcase on the luggage stand and carefully searched inside, confident no one would ever know he’d been there. While he worked, he was aware of every sound outside in the corridor, every creak of a door, every voice, every footfall.
Look at these soft, silk panties and stockings. Nice! You always thought you were somethin’ special, didn’t you? The truth is you were nothin’ but a slut.
He frowned and straightened up as he looked around the room. Walking over to the dressing-table, he pulled open the top drawer and looked inside.
You might as well give it up. You know I’m goin’ to find it, there’s no one round here capable of stoppin’ me. I’m so good, I’m invisible. Well I walked straight in here, didn’t I?
Didn’t I?
4
Hearing the 8am news start on the radio, Jess pressed down on the accelerator along State Circle and overtook a car caked in the red soil of the Outback. It was an unusual sight in the well-heeled streets of Canberra, or the ‘Bush Capital’ as it was often called because of its location in the heart of the wilderness. Turning off Commonwealth Avenue, she pulled up outside the steel gates of an ordinary three-storey office block in the Embassy quarter of town. She could see nothing over the high perimeter wall except the Union Jack flapping on the roof, to signal this was British territory. She smiled at the security guard and wound down her window.
“Hi, Sam, how are you this morning?”
“All the better for seeing you, Jess.” His beaming face looked red with cold as he looked up at the sky. “It’s goin’ to be a ripper today.” He pressed a silver button set into the wall and the gates rumbled open.
Driving in, the sparkling sun blinded her as it bounced off the British High Commission’s glass entrance. She had to pull down the sun visor to be able to see to reverse into her assigned space. On the radio, the newsreader was beginning a piece on the UK’s gloomy economic prospects. Jess switched off the engine and listened. It made her think of home, and of her last year in London. She didn’t want to remember, but how could she forget trying to forge a new life alone? She’d thrown herself into her job at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. But thoughts of Jack and Amy consumed every waking moment and her nightmares. I must stop thinking... She laid her head back on the seat rest and closed her eyes. Every nerve in her body was on edge this morning. And she knew why.
Tomorrow would have been Amy’s fifth birthday.
Her mobile rang in her pocket. “Hello?” she answered.
“Where are you, Jessicaah?”
Nigel’s voice grated on her. He’d already left two voice messages saying he wanted to see her urgently, and she was going as fast as she could. “I’m here. I had to pack a bag, and book...”
The phone went dead in her ear as he hung up. She let out an exasperated sigh. Nigel sounded really wound up, as she knew he would be with the Foreign Secretary arriving. If anything went wrong with the visit, he knew it would reflect badly on him. And that’s all he cared about. She grabbed her bags and got out of the car. Her foggy breath led the way as she hurried up the path, high heels slipping on the frosty stones. Reaching the side door, she punched the security code into the push button lock and let herself into the building. Dropping her bags on the desk in her ground floor office, she hung her coat on the back of the door, and rummaged in her bag for her diary. Then she ran up the stairs to Nigel’s office. But outside his door, hearing his loud voice, she stopped dead.
“Christ, Tony. I can’t believe it!”
She peered through the crack in the door, and saw Nigel sitting at his huge desk, on the phone. She wondered whether to wait or come back later. She had a lot to do before she left for Brisbane, but he had said he wanted to see her urgently. She hovered...
“You did what?” Nigel’s voice was hars
h. “But I gave you that in confidence.”
That made Jess’s ears prick up. As she moved closer to the door to hear better, her hand knocked against the wall and her diary clattered to the floor.
“Who’s out there?” Nigel shouted.
“It’s only me.” Jess picked up her diary and stepped into the doorway where Nigel could see her. “I can come back later if you’re busy.”
He shook his head, and beckoned her in. “There’s someone here,” he said into the phone. “Can you call me back in ten minutes?”
“Sorry.” Jess walked over to his desk and sat down on the chair opposite as he hung up. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Nigel’s dark-ringed eyes stared back at her.
“Everything all right?” she asked, concerned. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night, and his cheeks were drawn.
He nodded curtly, and started scrawling on a document on his desk with his beloved fountain pen, or his “diplomatic weapon” as Jess called it. Nigel would never use a ball-point, it might cheapen his words. He was the archetypal diplomat. Schooled privately, and armed with a BA from Oxford, he’d joined the FCO on the fast track to the top. Now, in his late 40s and with a number of high profile jobs under his belt, he was poised to take on an Ambassadorial post after Canberra, a status he craved. By contrast, Jess’s route to the FCO had been via the local comprehensive. She often wondered how Nigel would have coped with life on the estate she grew up on.
“There!” Peering over his gold-rimmed specs, he pushed a report across the desk. “I’ve made one or two amendments.”
Jess wasn’t surprised to see it was her annual consular report. Nigel always had to put his mark on everything. “Is that what you wanted to see me about?” she asked, looking at her watch.
“No.” He stood up, and turned to look out of the window. Tailored by Jermyn Street, Nigel looked every inch the old-school Mandarin. Over six feet tall, and portly after years of diplomatic dinners, he quite literally and metaphorically looked down on everyone. “Simon told me about the Brisbane murder,” he said. “I want to know what you’re doing about it.”
“I’m going to Brisbane... on the ten o’clock flight.”
His jaw dropped open. “What about the Foreign Secretary’s visit? You’re supposed to be escorting him around your Section and introducing him to your staff.”
“The Foreign Secretary won’t miss me. And Sharon’s more than capable of standing in. Anyway, I’m needed in Brisbane. I had a voicemail from the victim’s sister, pleading for my help.”
Nigel spun round.
Jess nodded. “I haven’t been able to talk to her yet. I tried to call her back, but for some reason she withheld her number.”
When Nigel frowned, the grooves in his forehead seemed even deeper. “What did she say exactly?”
Jess didn’t have to think: Susan’s words were imprinted on her brain. “My sister’s been murdered... I need your help.” She paused. “But there was something else.”
Nigel raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“She asked me not to ring back because she said it wasn’t safe. Those were her exact words. It wasn’t safe.” She paused. “Poor girl sounded desperate.”
Nigel turned back to look out of the window. Feet planted astride, he stood like a captain on the bridge of a ship. Except he wasn’t in charge; the High Commissioner was. Only he’d been in Perth for the last few days, leading a UK trade delegation to drum up business for British companies.
Hearing footsteps and the rustle of papers, Jess looked round to see Simon coming through the door with a newspaper tucked under his arm. Tall, slim, and fit from jogging around Lake Burley Griffin every day, his tie was askew and his shirt sleeves were rolled up.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He nodded to them both in greeting, and pushed his square-framed glasses into position on his nose. “I thought the name Ellen Chambers sounded familiar.” He looked excited as he spread a newspaper over Nigel’s desk. “Have a look at this.” He pointed to an article. “Our dead woman worked for Western Energy Corporation, as Group Finance Director, no less. She was working on that big gas deal with China.”
“Really?” Jess turned the Brisbane Echo sideways to read the article. This would get the media fired up, she thought. A senior British businesswoman murdered while she was working on a lucrative LNG – liquefied natural gas – deal with the Chinese. In a photo above the article, Ellen Chambers stood between two men. She looked attractive with her long blonde hair and smart suit. Jess looked up. “Do either of you know the two men in this photo with her?”
That prompted Nigel to sit down and look at the newspaper. “That’s John Langhurst on her left. He’s the Chairman of Western Energy.” He looked up. “He’s married to Linda Shipperton.”
Jess knew Linda was the daughter of Robert Shipperton, a former Australian Prime Minister.
Nigel turned back to the paper. “The other man in the photo is the CEO, Richard Price.”
Little beads of sweat glistened on Nigel’s forehead as sunlight flooded through the window. A thought popped into Jess’s head. “Did you know Ellen Chambers, Nigel?”
He shook his head. “I should telephone the Chairman to offer our condolences.” He smoothed his hair with his hand, and turned to Simon. “Is he coming to the High Commissioner’s dinner for the Foreign Secretary tomorrow evening?”
Simon nodded.
“Make sure I get seated next to him. I want to have a chat about the gas deal.”
Jess smiled. Nigel never missed an opportunity to cosy up to Australia’s movers and shakers.
Simon tapped his finger on the newspaper. “It says here the Chinese gas team are in Oz for another round of talks to try to break the deadlock?” He lowered his voice. “I hear they’re being really difficult.”
“Well, this murder’s only going to make things worse,” Jess added.
“I don’t see why it should.” Nigel’s voice sounded casual. “It’ll be some low-life who did it. Ellen Chambers was probably just in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”
Jess looked up, quickly. “Why would you assume that?”
“What are you suggesting happened?”
Simon cut in. “Well I agree with Jess. This murder’s bound to shake things up. That contract’s worth millions. And it’s crucial to both countries.”
Nigel stuck his chin out. He didn’t like to be contradicted and was about to sound off.
Jess quickly changed the subject. “Did the High Commissioner get back okay from Perth last night?”
With a satisfied smile, Nigel shook his head. “His flight was delayed until this morning. Technical problems.” He puffed his chest out. “That means I’ll have to go to the airport and meet the Foreign Secretary. I suppose I’ll have to chair the working lunch in Parliament too.”
Jess glanced at Simon, who gave her the ghost of a smile. They both knew Nigel was delighted the High Commissioner hadn’t made it back from Perth in time for the Foreign Secretary’s arrival.
Nigel’s ringing phone interrupted. Snatching up the receiver, he listened and covered it with his hand. “Right, you two, let’s get on with it,” he said.
Taking their cue, Jess and Simon stood up and headed for the door.
“Oh Jessicaah...”
She turned back to Nigel.
“Do everything by the book in Brisbane, okay? The media will be watching. No bleeding heart stuff. We don’t want any cock-ups, not with the Foreign Secretary here.”
It was the patronising tone Nigel reserved for her that really riled. She gave him a long, cool look, and walked out.
Simon followed her out into the corridor. “He’s such a prick! Ignore him, Jess.”
Furious as she was with Nigel, Jess wasn’t going to show it. At the staircase, she turned. “You don’t have to worry about me, Simon. I can hold my own in this organisation.”
“I know you can, Jess.” Simon’s eyes softened. “Look, we need to talk... about Frid
ay night.”
Feeling the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks, she started to walk down the stairs. “I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“Jess.”
“I can’t do this now, Simon.”
“But...”
“I’ll be back in a couple of days,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.
“Fine!” He threw his hands up in the air and walked off.
Jess went back to her office, slammed the door and leant against it. “You don’t have to like your boss, Jess,” her Dad used to say when she first started working at the Foreign Office and came home with tales of her snooty London colleagues, “you just have to find a way of working with him.”
How right he was! Now, her way of working with Nigel was to give him as wide a berth as possible. And then Simon had to go and mention Friday night as well. He certainly picked his moment.
Pushing all thoughts of Nigel and Simon out of her head, she looked over at the beam of sunshine flooding through the window. It lifted her spirits. Never mind the dreary battleship-grey desk and beige walls, she liked her bright, north facing office. It was her haven of peace and quiet. Going over to her desk, she switched on her computer. Almost 70 emails had come in overnight from the Foreign Office and British embassies all over the world. Everything, from the notification of more biometric changes to the British passport to the latest reports of atrocities in Syria, filled her inbox. She scanned through, deleting, archiving, or forwarding unclassified emails to her laptop to answer later.
Curious about Ellen Chambers and Western Energy, she went onto the internet and found the Company’s official website. Clicking onto Our Management Team, a photo of Chairman John Langhurst popped up. Jess studied his thin, sun-tanned face and short grey hair. It was difficult to tell how old he was from a photo, probably in his 60s, she thought. Had she met him before? No, she’d have remembered those striking blue eyes.
A photo of Chief Executive Richard Price came next. Though he was already balding, he looked younger than the Chairman. With his long face and tortoiseshell glasses, he looked like some Dickensian character. She was quite sure she hadn’t met him before.
