Deadly Diplomacy: Jess Turner in Australia (Diplomatic Crime Book 1)

by Jean Harrod

  “Who paid the money into the account?” Jess asked, quickly. That seemed to her to be the key in all this. If they discovered who paid the money into the account, they’d find out who was behind all this.

  Susan shrugged. “There were only numbers next to the transaction.”

  “How very convenient!”

  Susan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

  Jess sat down on the sofa, heavily, trying to think. “It doesn’t add up, does it? You see, I happen to know that the British authorities monitor all funds transmitted through our Overseas Territories, for money laundering and terrorist financing. Large sums like a a million dollars would attract attention. Two transfers would really make them sit up.”

  “So?”

  “So, your sister was a smart lady. She wouldn’t transfer such large amounts and attract the authorities’ attention, unless she didn’t open the account.”

  Susan’s eyes lit up.

  Jess nodded. “What if someone else set it up in Ellen’s name, without her knowledge. Then transferred those two large amounts into it deliberately to get the British authorities’ attention?”

  “You think she was framed?” Susan jumped up, triumphantly. “I knew it. I knew Ellen wouldn’t do anything like that.” Then she stopped. “So why would Ellen write those bank account details in her diary? How would she know about it?”

  Jess shrugged. “Maybe she found out about it, and realised she was being framed. Maybe she found out who was framing her and that’s why she was killed.”

  Tears gone, Susan’s eyes burnt like coals. “I have to find out the truth, Jess. I owe it to Ellen.”

  Susan’s desperation to clear her sister’s name and somehow redeem her, was more than Jess could bear. “Come on,” she said, kindly. “Let’s think. Now, what about those other three lines of numbers in the back of the diary? Did you try them? Is there a second bank account?”

  “No,” Susan replied, “at least not that I could find in the Turks Bank. But it definitely looks like another account.” Susan started hitting the keys to find the search engine. “Where else can I look?”

  Jess shook her head. “We’re going to need expert help to find the second account. The first one in Ellen’s name was set up to be easily found. But I don’t think the second one was.” She paused to think. “That must be the reason someone wants Ellen’s diary so badly. They want to stop the police discovering those codes and numbers and stop them finding the money in that second account. Because if they do find that account, they will find out who is really behind all this corruption and murder.”

  Susan looked at her with something like admiration in her eyes.

  “Look, I’m going to report this to my colleagues in Canberra now,” Jess said, looking at her watch. “Then we’ll go over to the Riverbank for the night.” She looked at Susan’s red eyes and haggard face. “It’s getting late. You need something to eat and some rest.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “You’re not. You’re coming to the hotel with me now and that’s final. I’m not letting you out of my sight until we’ve given that diary to the police.”

  This time there was no argument from Susan. “Okay, Jess. We’ll do it your way... for now.”

  “Right, well, would you go and make us both a cup of tea in the kitchen while I phone my colleagues?”

  Susan stared at her without moving.

  “Please, I would like some privacy,” Jess said, firmly.

  Susan turned and went out of the room.

  Jess switched off the TV and picked up the phone to call Simon again. She didn’t care if he was in the drinks, she had to speak to him. When his mobile switched to voicemail, she hung up and tried again. She checked her watch. Perhaps they were in dinner now? If so, it would only just have started, no doubt with the High Commissioner’s welcoming speech to guests. She could just picture him tapping a spoon on his wine glass to get everyone’s attention. He’d be telling them what an honour it was to welcome the Foreign Secretary to his Residence and to Australia.

  Simon’s voicemail clicked in again. Pick up, Simon! Pick up!

  As she hung up and dialled again, she couldn’t help but wonder who John Langhurst was sitting next to at the table. He’d been such good company at lunch...

  “Jess,” Simon whispered. “Hang on.”

  Down the phone, she heard a door creak open and close.

  “I’ve just left the dining room,” Simon said as he came back on. “Are you, okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Sorry not to have phoned sooner, it’s all kicked off here. HC’s been talking to the Australian agency heads in his study. Paul Robinson was late arriving from Foreign Affairs, but he’s just told the High Commissioner that when the police had Ellen Chambers under surveillance, they discovered she was having an affair with Harris.”

  “Ah. So the police did know about the affair,” she whispered. “Inspector Sangster told me forensics confirmed Harris was the father of her unborn child.” She paused. “Tell me, Simon, do the police actually know who killed Ellen Chambers or Anthony Harris and Danny Burton?”

  “If they do, they’re not saying.”

  There was a hushed silence down the phone.

  Simon sounded tense. “As soon as they found out about the affair, the Federal Police started digging quietly into Harris’s background and his finances to see if he was involved in the corruption scandal too. But they haven’t traced any funds to him, or found evidence of his involvement.”

  She paused to think. “Did Anthony Harris know the police and Australian Government had discovered his affair with Ellen Chambers? I mean, did anyone talk to him about it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So we still didn’t know whether Harris tipped Ellen off about the investigation?”

  “No.” Simon went on. “We know that she had a bank account in the Turks and Caicos Islands. The Financial Crimes Unit in our Overseas Territory uncovered it. They trace...”

  “I know. They trace funds moving in and out of the Territory. And I know about the bank account, with 2 million dollars in it. That’s why I’m ringing you now. We’ve found that account. Susan logged onto it from my laptop.”

  “Susan?”

  “Yes, she’s here in the Consulate-General with me. Anyway, she logged onto Ellen’s account with the passwords Ellen wrote in her diary. But you know, Simon...” Jess hesitated. “It all seems a bit too... convenient.” She took a breath. “I’m wondering if the authorities were meant to find Ellen’s bank account. After all, we found it easily enough. And there were two separate transactions of 1 million dollars each.”

  Simon understood her meaning. “What are you saying? That she was set up.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Look, Simon, have you received that e-gram from Beijing yet?”

  “I’m told it’s on its way.”

  Jess groaned in frustration. “You know that journalist at The Palms who kept asking me lots of questions about Ellen Chambers, like who she’d worked for before Western Energy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think he might have known something about her?” She paused. “Like, well, could Ellen have been working for Australian Intelligence? Could that be what he was getting at?”

  “That’s exactly what HC just asked the Head of Australian Foreign Affairs,” Simon replied. “Paul Robinson said HC should ask his British colleagues that question.”

  “Ah!” said Jess, as if everything was falling into place. “It would make sense if Ellen had been working for MI6. I mean, she kept such a low public profile; you’d have hardly known she was a senior executive. And no one knew anything about her or who her friends were. Or what she did in her spare time.”

  “HC kept saying Ellen wasn’t senior enough to sway the negotiations on her own.”

  “Mm.” Jess paused, when she heard another voice in the background at Simon’s end.

  “The High Commissioner�
��s here, Jess. I’ll put him on.”

  She waited.

  “Jess?” HC’s deep voice came down the phone. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Sir, I’m fine. Susan Chambers is too. She’s here at the Consulate-General with me.”

  “Good.” He sounded relieved. “I’m sorry you’ve got caught up in all this. Now listen, there’s no time to explain. Go to Police HQ now. Take Susan with you, and stay there until I get to Brisbane. I’ll be leaving within the hour on a private plane.” He paused for breath. “Now, when you get to Police HQ, don’t say anything to anyone. Just wait there for me. And if you see Nigel,” HC’s voice sounded icy. “Tell him to wait there for me too.”

  “Have the Australians admitted they had Nigel under surveillance, along with Anthony Harris and Ellen Chambers?”

  “Yes,” he replied, angrily. “And Simon says you saw Nigel with Chen.”

  “I did.”

  “Bloody idiot!” he hissed. “Look, when you get to Police HQ, just stay there, Jess,” he repeated. “Don’t leave with anyone. And that includes Nigel. Is that understood?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good. I’ll put Simon back on.”

  Jess waited for Simon, mind whirling.

  “The old man’s livid,” Simon said when he came back on. “I can’t believe Nigel could be so stupid.”

  “Me neither.” She paused. “Does that mean you’ll be coming up to Brisbane with the High Commissioner, Simon?”

  “No.” He sounded more upset than cross. “HC’s insisting I stay here to look after the Foreign Secretary. I’ve tried to persuade him otherwise, but he won’t hear of it.” He paused. “I feel I’m letting you down.”

  “Of course you’re not,” she said, quickly, to cover her disappointment.

  He sighed.

  Susan put her head round the door and tapped her watch.

  Jess nodded at her. “Sorry, Simon, I have to go. Susan’s here.”

  “Jess,” he said, softly. “Are we still on for that new Chinese restaurant in Manuka on Friday?”

  She smiled. “Definitely.”

  27

  Sangster spotted two sets of blue lights pulsing in the early evening darkness outside a smart-looking suburban villa. He drove his car up onto the nature strip outside and parked alongside other emergency vehicles. He sat looking up at the house, which was hidden behind a high brick wall and electric gates. All the lights were blazing full on, advertising that something untoward had happened inside. Looking up and down the street, he could see lights burning in several of the other swanky homes, and noses peering out from behind blinds and curtains to see what was going on.

  “Evenin’, Sir,” a young constable called out as Sangster approached the gate. “They’re waitin’ for you round the back.” He shook his head. “It’s not a pretty sight.”

  Grim faced, Sangster walked along the drive and skirted round the side of the house on the grass. He kept off the wooden veranda encircling the sides and back of the building in case of compromising evidence. He heard the sound of retching as he turned the corner and spotted a young female officer doubled over and clutching her jacket to prevent soiling it as she threw up on the grass.

  He could already smell the corpse, and hear the flies.

  Dalton was standing outside the back door, his face sickly in the yellow glow of the terrace lamp. “You been inside?” Sangster asked.

  Dalton shook his head.

  “Is it Belinda Harris?”

  Dalton nodded.

  Sangster sighed. “What happened?”

  “I sent a couple of officers round to talk to her about her father’s murder, like you asked.” He pointed at the young woman being sick. “They couldn’t get any reply from the front door, so they came round here.” He pointed to the back door. “That was locked too. But when they looked through the kitchen window, well, that’s when they saw her... lying on the floor in...” – he breathed in deeply to keep his voice even – “all that blood.”

  Sangster glanced at the beads of sweat running down Dalton’s face. “Wait out here, Dave,” he said. “Better still, go and ring HQ and find out if there have been any developments.”

  Nodding with relief, Dalton walked off to make some calls.

  Steeling himself, Sangster pulled on some shoe covers and gloves and stepped inside the kitchen.

  The grey, bushy eyebrows rose as he entered.

  “Evening, Anderson.” Sangster’s voice was flat and unemotional.

  Anderson just nodded, as if the sight had knocked all the usual banter out of him.

  When Sangster studied the blood sprayed around the kitchen, and seeping across the white, limestone floor, he saw its normal glossy red colour had deepened and dried. He didn’t need Anderson to tell him the corpse had been here some time.

  “Arterial wound.” Anderson’s voice was businesslike. “The knife punctured the aorta, causing the blood to spurt out.” He paused. “There was no silent bullet in the head this time. He stuck the knife straight into the poor kid’s heart!”

  Sangster’s eyes focused on the young woman. She was lying naked on the floor, on her back. With all the blood drained out of her, her face and skin had turned white.

  “He killed her here in the kitchen,” said Anderson. “Then he covered the body with a sheet.” He pointed to a blood-soaked sheet he’d already bagged. “And look at that.”

  Sangster followed Anderson’s gaze. There was a single rose in her left hand.

  “He must have put that there too,” said Anderson.

  Sangster frowned. There’d been nothing like that at the Harris and Burton shootings. Yet this girl had been killed with a knife to the heart, so it had to be the same man. But why cover her with a sheet? To protect her dignity because she was naked? And why put a flower in her hand? Was this some kind of sick romantic gesture?

  “I don’t think she was sexually assaulted,” Anderson said as if reading his thoughts, “but we’ll confirm that in the lab.” He glanced up. “I think this girl was naked when that psycho arrived. There’s a pool outside. I reckon he caught her after her morning swim.”

  Sangster nodded. “She’s been here a while.”

  “Since yesterday, I’d say. I can’t give you an actual time yet, but I reckon more than 36 hours.”

  “If you’re right, that means she was killed yesterday morning... before her father, Anthony Harris.”

  Anderson nodded.

  Sangster’s eyes had been glued to the corpse, but now he raised them to take in the detail of the kitchen. Expensive black granite worktops, wooden units and stainless steel appliances, everything he would expect in a house like this. His eyes stopped on the plates and mugs drying on the rack.

  “Two of everything,” Anderson chipped in. “She didn’t eat breakfast alone.”

  Had she eaten breakfast with her killer, Sangster wondered. Or with her father perhaps? He looked at Anderson. “Perhaps the killer came here looking for Anthony Harris yesterday morning? Maybe he missed him, but got his daughter instead? But why kill her?” He paused. “Had she rumbled him? Or does he just enjoy killing.” He nodded to himself. Perhaps that’s it. This nutter’s genie’s been let out of the bottle. Maybe he’s suppressed his desire to kill for so long, he can’t stop now he’s started. He’s enjoying it too much.

  “I tell you Tom, in all my years I’ve never seen anything like this.” Anderson’s voice was hoarse. This bastard’s a psycho and real dangerous.” He jerked his head towards the door. “He got the dog out the back too, probably to keep it quiet. Knifed it in the heart, then covered it with leaves.” He nodded. “This man’s a hunter all right.”

  Except now he’s turned to hunting humans, Sangster thought. It made sense. And it would explain how he’d got up so close to Harris and Burton to shoot them without them having a chance to defend themselves. He turned to Anderson. “Has he left anything behind?”

  Anderson nodded. “See those footprints in the blood? They’ll
be his.” He frowned. “He’s bloody confident now. Must reckon no one’s ever going to catch him.”

  Sangster bristled. “Or he wants us to know it’s him. Maybe he’s proud of what he’s done. He wouldn’t be the first killer to want notoriety.”

  Standing there looking at the young life snuffed out so violently, Sangster felt a weariness creep all over him. He nodded to Anderson and walked back outside. A waft of fresh air hit him in the face, blowing the stench from his nose, and the fatigue from his brain.

  “Okay, Boss?” Dalton looked at him with concern.

  Sangster nodded and pulled off the gloves and shoe covers.

  “They’ve got a trace in Melbourne on the gun,” Dalton said, quickly. “A registered gunsmith down there remembers modifying one about 18 months ago.”

  “Have they got a name and address?”

  “Yep. They turned out to be false, but they’ve got a description of the man who took the gun in.” Dalton stared with a mixture of excitement and alarm on his face. “Tall, muscular, physically fit, balding...”

  “Roberts!” Sangster stared at him, his worst fears realised. A policeman was the monster responsible for these barbaric murders.

  Dalton frowned. “Doesn’t make sense though. Roberts would know we’d trace the gun back to him.”

  “It makes perfect sense, Dave. He wants us to know it’s him. For some reason, he thinks he’s untouchable.” Sangster gritted his teeth. “Get an All Points Bulletin out on him, Dave, airports too. Pick him up before he goes to ground, if he hasn’t already.” He paused. “Did you find out who he’d worked for in Melbourne before coming up here?”

  “Not yet.”

  “And what about his mobile phone records? I want to know everyone the bastard’s been talking to.”

  “They’re working on it, Boss.”

  “Go back to HQ and supervise the work yourself, Dave. We need to find that connection between him, Ellen Chambers, Anthony Harris and Danny Burton. And we don’t have much time. I reckon the only thing keeping him in town now is that diary.” He looked at Dalton. “At least he hasn’t got that, or Susan Chambers. She’s at the British Consulate-General. I’ve just had a message from the British Consul.”