by Jean Harrod
He shook his head. “No one like her. Ellen was fluent in Mandarin, you see. She’d worked in China for years before joining Western Energy. She knew the Chinese well. They liked her. Trusted her.” He gave a sad smile. “I was the one who lured her away from her job in China. And I never regretted it. Not for a moment... until now.”
A polite cough interrupted and they turned to see the young receptionist standing by the door.
“Excuse me, Miss Turner, there are some journalists waiting for you in the lobby.”
Jess looked at her watch: 5pm on the dot. She turned back to Langhurst. “Sorry, but I have to go.”
He put a light hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Jessica,” he said, before walking off in the direction of the car park.
Alone now, Jess wondered if she had time to check the headlines on her laptop to see if the Anthony Harris shooting was public knowledge yet. But she didn’t want to antagonise the journalists by being late. She took a deep breath and went into the hotel.
*
“Well, let me ask you this, then. Does the British Government think Ellen Chambers’ murder is connected to the gas deal?”
Jess looked back at that annoying journalist by the door. He was persistent, she’d give him that. How many different ways could he ask the same question? “I’m afraid I can only repeat what I’ve already told you,” she said with a note of finality. “All we know at the moment is that Ellen Chambers was found dead on the beach here at five o’clock this morning.”
“But is the British Government investigating the possibility of a connection?”
“The Australian police are responsible for investigating Ellen Chambers’ death. The gas deal is a commercial transaction between Australia and China.” She tried to keep her tone even. “The British Government are not involved in that project.”
He wouldn’t give up so easily. “Did you know Ellen Chambers?”
She shook her head. “No. I’d never met her.”
“Did any of your colleagues in the British High Commission know her?”
She gave him a cool look, wondering what he was getting at. “She was a senior executive in a prominent company, so some of my colleagues may have met her.”
He brushed his straggly brown hair from his eyes, and continued to stare. “Had she ever been employed by the British Government?”
A hush settled around the room as the other journalists sensed he was onto something. So did Jess. Employed by the British Government? What did he know that she didn’t? John Langhurst said Ellen had worked in China for several years before joining Western Energy but Jess couldn’t speculate about that now. “All I know is that Ellen Chambers was an employee of Western Energy when she died. I don’t know what she did before that.”
“Where’s her sister, Susan Chambers?” he asked. “Been spirited away by your lot, has she?” He looked around the room for effect. “Only, none of us have seen her.”
Jess’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve seen Susan today.” She wanted to quash any speculation that the other Chambers girl was lying murdered in a ditch somewhere. “As a press colleague of yours, I’m sure you’ll want to give her privacy to come to terms with her sister’s death.”
“Murder,” he retorted.
By now, Jess had had enough. She’d answered all their questions and had nothing more to say. The worrying thing was they clearly knew nothing about the Anthony Harris shooting, but at least she hadn’t had to field any questions about that.
A noise over by the terrace doors caught everyone’s attention. A couple stumbled in, and stood staring like rabbits in headlights. With all eyes on them, they mumbled their apologies and backed out.
When Jess turned back, the annoying journalist had disappeared. She cast her eyes around the room, but there was no sign of him. Taking advantage of the interruption, she checked her watch. Half an hour of questions was enough. “Right, if that’s all,” she said before anyone else could say anything. “We’ll finish now.”
Saying a quick farewell, she picked up her bags and walked out. Crossing the lobby, she swung through the glass door onto the terrace. She glanced at the bar. She could do with a drink, but she didn’t want to go inside, in case the journalists followed her. All she craved was some peace and quiet. Feeling the late afternoon air cooling her burning cheeks, she started walking and found herself being drawn to the jetty again. As she stood in the same spot as earlier with John Langhurst, she went over their conversation in her head. He’d certainly thought a lot of Ellen Chambers. So much so, he’d seemed... well, devastated by her death. Yes, that’s the word she’d use. Devastated. Would a boss be that cut up about a colleague, she wondered? Or were they more than colleagues?
She sat down on the seat and looked out to sea. The sun was already hanging low in the sky on its daily descent. In the shallows, a lone pelican stood on a semi-submerged rock, his long bill snapping at fish in the water and coming up empty every time. Seabirds wheeled and circled over the surf, ready to gobble up any small fish the ebbing tide exposed.
A faint rustling in the bushes behind made her look over her shoulder, but there was no one there. A shrill noise made her jump; she answered her mobile.
“Sorry to disturb you again, Jessica.”
She recognised Langhurst’s voice immediately. “It’s all right, John, you’re not disturbing me.”
“How did it go with the journalists?” he asked.
“Oh, you know what they’re like.”
“Indeed I do.” He sounded sympathetic. “I’m ringing to ask for your Deputy High Commissioner’s number. I seem to have mislaid it.”
“Of course,” she said, rattling the number off the top of her head.
“Thanks.” He paused. “Have you heard any more from the police? Only they’re not telling me much.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I see.” He paused, and said quietly: “You know, I still can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I know.” Jess was warming to John Langhurst. “I’m at the jetty now. It’s so beautiful.”
“Ellen loved it.”
“Did she stay here a lot?”
“Yes.”
“On Company business?”
“Mostly, yes.”
Jess’s brain slipped back into work mode. “I believe she visited China twice this year too. Indeed, she only came back from the second trip last week.”
There was a pause. “You’re very well informed, Jessica,’ he said, without a trace of sarcasm. “I hope the police are as switched on.”
“Well, it’s not hard. Ellen scheduled her life down to the last minute. She was so well organised.”
He sighed, deeply. “Yes. That’s one of the things that made her so good at her job.” Then he asked: “How long do you plan to stay at The Palms, Jessica?”
“Just for tonight.” She wouldn’t stay a minute longer than she had to. She didn’t like the atmosphere one bit. “I’ll move into town in the morning and work out of the British Consulate-General.”
“In that case, can we meet up at the Convention Centre tomorrow? I’d like to help Susan and the family. But first, perhaps you and I could talk through the logistics of arranging the funeral, and getting Ellen back to the UK.”
“Of course.”
“What time will you be leaving The Palms?”
“After breakfast.”
“Excellent. What time should I expect you?”
“Would 12.30 suit, John? Only I have some meetings at the Consulate first.”
“Perfect. The Conference will break for lunch around then, so that suits me fine. Until tomorrow,” he said. “Goodbye, Jessica.”
“Goodbye.” Jess hung up, feeling sorry for him, especially having to carry on with the Conference as if nothing had happened.
She turned and scanned the beach. Most people had left for the day. A lone jogger ran along the edge of the sea, leaving a trail of footprints in the damp sand. Every so often he jumped o
ver any debris, or beached jellyfish, lying in his path.
Her gaze stopped on a woman with two small girls. The children were playing happily together, building sandcastles then jumping on them and starting over. When their mother began packing up, the youngest child started crying. She kept wriggling and running away as her mother tried to dress her. “No Mummy. No.” The woman caught her, holding her tight while she tried again. “I wanna play,” screamed the child, in full-blown temper tantrum now. The woman picked her up and tucked her under her arm. Looking embarrassed, she started walking off the beach while the older child skipped along behind, unperturbed.
“I wanna stay Mummy.” The child sobbed, tears streaming down her face. “Stay!” She kicked and thrashed.
Jess closed her eyes, thinking back to their last holiday together, in Bali, when Amy was two. She could see Jack wading into the sea, with Amy on his shoulders, talking to her all the time. She could hear Amy giggling as he dipped her gently into the water. Amy too could turn on those temper tantrums in a flash when it came to going home.
Jess ran her hands through her hair and rubbed her cheeks. What she wouldn’t give to feel Amy’s little arms around her neck, and her soft kiss. Just one last time, to tell her she loved her. To tell them both she loved them. A tear slipped down her cheek.
Later, as the breeze blew in off the water and ruffled her hair, she stirred and looked down at her watch. She’d been sitting there so long the sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving behind a mottled indigo and orange sky in its wake.
Then darkness came sweeping in from nowhere.
Whipped up by the strengthening wind, the waves banged the moored boats against the jetty, making their railings and fittings rattle and tinkle.
Goose bumps rose on Jess’s arms and legs as she looked around in the twilight. She was all alone.
She stared at the water, murky now in the gloom.
Then soft moaning sounded around her. Human moaning? Or was it just the wind howling across the bay?
A chill tingled up her spine. She was thinking of Ellen Chambers fighting for her life. In the dark water, she imagined Ellen’s white face twisted in terror, her blonde hair fanning out in the waves, her mouth wide open, screaming in panic as she sank below the water.
Jess’s heart was thumping so hard now, she couldn’t breathe. She had to get away from this place. But she couldn’t seem to move.
Behind her the bushes rustled again, then an eerie silence hung in the air. The moaning started up again, all around her, getting into her head, under her skin. What the hell was it?
As the breeze tugged at her hair and clothes, she got a creeping sense that someone else was there. Her throat tightened. Springing up, she grabbed her briefcase and bag and ran down the jetty, past the bushes, and onto the path leading back to the hotel.
Breathless, she stopped half way up and looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was following. A sudden breeze whipped through a nearby palm tree, making its spiky leaves rattle. She jumped as a branch brushed her cheek, and fled up to the back terrace, into the safety of the hotel.
14
Sitting in the gloom in his office, Sangster wondered how Dalton was getting on in the interview room downstairs with Danny Burton. He looked at his watch. He’d give him another ten minutes or so. Then he’d go down.
The only light in the office came from a metal lamp that shone a dull beam and cast shadows on the bare walls. There was nothing on the desk except for a mug of pencils of every shape and size, a cup of cold coffee, and two buff-coloured files. They were unsolved murder cases. Two young women, both killed by the same man after a violent sex attack. It was that strange bruise on Ellen Chambers’ cheek that had got him checking the files. But there was nothing like that in here. And the Chambers’ woman didn’t fit the victim profile: she was older.
His stomach growled, but he didn’t feel like eating because his head was still hammering. Rubbing his temples, he pulled a packet of paracetamol out of the drawer and swallowed two tablets with a swig of cold coffee.
He got up and went over to a small table in the corner of the room, where he’d laid out his sketches. He could feel the tension in his neck and rolled his head from side to side to release it. He was glad to be away from the incident room. The DC was on a short fuse at the best of times, but all this crap with Canberra was sending his temper and blood pressure spiralling.
Sangster picked up his sketch of Ellen Chambers lying dead on the sand and studied it. Why was she staying at The Palms when her colleagues were in town at the Riverbank Hotel? And why did she always stay there? Did she just prefer her own company? Or was she meeting her lover there, as the British Consul suspected?
The blinds rattling in the breeze distracted him. He laid the sketch down, and went over to close the window. Looking out into the darkness, his long, pale face and hollow eyes reflected back in the glass. He ran his fingers through his spiky, grey hair. He was really worried about Liz now. Why hadn’t she returned his calls?
Heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor outside and Dalton came in, breathing hard from climbing the stairs.
“How’s it going with Danny?” Sangster asked.
Dalton pulled a face. “What a jerk!”
“Anything at all?”
“Nah.” Dalton flopped down on a chair. “He’s insistin’ he didn’t kill Ellen Chambers. But, like you said, he’s pleased with himself about somethin’.”
Sangster looked thoughtful. “She was a bit of a ghost, our girl, wasn’t she? I mean, hotel records show she spent a lot of time at The Palms, but no one knows anything about her. No one knows what she did. No one saw her with anyone.”
Dalton nodded. “Doesn’t add up, does it?”
Sangster shook his head. “Someone knows something.”
“One thing I did find out, Boss. There was a reception and aboriginal show on at 6.30pm last night at the Convention Centre for the Western Energy Conference delegates. It was a big bash before the Conference started proper this mornin’. Ellen Chambers was supposed to attend that reception. She told her colleagues she would be there, but she never showed.”
“Didn’t anyone miss her?”
“Nah. The place was crowded. People just helped themselves to food, and moved around. Attendance wasn’t obligatory, so half the delegates didn’t bother to turn up. It’s goin’ to be a bugger workin’ out who was there and who wasn’t.”
Sangster saw the fatigue in Dalton’s eyes.
“Oh, and I had a word with a mate who’s workin’ with DC Roberts. He is on leave.” Dalton paused. “He’s a quiet sort of bloke, according to the guys. Goes for the occasional drink but keeps himself to himself.”
Sangster looked thoughtful. “Did you say he transferred up here from Melbourne a year or so ago?”
Dalton nodded.
“Ask him to come in, Dave. I want to have a quiet word.”
“I would if I could, Boss, but he’s not answerin’ his phone. Must’ve gone out on that fishin’ trip after all.”
Sangster frowned. “What do we know about Roberts’ past record in the police?”
“Nothin’! Want me to do some diggin’?”
“Yes, but keep it discreet.” Sangster went over to the table and stared at his sketches again. He picked up the one of the British Consul this time. He didn’t know what to make of Jessica Turner, but she was the link with Susan Chambers and that diary. Susan might not trust him, but she trusted the Consul.
As if reading his mind, Dalton asked: “Any news about the Chambers girl?”
Sangster shook his head.
“She’s gettin’ herself into a whole heap of trouble.”
*
Sangster walked into the interview room, sat down and stared across the table at Danny Burton. Bronzed, and with a well-honed physique and sun-bleached hair, Danny looked like all the other young men who spent their lives surfing and hanging out at the beach. But there was a cockiness about him. He didn’t flinch unde
r Sangster’s stare either. Sangster pulled his sketch pad out of his pocket. “So where were you between 8pm and midnight last night, Danny?”
“I already told your sidekick.” Danny pointed at Dalton, who’d slipped into the chair beside Sangster.
“So tell me.” Sangster’s eyes never left Danny’s.
Danny gave a smug smile. “I got off duty around seven last night. Then I went into the hotel bar for a beer. No crime in that, is there?”
Sangster didn’t say anything. He could see Danny was composed and enjoying the attention. Wanting to shatter that composure, Sangster looked around the stark interview room, then up at a patch of mould growing on the ceiling. “Now, why would you do that, Danny?” He sounded bored. “Why would you buy a beer in an expensive hotel bar when you can get it cheaper in the pub down the road?”
“I couldn’t wait. I was thirsty.”
Sangster opened his sketchpad on his lap just below the table and took a pencil from his breast pocket. He stared at Danny again and started drawing his broad face, and the straggly blond hair flopping over his forehead and the collar of his T-shirt. That gleam in his eyes. What was it? Arrogance? Amusement? Did Danny know something?
Danny shifted in his seat and tried to look at Sangster’s notepad.
“Do you know what I think?” Sangster said, continuing to draw Danny’s eyes, knowing he couldn’t see anything from his side of the table. “I think you went into the bar because you saw Ellen Chambers go in.” He looked up. “That’s what happened, isn’t it?”
Danny shrugged. “If you say so.”
“If I said you’d murdered her, would you agree?”
Danny laughed with contempt.
Sangster laughed too. “What were you thinking, Danny? A woman like that? She was way out of your league.” When he saw Danny’s face harden, he knew he’d hit a nerve. “We know she gave you the brush off.”
Danny’s cheeks reddened.
“Is that why you killed her?”
Danny crossed his arms. “I didn’t kill her.”
Sangster leant forward. “Is that why you killed her, Danny, because she turned you down?”
