Challis - 04 - Chain of Evidence (18 page)

Yes, Mrs Joyce.

You have to tell them to make it
strong, Hal.

Challis forked out more money and
they found a table beside a window. There had been nothing like the Copper
Kettle when they were growing up. The decor suggested sidewalk caf bohemia,
and you could consume anything from a soy latte to a smoked salmon baguette. It
was evident that the locals patronised it, too: he saw shopkeepers, farmers,
housewives, visiting salesmen, kids on their way home from school.

Sorry to hear about your dad, Lisa
said.

Thanks.

Is he, you know...

Meg thinks hell go soon, but hes
so pigheaded he could rally for a few weeks or months, or even go on like this
forever.

Lisa nodded. My parents are still
going strong. Rexs are barely hanging on.

Her wealthy husbands parents had
retired to the town, signing everything over to their son. Challis wondered if
Lisa had been behind that. Rex Joyces parents had seemed old and frail twenty
years ago. As Lisa said, they must barely be hanging on now.

How is Rex?

Lisa told him. He scarcely took it
in, finding attractiveall over againher fine, animated features and gestures.
She was very alive there, on the other side of the little table. Their knees
touched, and their shoes, once or twice. But he did take in the fact that Lisa
was disgruntled. Rex Joyce was a drinker. He remembered that Meg had told him
that.

And you? she asked. She gave him a
lopsided look. Are you over all that...business?

She meant the fact that Angela, his
late wife, had tried to have him killed. Lisas voice and manner suggested that
despite everything else she had or might have done to him, she would never have
wanted to kill him. He nodded, feeling tired suddenly. It was as if he was
being confronted by past mistakesmistakes in matters of the heart, first with
Lisa and then with Angela. He said bluntly, It would never have worked, you
and me.

She wasnt disconcerted. She patted
his wrist. In fact, it
didnt
work. But it was fun.

He grinned. She returned it, and
said lightly, Involved with anyone at the moment?

Her gaze was direct, amused but
merciless. He met it, thinking rapidly. Lisa was acting on him; the old
chemistry was still there. But old instincts were kicking in, too. He
remembered that Lisa Acres was not someone you confided in. If she listened it
was to store information that she might use one dayagainst you, or to her
advantage, or both.

Cat got your tongue, Hal?

That tugged at his memory, too. Hed
often been mute with her, back when he was eighteen, mainly out of simple
astonishment: hed never met anyone so vain, unreliable, bored and easily
distracted. All those careless, shrugging explanations for missed appointments
and unreturned phone calls. Reproaches never worked because she was
unaccommodating, unconcerned about hurting him and unable to make concessions.
But her sauntering walk, sleepy smile and softly rounded, flawless brown skin
had made up for all of that, over and over again.

She saw all of this passing across
his face and a brief, peevish expression flickered on hers, as if she was like
everyone else and wanted to be loved. Her gaze slipped to the table.

He sipped his coffee and said
inanely, Hows the drought affecting you and Rex?

The
drought?
For Gods sake.

The tightness persisted between
them. Presently Lisa said, I see Eve in here sometimes. A whole gang of them.
Nice kids.

Yes, said Challis, relieved.

I feel sorry for her.

Eves okay.

Lisa reached across and placed her
hand over his and it felt hot and alive there. On the surface, maybe.

He withdrew his hand. Did you know
Gavin?

Lisa sipped her coffee. This is all
froth. Gavin? Not really. He was not someone you got close to.

Challis had to acknowledge the truth
of that.

Well, Id better go, Lisa said,
getting to her feet and bending over to kiss him. She swept out of the place as
though she owned it, as shed always done.

* * * *

He
sat for a while, reluctant to return to his father, and checked his phone,
which had been turned off. One message. He dialled, mood lightening, and said, Only
me, returning your call.

Last night Ellen had been elated:
Katie Blasko had been found alive. Today the elation was still apparent in her
voice, but Challis also heard resolve. She now knew what sort of crime and
criminals she was investigating. Hang on, he told her, Im in the local caf,
and I dont want to upset the natives.

Smiling thanks as he passed the
front counter, he stepped outside. Im back, he said.

They talked for a while about the
possibility that a paedophile ring operated on the Peninsula. Like her, hed
heard the rumours. Or it was an isolated incident, he said.

Which makes it harder to
investigate, Ellen said. She paused. Such a brave little kid. I hated
interviewing her, making her dredge it all up.

I know.

Challis did know. Sad, broken and
fearful children walked through his dreams sometimes. In many cases hed
avenged the harm done to them, but not nearly often enough.

He walked, listened, made
suggestions. Talking like this, about work, and its logical steps, was a
blessing, an antidote to the fog he was feeling here in the Bluff. Youre a
tonic, he said, after shed kidded him about something.

There was a pause. Am I?

Then, as he was beginning to think
hed gone too far, she said, You are, too, Hal.

* * * *

24

Operation
Calling Card.

While Ellen Destry had been
interviewing Katie Blasko, van Alphen and Kellock found their ambush site, a
house behind the fitness centre. It belonged to Kellocks wifes cousin, who
worked on a Bass Strait oil rig and was therefore away for several days at a
time. They fed the details to Ivan Henniker, and he fed them to Nick Jarrett.
To cover themselves, van Alphen and Kellock obtained three other addresses, of
people who were genuinely away on holiday, and arranged for each location to be
staked out that night. Ivan Henniker was not told those addresses. We might
get lucky and catch Nick Jarrett in the act, van Alphen and Kellock told the
stakeout teams in one of the little briefing rooms behind the canteen, later
that afternoon, or we might sit on our arses all night. It could be weeks
before we trap the bastard.

So Jarretts been fed four
potential locations to burgle? asked John Tankard, who was highly motivated.
Hed spent a fruitless morning in De Soto Lane with Scobie Sutton, and still
cringed inside at the memory of his fear last Saturday night, encountering the
Jarretts on that back road behind Waterloo.

Yes, lied van Alphen. He glanced
at his watch. Take the rest of the afternoon off. Meet you back here at eight
tonight.

John Tankard hurried out of the
station. Four oclock. He was anxious to grab this small window of opportunity
to do something about his new car. Hed shown it to a few mates at work, and
their reactions had ranged from envy to ridicule (which Tank read as envy), but
hed not had a chick in the passenger seat yetnot counting his little sister
and the Northern Territory registration would run out soon.

And so he drove around to Waterloo
Motors and booked it in for a roadworthy test. He wouldnt be able to register
the car in Victoria without it.

I can fit you in early next week,
the head mechanic said, flipping through the grimy pages of his desk diary.

But the rego runs out on Friday,
Tank said. He cursed that hed changed out of his uniform. The uniform gave him
authority. In jeans and a T-shirt he was merely bulky.

Hed had a shower though.

The mechanic made
tsk
sounds
and ruminated on the problem. Get it privately, did you?

A dealer, Tank said.

Dealers are supposed to provide a
roadworthy certificate.

The cars from Darwin, just traded
in, not much registration left, so the guy discounted the price if Id buy it
as it is, said Tank in a defensive rush.

The mechanic said nothing but was
unimpressed. Electric tools whirred and clattered beyond the door that led to
the workshop area. Someone whistled, another dropped a spanner, and the air was
laden with the odours of oil and grease. Everything was satisfying to John
Tankard, except this hitch regarding the mechanics busy diary.

I could do it first thing tomorrow,
the guy said eventually.

Awesome, said Tank.

Seven-thirty?

Tank intended to be still in bed at
seven-thirty tomorrow, what with working late tonight on Kellocks and van
Alphens operation to nab Nick Jarrett. You couldnt make it later?

Nope.

Tank thought about it. How about I
give you the car now, you lock it up overnight, and start on it first thing in
the morning.

No problem.

Got a loan car?

Sorry, mate, none available, said
the mechanic glibly.

What he meant was, he didnt intend
to loan Tank a car to compensate for a measly thirty-minute roadworthy test. So
Tank walked home to his flat. It didnt feel right, walking. It put him too
close to the populace, some of whom hed arrested over the years, and all of
whom knew him as a bully.

His mobile rang. Im waiting, said
the producer from Evening Update.

* * * *

That
same afternoon, Pam Murphy was trying to do things by the book. Excuse me,
sir, she said.

Confronting a guy who looked young,
about twenty, and indistinguishable from other guys his age: baseball cap,
loose T-shirt, baggy jeans, bulky, expensive trainers on his feet. And hostile
with it.

Im Constable Murphy, Pam said.
One day shed be able to say Detective Constable, but not yet. She stood about
four metres away from the kid, and to one side, the side hed try for if he
wanted to make a run for it. On his other side was a chain-link fence, behind
him a brick wall.

So? said the guy, showing plenty
of attitude, reminding her of a Jarrett hoon from the Seaview estate.

How long have you been standing
here?

Whats it to you?

Answer the question, please, sir,
Pam said.

Couple hours.

Alone?

Yeah.

You havent moved from here in two
hours?

Nup. Whats this about?

Theres been a report of a robbery
near here.

Yeah? So? You sayin I done it?

Dont you want to know what kind of
robbery? Perhaps you already know?

Listen, bitch, I done nothin to no
one.

Youre in the vicinity. We have a
witness description that matches yours.

The guy getting edgy now, looking
for a way out, even prepared to use violence. Yeah? Who?

If I could see some ID please, sir.

Last nights seminar had involved
conflict resolution, a visiting American lecturing to them for three hours on
how to use speech to deflect or negate threatening situations. The gun youre
carrying isnt the most dangerous thing about you, hed said. Neither is your
ability to use a baton or your fists or your boots. Its your tongue.

Tongue = danger, Pam had written
on her A4 writing pad, feeling a little absurd.

Its your tongue and how quickly
you use it to show anger or contempt, the lecturer continued, how quickly you
use it to say the wrong thing or take the wrong tone. In certain situations it
can be like throwing a match into a gas tank.

John Tankards approach, Pam had
thought, listening to the lecturer drone away. Hed gone on to explain how you
should avoid conflict phrases such as Whats your problem, pal? and use peace
phrases like May I help you, sir?

Pam had scribbled dutifully:
conflict
phrases, peace phrases.

Its all about sublimating ego and
anger, the lecturer continued. Try to read your customers. What they say and
what they mean can be two entirely different things.

Customers?
Jesus Christ. Sometimes Pam could
sympathise with the likes of John Tankard. Shed raised her hand last night,
the lecturer giving her plenty of lecture-circuit teeth. Yes, young lady?

And when words fail?

Then you kick ass, the lecturer
said.

So now Pam was trying the softly,
softly approach with this twenty-year-old would-be gangster. Perhaps you have
a drivers licence you can show me, sir?

Got no pockets.

You dont carry a wallet?

Nah.

Your name and address, then, sir.

Why should I tell you my fucking
name? This is bullshit. I done nothin wrong.

Sir, Im obliged to investigate. Id
like to be able to eliminate you from our inquiries, let you be on your way, so
if you could just give me a name...