‘I concede there are some risks, but after we finished talking to Pansy Potter I got the distinct impression that she would be very keen to find out who killed her mother and sister.’
‘Yes, of course she wants to know who pushed Rose off the roof and spiked Victoria’s spaghetti,’ said La Contessa. ‘However I don’t think she clearly understands that you want to use her as the bait in a trap.’
‘Unfortunately, now that the idea has been planted, I fear Pansy may be setting that trap herself whether we like it or not,’ said Nick.
Baxter suddenly barked and hurtled to the front door in a whirl of skittering paws that usually heralded the arrival of a delivery.
‘It’s unusual for you to be getting a parcel,’ said La Contessa as a beaming Nick walked into the kitchen with a large box. ‘Come on, what is it?’
‘This, my Lascari lass, is my Qantas barbeque deluxe hamper pack. They are keeping their suppliers in business by flogging off the meats that are normally supplied to Qantas First Class passengers, together with two bottles of Sangiovese,’ said Nick, pulling out a brace of T-bones. ‘Look at these grass-fed beauties.’
‘Lovely, darling, and did I mention that I am now following a pescatarian diet to try and get my pre-Covid body back?’ said La Contessa, missing Nick’s crestfallen look as she turned back to her iPad. ‘Did you see Lord Ron and Lady Arabella Saunders’s post on Facebook?’
‘No – what’s that old rascal up to now?’ asked Nick. ‘I lost a fortune on the last horse of his that he tipped me on to.’
‘It’s Lady Arabella’s birthday and they are having a COVID-19-rules-relaxing barbeque for friends and neighbours in the Turner Towers gardens,’ said La Contessa. ‘I feel this is at least the twentieth time we have celebrated Arabella’s 40th birthday.’
‘Perfect! At least that will give me somewhere to take my meat hamper,’ said Nick delightedly. ‘We must all attend. We qualify as neighbours even if my friendship with Ron became a tad strained after the race-fixing scandal.’
‘What do you mean “all attend”?’ asked La Contessa. ‘Are we taking Baxter?’
‘No, I think this will be the ideal occasion to introduce everyone to Charles Turner’s other heiress, Pansy Potter.’
*
Two days later, they were there and La Contessa was not entirely happy.
‘I’m not sure I feel comfortable celebrating Lady Arabella’s birthday at a barbeque with a killer,’ whispered La Contessa in Nick’s ear. ‘Particularly when I don’t know which one is the villain.’
‘Have another shampoo, my Argenta agoniser,’ said Nick, passing her a glass of Champagne and looking around the socially distanced barbeque in the grounds of Turner Towers. ‘Lord Ron and Lady Saunders, thank you so much for the invitation!’ he said as their hosts wandered past.
‘Mrs Turner, I trust you have recovered from the car crash?’ said La Contessa, bowing her head to Charles Turner’s widow, who was gliding through the throng with her spinster sister-in-law, Alice. La Contessa jabbed a painful elbow into Nick’s side. ‘Look, there’s Charles Turner’s ex-mistress Natalia draped all over his dead daughter’s ex-boyfriend, Wayne. Have they no shame?’
‘It’s hard to tell if anyone here actually has a moral compass,’ said Nick, as chauffeur Arthur Minns burst out laughing at something golf course designer Alan Todd had said. ‘I see the broken marriages are keeping to opposite sides of the garden.’
Mark Hutchinson and Dr Emily Chen were standing arm in arm sipping Champagne while their betrayed partners, Amanda and Stephen, stood awkwardly, glowering at them from the barbeque. Chinese businessman Hu stood alone in the shadow of the tower.
‘What a motley lot,’ said Nick. ‘They are about to get the shock of their lives.’
As he spoke, Catherine Turner dropped her wine glass and someone let out a scream.
‘It can’t be!’ gasped Natalia. ‘You’re dead.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Miss Pansy Potter?’ announced Nick smoothly to the startled guests. ‘The late Rose Turner’s identical twin sister.’
‘Twin sister? Why, Rose never told us she had a twin,’ said Catherine, the billionaire’s widow. ‘This is most irregular.’
‘So is having sex with your secretary and then not telling anyone about it, I imagine,’ murmured La Contessa, dashing up and taking Pansy’s arm. ‘Do come and meet everybody.’
‘I’m so sorry about your sister,’ said Natalia, who had recovered from her shock remarkably quickly. ‘And your mother. To lose them both so suddenly must be awful.’
Pansy nodded and clung to La Contessa’s arm as Nick carefully guided them around the gathering, watching from behind like a hawk.
‘Strewth, does that mean you are now the legitimate heiress to old Turner’s loot?’ asked a clearly inebriated Alan Todd. ‘That’ll go down like a turd in a trifle.’
‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ said La Contessa. ‘And this is Dr Chen and Mr Hutchinson QC – you may want to ask them some questions about your sister’s affairs.’
‘I’m sure we would be delighted to help,’ Mark said coldly. ‘Come along, Emily, I think this party has run its course.’
‘They may well be right,’ said Nick, observing the residents of Turner Towers abandoning their drinks and fleeing for the lifts. Only one hung back.
‘Mr Hu, may I introduce you to Miss Pansy Potter, the other illegitimate daughter of your late business partner?’
The Chinese businessman stepped out of the shadows. ‘Be very, very careful,’ Hu cautioned.
*
Nick and La Contessa decided to take Pansy back to their home to debrief.
‘Was that a threat?’ asked La Contessa. ‘Mr Hu seemed very threatening when he told Pansy to be “very, very careful”.’
‘Or was it a warning?’ said Nick, handing Pansy a martini. ‘Here, this will calm your nerves. You were extremely brave.’
‘Yuk,’ Pansy gasped after sipping the martini. ‘Do you have any Moscato?’
‘She is only nineteen, darling,’ said La Contessa as Nick grimaced. ‘I think we may have some left over from an old party.’
‘Did you get to see their faces as I came in?’ asked Pansy. ‘Did it work? Did any of them give anything away?’
‘They all seemed completely shocked,’ said La Contessa, returning with the drink. ‘Although Natalia recovered the quickest.’
‘That may just be because she is younger,’ said Nick. ‘Alan was the first to put together the fact that you might be in line to inherit the fortune.’
‘I don’t care about the fortune. I just want to find out who killed my sister and my mother,’ said Pansy. ‘What do we do now?’
‘We wait,’ said Nick. ‘Introducing you publicly like that will undoubtedly set the killer into motion. Now we watch to see who breaks cover.’
‘It’s very dangerous,’ said La Contessa. ‘You need to stay here with us until this is all over.’
Baxter jumped from his blanket and started barking wildly as a bottle sailed over the back fence and smashed onto the pavers.
Nick dashed to the gate. ‘Gone,’ he said, before bending down and picking up a piece of paper. ‘But whoever it was has delivered a note.’
After studying it he put in a call to Cleaver, who arrived 20 minutes later and read it carefully.
‘That’s really not good,’ Cleaver said, turning the note over in his hands. ‘You say this was in a bottle that was thrown into the garden?’
‘Yes – scared the life out of poor old Baxter,’ said Nick. ‘Do you have any idea what it means?’
La Contessa had gone to settle Pansy inside and they were sitting alone in the garden.
‘Well, you see this symbol here on the front?’ said Cleaver, pointing to a red circle with a dragon inside it. ‘That’s the symbol for the Triads – the Chinese mafia.’
‘And what about the number 25 on the other side?’ asked Nick.
‘That’s even more worrying.
Among the Hong Kong Triads, the number 25 has come to symbolise a spy, the betrayer of trusts.’
‘Who on earth could that mean?’ asked Nick. ‘Perhaps they are unhappy with La Contessa’s regular monitoring of Turner Towers with her telescope.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Cleaver. ‘This is some kind of warning. Have you noticed any kind of Triad activity in the building opposite? No white vans with drugs leaving in the middle of the night?’
‘No, but there are a couple of Chinese residents there – Charles Turner’s old business partner Hu and his doctor, Emily Chen. Perhaps the note is warning us about them.’
‘I would be very, very careful,’ said Cleaver ominously as he made his way to the back gate and left.
‘Funnily enough, that’s what Mr Hu said.’
‘Triads! Goodness gracious, the neighbourhood is going to the dogs,’ said La Contessa, after coming back into the garden and listening to Cleaver’s theory. ‘I think I am going to write to the council and complain.’
‘I have always admired your capacity for immediate action, my Ferno inferno,’ said Nick, shaking a martini as Baxter plonked onto his blanket. ‘Cleaver’s analysis of the note we received was certainly a surprise.’
‘Is the obvious candidate for membership of a Triad gang Hu or Chen? Are Triad members more likely to be Chinese or Chinese Australian here? Or is it a multicultural organisation?’ said La Contessa, taking the proffered martini. ‘I have certainly seen neither of them doing anything obvious through the telescope.’
‘And who do you think the number 25 on the back of the note meant?’ said Nick, smoothly ignoring his wife’s xenophobic line of questioning. ‘The 25 is the Hong Kong Triad symbol for a spy – who could that be pointing us towards?’
‘I imagine any nefarious dealings are conducted well out of sight of prying eyes,’ said Nick. ‘If I were up to something dodgy I would be keeping it underground.’
‘That’s it!’ said La Contessa, jumping to her feet. ‘The basement. Young Pansy has gone for a lie down. While she rests, I think it is up to us to get to the bottom of this dastardly business.’
‘What are you thinking, my Amarone Amazon?’ said Nick.
‘We need to get into the basement of Turner Towers,’ said La Contessa. ‘Come on, Baxter!’
*
‘Gosh, that was most informative,’ said La Contessa, bursting into the garden with Baxter hot on her heels. ‘I can’t believe we managed to get into that basement again in broad daylight.’
‘Hmmm, what’s that?’ said Nick dreamily while smoothing his hair and studying his reflection in the window. ‘Did you say something?’
‘Nicky! What’s got into you?’ fired La Contessa. ‘Talk to me.’
‘Oh, you know, I think there’s some life in the old dog yet,’ said Nick suavely. ‘I just popped into the café for a coffee and that rather pretty young blonde waitress immediately asked for my name and phone number. Very forward but obviously has great taste.’
‘Nick, really,’ said La Contessa. ‘She wasn’t trying to pick you up; she has to take down the details of everyone for tracking in case there is a coronavirus case.’
‘Ah, yes of course,’ said Nick, looking away from his crestfallen reflection. ‘Tell me, how did you get on with your exploratory probe of the basement of Turner Towers?’
‘That is what I have been trying to tell you,’ said La Contessa, her voice exasperated. ‘Baxter did a great job of pulling free of his lead and bounding inside as the security gate opened for Catherine Turner’s Rolls Royce.’
‘That was remarkably astute of our lovable beagle,’ said Nick.
‘He may have been under the impression that the tennis ball thrown in there was for him,’ said La Contessa. ‘Naturally I had to go in and get him.’
‘Naturally,’ said Nick.
‘And you won’t believe what I found,’ said La Contessa. ‘This was on the floor of the garage, together with a discarded shipping note,’ said La Contessa, flourishing a disposable mask. ‘Is Pansy still resting in the spare bedroom?’
‘I haven’t heard a peep from her. She’s probably exhausted from losing her sister and mother,’ said Nick, taking the note. ‘Now that is interesting. Fifty tea chests, shipped at the end of February . . .’
‘Yes, I thought it was odd they would want to send tea to China,’ said La Contessa. ‘Don’t they have tea there already? Don’t people say, “For all the tea in China”?’
‘Spot on, my Orvieto oolong aficionado! That saying dates back to when the Brits stole the secret of how to make tea from the Chinese,’ said Nick. ‘But I have a hunch about what was really in those shipments: remember the news reports of crims smuggling medical equipment out of Australia as the pandemic took hold? Assuming the “tea chests” weigh 50 kilograms each, that’s two and a half tonnes of extremely rare and valuable personal protective equipment, if I’m correct. In short supply and highly valuable at the start of the coronavirus epidemic.’
‘You mean someone in Turner Towers was buying up Australian face masks, goggles and hand sanitiser and sending them to China?’ said La Contessa. ‘Under our very noses?’
‘Absolutely: some of the bigger shipments have been exposed but a lot of smaller ones like this must have gone undiscovered.’
‘But who would do such a thing?’ asked La Contessa.
‘Someone with access to medical equipment and supplies,’ said Nick. ‘And an existing supply line into China. Perhaps an underground Triad pipeline.’
‘Well, Dr Chen would have the access to medical equipment,’ said La Contessa. ‘Perhaps Charles Turner’s old business partner Hu would have the supply line.’
Suddenly there was a loud scream and a shattering of glass. ‘Pansy!’ said Nick, jumping to his feet as Baxter hurtled ahead of him into the house.
CHAPTER 9
Intruder!
‘Pansy, are you OK?’ said La Contessa, following Nick and Baxter down the hall and into the front bedroom, where a startled Pansy Potter was sitting up in bed with the sheets pulled up defensively around her. The window was broken.
‘What happened?’ asked Nick as Baxter jumped onto the bed and started barking at the window.
‘Watch his paws for broken glass,’ warned La Contessa, pulling Pansy into a protective hug.
‘That’s odd. There isn’t any broken glass,’ said Nick, going over to the window and looking out. ‘It looks like the window was smashed from the inside.’
‘It was,’ said Pansy in a shaky voice. ‘I woke up to see a face staring in at me from the window so I screamed, grabbed the nearest thing to me and threw it with all my strength.’
‘Oh no!’ said La Contessa, looking frantically at the bedside table. ‘You didn’t throw the porcelain chicken that was there, did you?’
Pansy nodded.
‘Nick Moore, are you laughing? You know that chicken was the sole remaining part of the pair that my mother gave us.’
‘Heavens no, my Pianella pet, you know how upset I was when I broke the other one over the head of that intruder to save you,’ said Nick, looking at the smashed fowl on the lawn. ‘Perhaps we could try and glue it back together . . .’
‘More to the point, I think we need to know who it was that prompted Pansy to throw it in the first place,’ said La Contessa rather crossly. ‘Can you tell us? Whose face did you see at the window?’
‘And what could have been so frightening as to have prompted you to throw La Contessa’s porcelain objet d’art chicken through the glass?’ asked Nick as Baxter hopped onto the windowsill and disappeared outside.
‘I woke up to see my father’s old business partner Hu staring at me through the glass,’ said Pansy shakily. ‘He looked like he was holding a gun.’
‘Well, that would do it,’ said La Contessa. ‘Come into the kitchen and I will make you one of my green juices. It will help knock off all those extra pounds gained in lockdown.’
‘Not that Pansy is looking at a
ll portly,’ added Nick quickly. ‘In fact I don’t see why either of you need to worry . . . Er, I’ll just go and see what Baxter is barking about.’
Several minutes later Nick entered the kitchen, with Baxter carrying a black plastic tube in his mouth.
‘Baxter has found what you obviously mistook for a gun,’ said Nick, taking the tube from the tail-wagging beagle.
‘Sorry, darling, you’ll have to shout. We can’t hear you because of the blender,’ yelled La Contessa as the device whirled a bright green concoction through its blades.
‘I SAID THIS IS —’
‘There’s no need to shout, darling,’ said La Contessa, turning off the blender. ‘Look what clever Baxter found! You obviously must have thought that was a gun, Pansy.’
‘Not so obvious is the paper rolled up inside it,’ said Nick.
‘Well, what does it say?’ demanded La Contessa impatiently. ‘If Mr Hu dropped it outside the window, it could be a clue.’
‘It’s very odd,’ said Nick. ‘The ends are bunged up with dog treats.’
He removed the treats, gave them to Baxter and extricated the rolled piece of paper.
‘It’s a shipping invoice for baby formula,’ said Nick, turning the paper over. ‘And on the back is the number 25 again.’
‘What on earth does all that mean?’ asked La Contessa, who in the meantime had attached a rubber resistance-training band to the door handle and was bending her arms to stretch it. ‘Come on, Pansy, you have a turn.’
‘What are you doing, my Foggia fitness fanatic?’ asked Nick. ‘That door handle looks decidedly shaky.’
‘There is still a bit of resistance about going to gyms and I need to get into shape to be seen in post-Covid-lockdown society,’ explained La Contessa. ‘Anyway, tell us more about the note.’
‘I don’t understand why he would stuff the ends with dog treats,’ said Pansy as La Contessa continued to puff and strain. Suddenly the door handle broke free with a rendering of wood and the elastic exercise band pinged it over the fence like a catapult. There was a loud crash, followed by neighbour Georgios shouting, ‘Oh no! My greenhouse, it’s broken.’
The Dying Diplomats Club Page 23
