Tehran Decree (31 page)

One only had to look at Africa and the gross state of
humanity on that continent. In spite of the fact that Africa had
everything going for it by way of mineral resources, space and
agricultural potential -- it was an absolute bloody mess in human
terms.

Chapter Sixty-one

Jansen sat in the bar of the Millers Arms, situated
under the Sydney Harbour Bridge in the Rocks, studying the array of
fizzy alcoholic drinks with their bright translucent colours. It
was obvious why they were displayed at the back of the bar right in
front of the customer’s eyes. Flushed with money on Friday night,
and out for a good time, who could resist such a bedeviling
sensuous display. Small wonder teenagers went for them
wholesale...a colourful, sweet tasting drink, riddled with alcohol.
It was manna from heaven tothe young mind, but a bloody nightmare
to the police who had to pick up the pieces afterwards.

He had to admit the classy packing did pull on ones
basic desires and was tempted to try one before Jeff Dutton arrived
from the coroner's office with a report on Chester’s post mortem.
The bar display took him back to the old days when most respectable
bars often had a mirror you could look into.

In a twisted, conceited sort of way, it was nice to
check up on oneself to see how one looked after five or six
schooners. But nature gradually pulled the wool over one’s eyes,
and progressively dulled one’s senses until it was hard to see the
mirror at all, let alone who was in it. He felt sad, it was getting
progressively harder to find the traditional pub in the city where
beer was the dominant drink. Times changed, life moved on, and
public houses were businesses just like all the others, and if the
younger set wanted fizzy alcoholic drinks, then they were the prime
fare. He looked solemnly into his beer as if it were about to
disappear, then quickly drank the whole glass dry.

Dutton came in with his note book at the ready and
quietly sat next to his boss. He thumbed through the pages then
stopped half way through the book.

‘Chester’s funeral is tomorrow at ten a.m. sir...you
did ask me to remind you.’

‘Thanks Jeff, and the type?’

‘He’ll be buried in the coffin with all the
trimmings,’

‘No cremation then?’

‘No, Mrs. Chester is very much a traditionalist.’

‘Thank god for that then...I had visions of having to
stop a destructive cremation.’

‘No need sir,’ Dutton gave him an envelope

‘Speaking of Mrs. Chester Jeff, we’ll have to see her
again, we’ve just got to take a good look at Chester’s shed. Jensen
keyed in Mrs. Chester’s number on his mobile.

‘Hello, Mrs. Chester here.’

‘Hello, it’s Roger Jansen her again Mrs. Chester,
please forgive me for bothering you yet again, but I wonder if we
could possibly take a look at Clement’s shed.’ There was a pause
and Mrs. Chester asked how soon he could get there, Jansen smiled
triumphantly, she had tentatively agreed.

‘We could be there in ten minutes.’

‘Well I’m on my way out for a hair appointment
commander, but I could leave the shed door open...Just lock up when
you go, there’s a key in the flower pot next to the shed.’

‘Right you are Mrs. Chester...thank you so much,’
Jansen gave Dutton the car keys as they left the Millers Arms.

‘You’d better drive Jeff...I wouldn’t trust myself
even though I’ve only had one schooner,' Dutton looked
mischievously at his boss.

‘A very sensible decision sir,’ Jansen smiled
inwardly and slowly opened the envelope, taking out the coroner’s
report sheet.

It was a conventional report with all the usual
remarks and pathological assessments, followed by a predictable
conclusion -- suicide while the balance of the mind was deranged.
It seemed to be nicely tied up with no lose ends A good
perfunctionary job, like stuffing a chicken and cooking it at the
correct temperature and timing it in an electric oven, and getting
a predictably good result.

He put the envelope back in his pocket and
methodically patted it as Dutton drove into the driveway and parked
in front to of Chester’s shed. It was one more thing out of the
way...or was it?

Even post mortem's were not totally reliable. Past
experience had revealed numerous inconsistencies in such cases
requiring the ultimate corporeal carve up.

Unless the case was an absolute foolproof, cut and
dried job, such results should be treated with due caution,
especially if there was any hanky panky involved in the case.

Chapter Sixty-two

A little judicious fishing in the flower pot produced
the padlock key and Jansen quickly removed the open lock and pulled
Chester’s shed door open. A strong musty odor wafted past him and
Dutton covered his face with his hands. An image of the offal pit
at the local garbage dump passed through his mind.

‘Maybe we should put the air conditioner on first
before going in sir.’

‘A good idea Jeff...but lets be a little cautious
here, it could disturb the contents...we could still find critical
clues, even though the police have been through it. I think we’ll
just make do with the light,’ Dutton flicked the switch and a dingy
scene sprang to life. The police had certainly made their presence
felt by scattering things all over the place, including tools of
all shapes and sizes.

It was as if they had deliberately fudged the crime
scene to prevent anyone who came after from gleaning any fresh
evidence.

‘Perhaps it’s Mrs. Chester’s way of spring cleaning
the place sir?’

‘I doubt it...I rather think she might have gone one
step further and thrown all of it in the garbage bin -- the whole
mess smells of rancid vindictiveness to me.’

Jansen slowly gazed at the roof scanning it from end
to end. He came back to the middle where a lone piece of cord
dangled from a centre beam tied by a double knot. To one side on
the floor of the shed, was an over turned metal stool. This was
clearly the scene of the supposed suicidal hanging.

There was little else which could have produced
further enlightenment on the case, and Jansen refocused his eyes on
the scant evidence. Meager though it was, it held several vital
clues, and Jansen squinted once again at the coroner's report. One
thing that usually gave some degree of accuracy were the blood
tests, invariably carried out on most post mortem victims. He
compared the report figures with a standard list of physiological
norms he carried with him on a small laminated paper the size of a
credit card. He went carefully down the list of standard
values.

The amount of alcohol and isotropic drugs were
extremely high -- too high in fact to be compatible with the
physical evidence.

Jansen righted the metal stool, stepped onto it,
reached up, and struggled to untie the cord from the beam -- after
a valiant effort, he finally pulled the cord down and gave it to
Dutton.

‘I want you to get up on this step Jeff and re-tie
the cord, the way it was,’ Dutton frowned quizzically, then move
forward, confidently looking at the task as a challenge of his
capabilities.

‘No problem sir,’ he pulled the cord taunt and
mounted the metal steps, almost over balancing as he did so, then
slung the cord over the beam. He then proceeded to tie a double
knot, but missed his footing on the small platform area of the
steps. He made a second attempt and managed to tie one lose knot,
then struggled again to keep his balance as he attempted the second
knot. Finally after another laboured session he stepped off the
stool and surveyed his handy work.

‘There sir...childs play!’

‘I don’t think so Jeff...lets face it, you made a
hard job of it, and you’re a relatively young man,’ Jansen tugged
at the cord several times finally undoing the two knots and pulling
the cord away again.

‘You couldn’t hang a skinned rabbit with that knot
sergeant ’

‘But Chester would be more deliberate and determined
than me sir.’

‘I doubt that Jeff...you see he would be so pissed
and infused with cannabis, that I doubt whether he could even have
balanced on the step, let alone tie two sturdy knots and then hang
himself. If he did, it would have been more like a lucky accident
than a planned suicidal exercise. Also bear in mind he was an old,
retired man, well into his sixties...may be even seventy something.
In fact I think he was probably so bad, I doubt he could even walk
the length of the shed without falling over.’

‘I see your point sir...you think he was
murdered?’

‘Without a doubt, unless of course his wife carried
out an assisted euthanasia. I personally doubt that very much,
having met her in the flesh.’

‘Well that throws a monumental spanner in the works
sir.’

‘It certainly does sergeant, but it also provides us
with much more cannon fodder to play with...things are never what
they seem...even if they do look cut and dried.’

Chapter Sixty-three

Jansen had just strapped himself in to this car when
his mobile buzzed.

‘Hello, Jansen.’

‘It’s Steve Deakin here commander,’ Jansen instantly
recognised the ASIO director’s piecing voice, ‘any progress
commander?’

‘Lots sir, it seems Chester has written a wonderful
biography riddled with exposes about the government and the police
force.’

‘How much of it is false and how much is true?’

‘There’s so much sir, I wouldn’t know where to begin
and I suspect it’s all true, down to the last detail. It is
Chester’s confession to the world, and something he desperately
needed to get

off his chest. It was also his pièce de réistance, or
his magnum opus if you like, against the establishment.

‘Where did he keep this sordid tome...according to
the police the place was thoroughly searched when they found his
body?’

‘That may be sir, but I suspect the police probably
didn’t do a real good job. Apparently, his wife found the book in a
tool chest while she was cleaning out his shed. Another point they
seem to have missed is that Chester knew the Sydney tunnel system
better than anyone else in the world. His father took him around
the numerous tunnels when he was a boy, and there are in fact, many
more tunnels that only Chester knew about.’

‘These tunnels...are they lost to us then?’

‘Fortunately, no they aren't sir -- in Chester’s
biography there’s a whole lot of maps -- interestingly, there is
one map showing how to get from the cross city tunnel to St. Peters
Bank.’

‘That’s probably a bit of a coincidence?'

‘I’m afraid it isn’t sir -- you see Clement Chester’s
biography pulled no punches, he has revealed in his book a plan to
rob St. Peters Bank. Not only that, I have just been down the very
tunnel that was used by the BIB to rob the Bank. It opens up within
the cross city tunnel about half way along the distributor
concourse.’

‘Really, how did they manage to hide it?’

‘Well sir, the opening was covered by a large sheet
of hard board, which had been tiled on one side so that it matched
the tunnel decor.

I suspect they robbed the bank during the height of
the presidential siege via this tunnel, then made their way back to
the distributor. But before they entered the cross city freeway,
they probably stayed in the tunnel and waited until the coast was
clear.’

‘So the BIB has the $50 mill then?’

‘Not quite sir...it seems Chester acquired ten
million which is now in possession of his wife, and I must warn you
sir, she is determined to keep the money or else.’

‘Or else what?’

‘Or else she will publish Chester’s book -- which
will demolish the present government and most of the police
hierarchy as well...not to mention a goodly number of retired high
ranking officers.'

“I see...look, I think we have no choice here but to
relay this immediately to higher office...Mrs. Chester may even be
considering publishing that book regardless. It could well make her
a millionaire over night. We have a political hot potato on our
hands -- can you get in touch with her now commander, while I pass
this info on to safer hands. Tell her to hold everything -- tell
her we will consider any proposition she has in mind.’

‘I will...but one small point here...I don’t think
it’s wise to pass the information on at this stage sir. We could be
acting a little too prematurely...give me a few more days.’

‘All right commander, I’ll bow to your superior
knowledge and experience, but sooner or later we’re going to have
to pass it on.’

‘Thank you sir for your patience,’ Jensen cut the
call and keyed in Mrs. Chester’s number.

‘Hello Mrs. Chester, this is commander Jansen again,
sorry to bother you but an important matter has surfaced. You
remember our little talk on Chester’s biography.

‘Yes commander, and I meant what I said, the book is
in London under lock and key, and can be published at the drop of a
hat.’

‘I fully appreciate that Mrs. Chester...but all I
wish to say is...hold everything...please don’t quote me, but we
may be able to offer you the earth, providing you don’t publish
Clement’s book,’ a raucous laugh erupted at the other end of the
line.

‘Well you can take it from me commander, it will be
the earth, and a damn site more, unless you get back to me in short
order. I’ve a vice president to entertain.'

‘A vice president -- who would that be Mrs.
Chester?’

‘Non other than the United States Vice president
Frederick Jenkins.’

‘Really, what is he doing here?’Jansen sat back in
his car seat, his brain went into overdrive, and his face turned
pale.

‘He’s come to see his old friend Clement for a last
farewell word or two.’

‘You mean Clement was a friend of Jenkins?’

‘He certainly was commander they were in the Power
Play Club together.’