The Dying Diplomats Club

by Matthew Benns

  ‘I say, darling, isn’t that Detective Inspector Cleaver walking behind that officer?’ said La Contessa. ‘What’s he doing there?’

  The portly detective had changed out of his wet dinner suit and was now wearing a slightly crumpled navy suit with a green and black striped tie. He was doing his best to stay in the background as they walked across the lawn. With them, now in an extremely businesslike two-piece cream suit, was Foreign Minister and Deputy Leader of the Liberal Party Karen Knight. ‘I imagine she is going to formally announce her resignation as she told us last night,’ said La Contessa. ‘Although I think she might have picked a slightly better time.’

  Nick nodded and sipped his coffee. Baxter had woken from his doze and hopped down from his mink pod to join them in front of the television. Nick scratched behind the beagle’s ear, careful to avoid the fresh cut from Trevor Saunders’s bullet, and Baxter’s tail thumped in appreciation.

  On the screen, the five people walked towards the camera with Monaro flanked by his wife on his left, and his Foreign Minister and secret lover on his right. For a fleeting moment, the two Arabian oryx could be seen darting behind them to their customary sanctuary near the gate to Admiralty House. The horns of the larger of the two animals were stained a brown rust colour.

  Police Commissioner Charlesworth was the first to step up to the bank of television and radio microphones that had been set up by the scores of journalists waiting on the Kirribilli House lawn. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming here today. As you may be aware from media reports, a New Year’s Eve party held here at Kirribilli House last night and hosted by Prime Minister Robert Monaro ended tragically with the deaths of three people. As confirmed by New South Wales Police earlier this morning, those people were Alexander Brown, an Australian diplomat normally based in London, Charles Johnson, an Australian diplomat usually based in Beijing, and Trevor Saunders, a former member of the Special Air ServiceRegiment who was working on the night in question as a security operative at the Prime Minister’s request. There has already been a great deal of speculation about the events of last night and while the investigation is in its early stages I can confirm that police are not looking for any other suspects in relation to the three deaths. There is also an associated investigation linked to this matter involving a blackmail attempt on the Prime Minister. We fully expect charges to follow in due course from that investigation.’

  That statement led to an eruption of questions from the assembled reporters and the Police Commissioner held up his right hand to silence them. ‘We are at a very preliminary stage in the investigation but New South Wales Police was very lucky to have Detective Inspector Cleaver, a seasoned detective of many years standing, on the spot last night, and his sterling work has helped explain much of what happened.’

  ‘Look at Cleaver preening like an old peacock in the background.’ La Contessa laughed. ‘He is loving this.’

  ‘But pretending not to.’ Nick chuckled. ‘I will get months of leg-pulling out of this.’

  ‘From Detective Inspector Cleaver’s investigation, it appears that the two diplomats in question, Mr Brown and Mr Johnson, were involved in some sort of dispute that led to them taking each other’s lives. At the same time, Mr Saunders’s death can be attributed to a tragic accident. I am afraid that is all I can say at this stage and I will now hand you over to the Prime Minister.’

  ‘Allora, poor old Robert looks tired,’ said La Contessa. ‘I bet he hasn’t slept a wink.’

  ‘It is with a very heavy heart that I stand before you today,’ said Monaro sadly. ‘What happened here last night is the subject of an active police investigation and it would be inappropriate to comment on that. I am sure the events will be explained fully in the subsequent inquiry.’

  ‘Yowf,’ said Baxter.

  ‘Agreed,’ said Nick. ‘Not very likely.’

  ‘I want to pay tribute in particular to two of the men who died last night. Alexander Brown and Charlie Johnson both served with me in Iraq. They were men of honour who went on to serve their country as envoys overseas. Australia could not have had two more capable or loyal servants and I know I speak for my wife, Patricia, and our whole country when I say they will be missed. However, their deaths have cast a long shadow. I have been proud to serve Australia both in my military and political life. The events of last night and the subsequent police investigation and a parliamentary inquiry, which I am announcing today, mean that it would be inappropriate for me to continue as Prime Minister. I will continue to serve in government and the cabinet if my successor believes it appropriate. This will also allow me to spend more time repairing the harm that has been done to my family.’

  An indecipherable babble of shouted questions boiled over as the now former Prime Minister stepped back from the microphone. He took Patricia’s hand and she reached across with her other hand to squeeze his arm. They looked briefly at each other. It was a look those watching would interpret as support but one that La Contessa saw as containing only loss and sorrow born of broken trust.

  ‘I’m not sure that they will be able to come back from this,’ she said sadly as the Deputy Liberal Leader moved to the microphone.

  ‘It had been my intention to begin this year by resigning to spend more time with my family,’ Karen began. ‘However the events of last night and the Prime Minister’s decision to step down have made it clear to me that my time in office is not done. As Deputy Leader of the Liberal Party, I have spoken to my colleagues this morning to indicate my willingness to take on the Prime Ministership. With no other candidates standing for the position, I have been declared Leader of the Liberal Party and expect to be sworn in as Prime Minister later today. Given the three deaths last night and the circumstances surrounding them, my first captain’s call as Liberal Leader will be to ask Robert Monaro to step down from his seat and the party immediately. There will be no room for him in my government.’

  ‘Does she have Italian heritage?’ gasped La Contessa, as the cameras zoomed in to show the shock on Monaro’s face. ‘That’s Sicilian in its execution.’

  ‘There can be no room for any doubt or stains of indiscretion or uncertainty at our very highest levels of office,’ Karen Knight was saying to the cameras. ‘Our Prime Minister needs to be above reproach. To the Australian public, I promise this: I will draw a line under the events at Kirribilli House last night and step up to serve you with dignity, diligence and honour.’

  La Contessa flicked off the volume as a breaking news banner ran across the bottom of the television. Governor-General Sir Aiden Smith vows to return Monaro’s rare Arabian oryx breeding pair to Iraq in their original cage, it read. ‘He did not waste any time either,’ said La Contessa. ‘I imagine the significance of returning them in their original cage is lost on most of the people reporting it.’

  ‘But not on the people who will eventually receive it,’ said Nick. ‘I sincerely hope he intends to get that into the hands of the orphanages that need it.’ His phone buzzed. He fumbled in the pocket of his red satin dressing gown before pulling the smartphone out and hitting the green circle on the screen to answer it. ‘Hello, Brett old boy. Recovered from the excitement of last night?’ he said to the bookie, before listening intently and nodding along, a smile slowly creeping across his face. Beside him, La Contessa was consumed with curiosity and leaned over, trying to put her ear to the phone. Nick attempted to fend her off while still maintaining his composure on the call. ‘No, no, Brett, don’t mind that. It’s just Baxter scrabbling around. Carry on.’

  Eventually he hung up and met La Contessa’s expectant gaze.

  ‘Well?’ she said.

  For a daredevil moment Nick toyed with drawing the moment out, but the fiery look in his wife’s eyes steered him to a more cautious approach. ‘Old Brett is never one to miss an opportunity,’ said Nick. ‘Apparently Hayden Hill has been on the phone to him this morning, worrying about how his appearance at the party will play out with the various casino regulators.
He is looking for a positive spin, of course. Brett has an idea but cannot be the one to suggest it.’

  ‘Meaning he wants you,’ began La Contessa before seeing the look on Nick’s face, ‘oh, me to suggest it. So what’s the idea?’

  Ten minutes later, La Contessa was dialling the number Taylor Griffin had messaged to her phone before she had left Kirribilli House the night before. ‘Darling,’ enthused La Contessa when the social media influencer finally answered on the fourth attempt. ‘I see you have a new yoghurt contract as of this morning. There’s no such thing as bad publicity – congratulations.’

  Not for the first time, Nick marvelled at his wife’s ability to enthuse with more passion than the entire cast of Absolutely Fabulous at the front of the Harvey Nicks queue for the Boxing Day sales.

  ‘Well the funny thing is I have had a couple of calls from some reporters asking what Hayden was doing there last night,’ continued La Contessa. ‘I was trying to find something nice to say about him and you know how difficult that can be? I know, right? Anyway it occurred to me that if he was there to make a substantial bequest, some round figure like a million dollars, towards Dr Charlotte Ngo’s pioneering work that would give me something really positive to say about him. Of course the idea would come much better from you . . .’

  Nick smiled and gave Baxter another pat. He stretched and took a long thoughtful look at the couch, which beckoned invitingly. It was possibly a little too early for a nap. Perhaps it was time for his breakfast martini. He checked his watch, which was rapidly approaching 1pm as La Contessa ended the call with Taylor.

  ‘Mission accomplished.’ She smiled.

  ‘And in the nick of time,’ said Nick, looking up from a text message on his phone. ‘I just got a message from another old mate who now works for the Australian Securities and Investments Commission. He wants to meet up for a quiet drink to talk about money laundering at the casino. I don’t think Hayden is out of the woods yet and I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t take the Governor-General and poor old Brett down with him.’

  La Contessa leaned over and gave him a lingering kiss on the lips, retreating quickly as his hand wandered down from her waist. ‘Well, darling, we had better start getting ready,’ she said.

  Nick looked startled as Baxter gave a whimper and jumped onto his bed, putting his paws over his head.

  ‘What is it, you two?’ said La Contessa, before realisation dawned. ‘Oh no, don’t worry – my mother is not coming to visit. We had to postpone her. Don’t you remember? We have got the VIP “Roar and Snore” sleepover at Taronga Zoo tonight. Pop on your safari suit and pack your toothbrush, because I said we would go early and meet my dear, dear friend Anouska there for pre-party Champagne and canapés.’

  Nick sighed. Anouska was another of La Contessa’s old college friends, who now seemed to spend her days organising social events for charity from her home overlooking the harbour in Double Bay. He usually placed her in the ‘best avoided’ category.

  *

  Forty minutes later they were stepping from the taxi into the blazing New Year’s Day sunshine beating down on the entrance to the world-famous harbourside zoo. ‘Are you sure we can bring Baxter to the zoo?’ said Nick for the second time. ‘It seems counterintuitive to me.’

  ‘Anouska’s husband, Theo, is the world’s leading expert on tigers and is over here from their tiger sanctuary in Sumatra,’ said La Contessa. ‘Given that he is the reason we have been invited, I am sure that as VIP guests of the big VIP guest we will be granted a special dispensation for Baxter.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ Nick nodded, his memory kicking into gear. ‘Isn’t that sanctuary the one you’ve been telling me about with all the problems, the money issues and the death threats?’

  ‘I love it when you listen to what I tell you,’ said La Contessa. ‘Remember you did that once last year too? Yes, Theo is here to try and sort them out – he’s meeting some powerful people apparently, as well as helping out with Taronga’s tigers.’

  As they stepped from the car, Baxter’s nose went into overdrive sniffing all of the animal scents on offer. A cacophony of animal noises, screeches and whoops filled the air.

  ‘There she is now,’ said La Contessa, waving and rushing over to a blonde woman who stood anxiously by the entrance turnstiles. Nick finished paying the taxi driver and strolled over with Baxter tugging excitedly at his lead.

  ‘Oh thank goodness you are here, Mariabella,’ said the woman, clutching desperately at La Contessa’s arm and looking frantically over her shoulder. ‘I’m waiting for the ambulance.’

  ‘Ambulance?’ said La Contessa. ‘What on earth has happened?’

  ‘Oh, I thought that was why you were here early,’ said Anouska tearfully. ‘Something terrible has happened. Somebody let the tigers into the cage when Theo was in there. He has been terribly mauled.’

  ‘Oh no, what a terrible accident,’ said La Contessa, her hand flying to her mouth. ‘Is he, I mean, will he be all right?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Anouska, her voice breaking into a sob. She looked at Nick and grabbed his arm. ‘I’m so glad you are here. When he went into the cage I watched him double check everything. Theo is always so thorough.’

  ‘You mean,’ said Nick quietly, ‘somebody let those tigers in there on purpose?’

  WE’RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER

  A Coronavirus Novel

  This novel introduced Nick and La Contessa and their dog, Baxter, to Australia for the first time. Together, they shared the problems and emotions of the COVID-19 pandemic lockdown in real time, while applying their idiosyncratic sleuthing skills to solving a murder in the building opposite.

  From late March to mid-July 2020, the storyline of We’re All in This Together appeared as a daily serialisation in the HiberNation lift-out section of The Daily Telegraph, the Herald Sun, The Courier Mail and The Adelaide Advertiser.

  The continuing antics of Nick, La Contessa and Baxter now run as weekly episodes in those newspapers.

  Enjoy!

  CHAPTER 1

  Dangerous Liaisons

  ‘Darling, I cannot believe Lionflower has gone down the plug hole because of this beastly bug! And I just love this little bikini I bought there. What do you think?’

  Nick Moore, retired policeman and currently resting private detective, looked over the top of his Daily Telegraph as his wife sashayed onto the patio of their Californian bungalow. La Contessa Mariablella Belluci looked like Sophia Loren – not as the actress was now, nearing 90, but rather as she had been in her heyday.

  ‘Amazing, darling, but you could wear nothing and still look fantastic.’

  La Contessa caught the look in her husband’s eye just as the sun disappeared behind the 12-storey building next door. She stamped her foot impetuously. ‘I cannot believe the council allowed them to build that glass-sided monstrosity here. I mean,’ she continued, flinging a careless arm in its direction. ‘You can see into every single apartment.’

  ‘And they get the pleasure of watching us in our back garden too,’ said Nick.

  ‘Well that’s not very exciting – just a middle-aged couple sitting around in a pandemic lockdown wondering when is a suitable time to draw the first cork.’

  ‘Hmmmm, what about last Friday night in the hot tub?’

  La Contessa’s cheeks flushed under her freckles. ‘That was rather lovely. But Nick, darling, we can’t do that for six months.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘This lockdown is going to be very tedious with nothing to do and nothing to see . . .’

  The rest of her sentence was cut short by a terrible, high-pitched scream.

  ‘Oh my god.’ La Contessa’s hand flew to her mouth. They both looked up to see a young woman in a fluttering yellow dress plummet from the apartment block opposite. She crashed onto the roof of a brand-new red BMW M3, setting off the alarm and sending their beagle, Baxter, into a frenzy of wild barking.

  They dashed through the gate and into the street
, where people were already gathering around the car – while still maintaining appropriate social distancing, Nick observed. He grabbed his wife’s hand to stop her crossing the road. As a policeman, he knew some things, once seen, can never be unseen.

  ‘Is there anything we can do?’ she asked.

  ‘No, it looks like a write-off,’ he said sadly.

  ‘I meant about the girl.’

  ‘Ah, no, darling. Not from a fall like that.’ Sirens were sounding in the distance and heads were appearing over the balconies above to see what had caused the commotion. Nick kept watching the entrance of the apartment but no one appeared.

  ‘Oh noooo, my car!’ Their neighbour Georgios Papadakis appeared in a stained white vest, his hands pulling at his grey hair. ‘It’s gone. It’s new and it’s gone.’

  Nick realised his wife, still only wearing her bikini, was trembling. He guided her back to their garden where Baxter was still yapping uncontrollably.

  ‘What about the girl, Nicky,’ she said, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Everyone is talking about the car and not about her. Why would she jump? Is the coronavirus that bad?’

  ‘Darling,’ he said, looking her dead in the eye, ‘she didn’t jump.’

  La Contessa’s eyes widened. ‘She didn’t jump. You mean she was —’

  ‘Yes, pushed or thrown,’ said Nick, walking purposefully over to the outdoor fridge and pulling out the martini glasses.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Well, to clear the balconies below and the pavement would require an enormous run up and Olympic-level long-jump skills. She may have been slated for Tokyo, but I doubt it.’