Jon Cleary - Winter Chill

‘Yes. He seemed – perturbed? I mean, at meeting him. But he didn’t say why. But what’s happened to the briefcase?’

‘That’s what – perturbs us,’ said De Vries. ‘Did you know what was in it?’

Tallis shook his head. ‘It was locked all the time I had it. Mr Brame never told me the combination. But I can’t understand …’

‘Someone must have taken it while I was out at the morgue on Monday morning. Or – once I went down to the coffee lounge when the maid came in.’ Joanna put down her glass, picked up the phone. ‘I think we should call the police.’

‘No.’ De Vries held up a hand. ‘No, not yet. Let’s make sure no one here in the hotel has it. If there are ABA papers in it, Orville could have given it to one of the other officers. Karl Zoehrer, perhaps. Don’t let’s panic—’

‘I’m not panicking, Dick.’ But Joanna put down the phone.

‘Mr Zoehrer’s over at the Convention Hall,’ said Tallis. ‘There’s a session on international law. He’s chairing it. Mr Brame was scheduled to do it. I’ll go over there now, find out if he has the briefcase.’

As the door closed behind him, De Vries turned to Joanna. ‘We have to retrieve that briefcase and those papers.’

‘That’s why I think we should call in the police. There has to be a connection between it and Orville’s – murder.’

‘I think I need another drink.’ He moved towards the drinks tray.

‘No, I think you should go and lie down, Dick. You look as if you’re suddenly suffering from jet lag.’

Then the phone rang. Reception wanted to know if Inspector Malone could come up to see Mrs Brame.

2

Malone preferred not to interview people on his own, but his resources were spread thin this morning. ‘We want someone here to mind the store,’ he had told Clements. He had looked around the almost empty big room; there were only two detectives at their desks, each of them head bent above papers. ‘You’re it, Russ. You can enjoy yourself answering the phone from the Commissioner, the Minister. Even Bill Clinton. Where’s Andy Graham?’

‘I sent him over to ABS Security to check on Rockman’s references from his other employers. Then he can follow that up by going to see those firms, find out what he can about Rockman.’

‘Peta Smith and John Kagal?’

‘They’re out looking for Rockman’s ex-girlfriend.’ Clements settled back in Malone’s chair. ‘This chair’s a bit tight on the bum. If I’m moving in here next Monday, I’ll bring my own. Good luck with Mrs Brame.’

When Malone knocked on the door of the Brame suite it was opened by a silver-haired man who didn’t seem particularly glad to see him. ‘I’m Richard De Vries. Come in – Inspector, is it? Your ranks are different from ours, aren’t they?’

In contrast to De Vries, Joanna Brame looked pleased to see him. ‘Do come in, Inspector. Have you some good news? Well, no, not good news—’ She gestured, but not vapidly. ‘Why should I be asking for that? If you’ve caught the murderer, it still won’t be good news, will it?’

‘No, Mrs Brame. And we haven’t caught him. I’m sorry to say we’re not much further advanced. Except—’

‘Except?’ De Vries was standing by the drinks tray. ‘Drink?’

‘Mr De Vries is the other senior partner. He arrived from the States only this morning.’

Malone shook his head at the offer of a drink, but noticed that De Vries poured himself a stiff whisky. But before the older man tasted his drink he said, ‘You said except . Except what?’

Malone then explained about the murder of Murray Rockman.

‘He was murdered near here ? Is this a dangerous area where the hotel is?’

‘It hasn’t been up till now.’ Malone knew he sounded defensive, like a local city councillor.

‘It’s starting to sound that way now.’

Malone ignored him and looked at Joanna Brame. ‘The bullet that killed the security guard was the same calibre as the one that killed your husband.’

‘But that proves nothing, does it?’ said De Vries, drink still untouched, manoeuvring himself into Malone’s gaze again. ‘How many calibres of bullets are there?’

‘This one is an uncommon one. Our Ballistics unit are looking into it, they think they know the type of weapon that would fire such a bullet.’

‘Are they any good?’

‘Our Ballistics unit? They’re considered as good as any in the world.’

De Vries then took a gulp of his drink and Joanna said, ‘I’m sure Mr De Vries didn’t mean to imply that they were not as good as—’

‘The FBI?’ Malone smiled, but with an effort. He hoped this was not going to develop into a battle of the flags. He was not particularly nationalistic, seeing nationalism only as an upmarket name for tribalism (and look at what that was doing in the rest of the world), but he did have pride in his own Service. ‘We hold our own, Mrs Brame … We’re now trying to find the connection between the two killings. We still don’t know who was the man who spent half an hour with your husband on Sunday night.’ He looked at De Vries, reluctantly. ‘Would Mr Brame have discussed with you meeting anyone in particular while he was out here? A client, maybe?’

De Vries put down the glass, as if Joanna’s reproachful stare had taken all flavour out of his drink. ‘As far as I know, his only interest in coming here was as president of the Bar Association, that was all. I don’t believe he knew anyone here in Sydney.’

‘Except his brother.’

‘Well, yes, his brother.’

‘And he knew nobody else here? No local lawyers?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so. We have association with—’ He named one of the biggest law firms in Sydney. ‘He could have met one of their partners.’

‘I’ll check on that,’ said Malone, but wondered why, if a partner from a top law firm had met with Brame on the night of his murder, he had not come forward. Lawyers might be obstructive in court, but they were usually not obstructive towards police work, especially murder.

‘There is something, Inspector—’ Joanna ignored De Vries’s warning look. ‘We think something has been stolen from here. My husband’s briefcase. Mr Tallis, you met him the other day, is checking if someone else has it. Mr Zoehrer, for instance.’

‘Do you know what was in it?’

‘None of us know, not even Mr Tallis.’

She was sitting opposite Malone, the morning light striking across her face, almost sympathetically: it didn’t betray any lines of age. In an instant of sensation Malone felt he could be looking at Lisa in ten or twelve years’ time (he had no idea how old Joanna Brame was); or as he had always expected Lisa to look. He had never thought of Lisa’s dying; or if he had, he had closed down the thought at once. Now, looking at this composed, good-looking woman opposite him, he saw her turn her head towards De Vries, the lift of the chin exactly as Lisa’s lifted, and all at once he had to turn away. But she had caught the movement.

‘Are you all right, Inspector?’

‘What? Oh yes.’ He stood up and walked to the window and looked out. The monorail train glided past, packed with passengers, all of them safe from bullets of any calibre. ‘Were you going to tell us about the briefcase?’

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