by Jean Harrod
Jess nodded. “Have they found Roberts’s body yet?”
Sangster shook his head. “He’ll be feeding the sharks in the South Pacific Ocean by now.”
She sighed. “He followed me in his grey jeep from the moment I arrived at Brisbane airport.”
Sangster nodded. “He’d been at The Palms looking for the diary. He didn’t find it in Ellen’s room, and he knew we didn’t have it. He must have assumed you knew about the corruption and affair.” He glanced at her. “As did I, by the way, since it was your Government who told us.”
“Except I didn’t.”
“No, but Roberts didn’t know that. He knew you were flying up to Brisbane. I guess he thought from the start you would lead him to the diary.” He paused “And he was right, wasn’t he?”
She sighed. But there was one loose end still playing on her mind. “So who was Roberts, Tom?”
“Ah, well that’s quite a story.” Sangster shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself. “His real name was James Lynch. He was born on a farm in the Northern Territories. It’s a tragic story really that turned into a nightmare.” He glanced at her. “He killed his drunken, abusive father when he was only 12 years old.”
“Really?”
Sangster nodded. “He came home from school one day and found his mother lying dead on the kitchen floor. She’d been beaten to death by his father in a drunken rampage. The boy went into the bedroom where his father was sleeping it off, and stabbed him in the heart with his own hunting knife. The boy had picked a desert rose on his way home from school, his mother’s favourite flower. He put it in her hand and just sat with her body, until neighbours found them a couple of days later.”
Jess stared at him. “He was allowed to join the police?”
“It’s not that straightforward.” Sangster took a deep breath. “You see, young James spent the next few years in an orphanage. There, he met Derek Roberts, a boy of the same age. The two of them were inseparable. When they were old enough to leave care, they went off together. Months later, they were both involved in a motorbike accident. One died, the other survived. The death register says James Lynch was killed, but it was Derek who died. You see, after the crash, James adopted Derek’s identity. I guess he realised his future would be easier in Derek’s skin, rather than his own.”
“How the hell did he get away with that?”
Sangster looked at her. “Is it so unbelievable? No one cares about these kids in institutions. The two boys had no family or friends, just each other. They had access to each other’s personal effects and documents. Anyway, the next trace of Derek Roberts was when he enrolled in technical college in Perth, Western Australia. Who would suspect he wasn’t who he said he was?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “I can see that. So how did you find out?”
“A lady in the orphanage where the two boys grew up saw the news bulletin and a photo of Roberts. She rang up and told us we’d got it wrong, and that the killer was James Lynch.”
Jess couldn’t help but feel sad for that little boy, but not for the lethal killer he’d turned into.
There was a pause.
“Tom.”
He turned to her.
“I feel you deserve a full explanation from our side too. But please keep it to yourself.”
His eyes lit up. “Are you going to tell me Ellen Chambers was working for MI6 all along?”
Jess lowered her voice even though they were alone in the open air. “I doubt we’ll ever know that for sure. But Ellen did know their Station Manager in Beijing. They’d been close friends since studying Mandarin together at university. They often met up for dinner in Beijing, when Ellen was visiting. She was a mine of information with her background and business links.” Jess paused. “He of course knew all about the rumours that someone inside Western Energy was working for Chen Xiamen and taking bribes; and that Ellen had been identified as the culprit. Of course, he didn’t believe a word of it; and told her everything, including about the offshore bank accounts.”
“So he tipped Ellen off that she was being set up; not Harris.”
“Exactly!”
Sangster let that information sink in. “Was her relationship with Langhurst genuinely affectionate?” he asked. “Or was she cosying up to him for intelligence reasons?”
Jess shrugged. “We’re never going to know that either, Tom. Anyway, Ellen set about finding out who was responsible. Imagine her shock when it turned out to be John Langhurst himself, and that he’d set her up to take the blame.”
“So that’s how it unfolded?”
Jess nodded. “Ellen rang Langhurst and gave him an ultimatum. He had 48 hours to go to the police and confess everything, or she’d tell them herself. Trying to stall her, he persuaded her to meet him at The Palms on Sunday night to talk. What a terrible twist of fate that turned out to be.”
Sangster nodded and they fell silent again.
“Tom.” She looked at him. “I can’t stop thinking about the way I just watched Roberts drown in front of my eyes, without a flicker of regret.”
“He had been trying to kill you.”
“And John Langhurst. I deliberately tried to push him over the side to drown him, before you shot him. All I could think about was what he’d done to Ellen, to all of them.”
“He would have done the same to you.”
She nodded. “He was clever and manipulative. There was nothing to implicate him in all these murders. Without that diary, there would have been no trace of any money to him, only to Ellen. He’d got Roberts to do his dirty work, and set him up to take the blame. And once Roberts was dead, well, Langhurst may actually have got away with it.” She shivered. “He was deadly serious when he said he’d be Prime Minister one day. Just think!”
He nodded.
“I would have shot him myself if I’d had the gun,” she said. “So what kind of a person does that make me?”
“Someone I’d like to have watching my back on the streets.” He smiled, and held out a large manila envelope awkwardly. “I’m not sure if this is the right time to give you this.”
Surprised, Jess took the envelope and opened it. She gasped as she pulled out a sketch. It was her Amy.
“I did it from the photo we found in your briefcase in Susan’s house. I hope you like it.”
Jess stared at the drawing. “It’s lovely,” she said, choking back tears. “You’ve captured her pretty face and spirit so well.”
“You’ve been through a lot, Jess.”
She nodded. “You know, Tom, sometimes I feel as if I’m touched by death.” She looked over and saw his eyes glisten. “How do you deal with it?”
“I just take it one day at a time. One case at a time.”
As the sun ducked behind a cloud, a sudden breeze whipped her hair across her face. “There’s still no sign of Chen,” she said. “He made it to Hong Kong, you know?”
“He’ll be back in mainland China, somewhere. They’ll get him.”
“I wish I had your faith,” she said, wryly.
Sangster gave her a rueful smile this time. “And none of this has affected the gas deal.”
“No. Richard Price rang to say he couldn’t attend Ellen’s funeral because he had to stay in Canberra for the official signing ceremony. He and those specs are in sole charge now, you know.”
They both laughed.
His mobile rang, and he checked the caller ID. “I have to take this.” He stepped a few paces away for privacy as he answered.
Jess watched his eyes flash as he listened to the caller.
He turned back to her. “I’m sorry, I have to go. But if you want to talk again, or anything else crops up, give me a call.” He pulled a business card out of his breast pocket. “Any time.”
She took the card. “Thanks, Tom, for everything.”
He nodded and hurried off without a word of goodbye.
She watched him stride down the path. But when he reached the corner, he stopped and turned
.
Their eyes met in the last glow of sunlight and he raised his hand in a kind of salute, before disappearing round the corner.
Alone now, Jess sat down on a wooden seat under an old eucalyptus tree. She closed her eyes and saw Jack and Amy walking along, hand in hand. For the first time, she could hear their chatter and their laughter.
She opened her eyes, kissed the drawing of Amy and hugged it close to her. She watched the sunlight filter through the swaying branches of the gnarled gum tree, and listened to its dry leaves rattling in the breeze. For the first time in two years, in this beautiful country she had come to love, a feeling of peace settled over her.
* * * COMING SOON * * *
DEADLY DECEIT
Chapter One
Bay of Cap-Haitien
North Coast of Haiti
The sloop slipped out of the bay on the strong swell in the dead of night. The sea was already rough. Too rough.
Nobody spoke. But in the dark, she could feel their fear. Soft crying and moaning echoed all around. And retching. Bile rose in her throat as the smell of vomit filled her nostrils, making her want to heave.
A soft whimper made her gaze down at her baby, squirming in her arms. She pulled the shawl around him and started softly singing...
Dodo titit
Si ou pa dodo
Krab la va manje ou …
She could feel pins and needles creeping into her toes. She uncrossed her legs and stamped her feet. She wanted to stand up. Move about. But she couldn’t. They were squashed together in the bowel of the small boat. Eighty women and children. Maybe more.
At least she was sitting under the hatchway. She took deep breaths of fresh air squeezing through the cracks. The wind rattled around the edges of its ill-fitting wooden cover, as if trying to find the weakest spot to wrench it off and carry it away.
She had watched the men in the village building the sloop by hand from old planks of wood; and the women stitching together bits of fabric and nylon to make the sails. It was a rough vessel. Just like the one her ‘papa’ used to fish from; until the sea had taken him, and brought her family nothing but grief.
She closed her eyes, trying to picture him. Big, round face, with smooth skin made even darker by working in the sun. And cropped, curly brown hair, with dark eyes that lit up when he saw her. He’d tell her stories of the sea whenever he came home. She had loved that. Loved him.
She jolted as the sloop shuddered. It was travelling upwind into the waves, so she expected a rough crossing. She respected the sea, and knew its ways. But even below deck, she could feel the swell getting higher. We should go back, and wait for better weather. But she knew they couldn’t. The police might catch them, and scupper the boat. Then they would lose all their money. It had taken Pierre years of hard work to save up for their passage. He had gone ahead first. Now he’d sent for her and the son he’d never seen.
They had to go on.
Everything will be all right when we reach Pierre, she told herself over and over. She pulled an envelope out of her pocket, drew out a photo and kissed it in the dark.
The baby moaned again. Was he sick or hungry? She offered her breast, but he refused to latch on. Perhaps he was sensing her fear? “You’re going to meet your Papa soon, child. Very soon,” she whispered, as she finished the lullaby...
Sleep little one
If you don’t sleep
The crab will eat you …
When the baby was asleep, she pulled the shawl tight around him, and tied the ends in a knot around her waist to bind them even closer together. Never to be parted. Singing the lullaby again, more to comfort herself than the child, her mind returned to happier times; to her wedding in the village. The excitement, the joy, the love. Replaying it over and over in her head, she drifted off.
Her head rolled onto her chest, and she tipped over sideways into the lap of the woman next to her. She sat up straight with confusion. Where was she? Reality sunk in as she felt the sloop rolling up and down, side to side, on the rising waves; and heard the wind still howling through the sails and rigging.
But now, she could hear men shouting to each other on deck. The rickety vessel’s wooden frame creaked and moaned, as if protesting about being out on the ocean on such a stormy night. Was it light yet? They seemed to have been travelling for hours.
When you see light in the sky, you’ll be here, with me. That’s what Pierre had written. But it was still pitch black below deck. She wriggled her toes and rubbed her feet again.
The shouting became louder, more urgent. Her heart started pounding. She could hear many footsteps running around on deck. She listened intently…
Land! That’s what they’re shouting. Land!
She felt a surge of happiness.
Suddenly, she was catapulted forward as the old vessel crashed into something. It stood still for a moment as if dazed by the blow.
“The reef!” Voices screamed on deck.
She heard a loud crack, and felt the vessel roll and tip over to one side. Piercing cries rang out above as the men were plunged into the sea. Below deck, women and children started tumbling on top of each other, screaming in panic. Suddenly, a wall of water rushed through the cracked hull, sweeping her and the baby out the hatch, and into the sea.
The cold. The shock...
Water rushed into her mouth and lungs. She coughed and spluttered as she felt herself being dragged under by the weight of her long skirt. With one arm, she gripped the baby to her body like a vice. With the other she scrabbled through the water, kicking furiously. Disorientated in the dark, she didn’t know whether she was swimming to the bottom of the ocean or the top.
Finally, surfacing, she took big gasps of air, half-breathing, half-sobbing with terror. My baby! She turned onto her back to float and get him out of the water.
Light in the sky! She could see light breaking in the sky.
The waves seemed smaller now, calmer. Were they inside the reef? Voices all around her screamed and shouted for help.
“Requins!”
Sharks? Hysterical, she cried out as something brushed past her. But it was just a plank of wood floating by. She reached out and grabbed it. Struggling, she pulled her baby out of the shawl and laid it on its back on the plank. Then, she pulled off her skirt, and kicked it away.
A man swam past, heading for shore. “Help me,” she cried. “Please, my baby!”
He didn’t even look her way.
Holding the baby on the wood in front of her, she kicked and pushed her way towards shore. It looked so far away. She kept steady, pushing and kicking. Pushing and kicking. She could hardly breathe with the exhaustion, but she had to keep going. Pushing and kicking.
“Nearly there, child,” she whispered, more for her own sake than his. The baby didn’t move or cry. It was as if he sensed his mother was fighting for their lives.
Her toes brushed something. She froze, terrified.
But it wasn’t a shark. She put one foot down gingerly on the soft seabed, then the other. Gasping, she realised she was standing on wobbly, exhausted legs, shoulder high in water. Sobbing with relief, she picked her baby up from the plank of wood and waded towards shore.
Staggering and scrambling out of the waves, she flopped down onto soft sand. Lying on her back, lungs ready to burst, she couldn’t move. Her heart felt it would explode with the exertion and shock.
Someone was beside her now. Hands were pulling at her. Her baby started crying. She clutched him tight. But the hands wouldn’t let go. “No,” she screamed, struggling to sit up. A strong blow to the back of her head sent pain searing through her body. Exhausted, her head spun. Then another blow. And another.
Losing consciousness, she could hear her baby screaming as he was wrenched from her arms.
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