Challis - 04 - Chain of Evidence (23 page)

Yeah, sure, males investigating
males, just like last time.

Ellen stared at Everard, blinked,
then leaned back from her desk, telling herself to be conciliatory, start
again. Im sorry if you got no satisfaction last time, she said. But this is
all new to me, so please be patient.

The psychologist evidently weighed
it up and returned Ellens smile. I hadnt realised that a woman was in charge
of the abduction until I saw a story on the TV news, she said. I came
forward, hoping youll be more amenable than a man. Im hoping youre not a
part of the masculinist culture of the police.

Careful, Ellen thought. Its not
your place to point that out to meeven if I do agree. Why dont you start at
the beginning, Dr Everard?

After a moment, Everard said, Call
me Jane.

Jane, Ellen said. She didnt
return the favour. She wanted to keep some distance. Maybe theyd become pals,
but not yet.

It all started eighteen months ago.
A couple of teachers from Waterloo Secondary College started hearing rumours
that kids from Seaview Park estate had been sexually molested by a man in the
town. They went to the police, who seemed unable or unwilling to do anything.

Ellen made a mental note to check
the logs. Did they say why?

Lack of evidence. The teachers didnt
even have names to give them.

Well, theres not much that we can
do if we dont have possible victims or culprits to interview.

Again she got a So, whats new?
look from the psychologist, who went on to say, To cut a long story short, the
principal and the welfare coordinator at the school contacted us to come in and
run some workshops.

Ellen glanced at her notes,
hurriedly scrawled when Everard had first come into her office. You are the
Child Sexual Abuse Prevention Agency, attached to Childrens Services?

We are.

Go on.

We ran several classroom workshops
at all age levels, from Year 7 through to Year 12.

Ellen waited.

We discussed the forms and levels
of abuse, to help kids realise that they had rights, and the protection of the
law, and how to avoid certain situations, and when and how to report abuse.

And?

Jane shrugged. As expected, it was
new and terrifying information to many kids, nothing new to others. Most looked
uncomfortable.

Embarrassment is a great
prophylactic, said Ellen, immediately regretting her choice of words.

Jane cocked her head. You could say
that.

Ellen flushed. Did any of them come
forward?

We encouraged them to write down
their concerns and pass those to us.

Anonymously?

Yes.

And?

Two girls in Year 7 and one girl in
Year 8 asked to speak to us privately. They gave mobile phone numbers. One girl
wrote this...

Jane Everard poked a scrap of paper
toward Ellen with a slender forefinger. The nail was blunt, but lacquered a
bright red. Out of habit, Ellen prodded the note into position with a ballpoint
pen.

There is this guy Nev Clode in
Waterloo, she read, and he does stuff to girls and he tried to do it to me
but I run off but one of my friends didnt, I dont want to give you her name.

Ellen looked up.

Jane caught her expression. You
know this Clode, dont you? Incredible. Absolutely incredible. How is it that
hes roaming free?

I cant discuss an ongoing
investigation with you, Jane, you know that.

Oh, bullshit. We have a paedophile
in our midst, Katie Blasko was apparently abducted and raped by paedophiles..
.Are you going to look into this or not?

Shed cast aside her formal
enunciation, showing heat, showing a personality that Ellen could relate to. We
are.

You know this creep?

Ellen smiled the kind of smile that
answered Jane Everards question.

Well, Ellen, Im telling you now,
you wont get very far if youre relying on Senior Sergeant Kellock or Sergeant
van Alphen.

Ellen didnt want to hear this. Is
that why youve come forward now? Because theyre in trouble?

In
trouble? They
are
trouble.

Youd better explain.

Glancing at her notes, the
psychologist said, First, we spoke to the three girls in person. The writer of
that note said, and I quote, Clode tried to kiss me and feel me and he tried
to get me drunk. He showed me his dick as well. I ran away but this friend of
mine goes back there sometimes. Everard glanced up at Ellen. The second girl
gave a similar account, again refusing to name the friend, who turns out to be
the third girl. She gave a clear, unprompted account of being abused. Clode
would apparently sit her on his lap and reach around and touch her between the
legs. On several occasions he raped her. He also took photographs of her.

Did she consent?

Jane said coldly, Does that matter?
Shes thirteen.

Ellen shook her head irritably. What
I mean is, she goes back there, according to her friends. Why?

Why do you think? He pays her, some
cash now and then, marijuana, booze, cigarettes.

Ellen felt stricken, and it must
have shown in her face. Jane smiled kindly. I know, I know. She said lots of
the estate kids visit him. She herself started going to him when she was
eleven, in primary school.

Can you give me her name?

Jane wasnt keen to do that.
Eventually she said, Only because I trust you. Its Alysha Jarrett.

Ellen blinked.

You know who she is?

We know the family.

Incest?

Thats never been suggested, said
Ellen carefully. Theyre known to us in other contexts. What did you do next?

Contacted the sexual crimes unit in
Melbourne.

Not the Waterloo police?

No. We wanted to act quickly and
firmly on this. Big mistake.

How so?

Melbourne sent down three male
detectives. They arrived half a day late. On arrival, they didnt come to see
my colleagues or me but went straight to Kellock and van Alphenmates of
theirs? By the time they came to see us, theyd already made up their minds.

Did they interview the girls?

If you can call it that.

Explain.

The interviews were a joke, lasting
only ten or fifteen minutes. We saw the reports: nowhere do these so-called
detectives give any detail about what questions they asked or what the children
said in reply. Brief summaries are all you get, and even they are
contradictory. I talked to the schools welfare coordinator, who was allowed to
sit in on the interviews. She said the detectives were rude and intimidating.
It was clear to her that theyd prejudged the children. In tone and body
language they were accusing the children of being liars, stirrers,
troublemakers.

Ellen closed her eyes briefly. Oh,
God, she murmured.

Then these three esteemed members
of Victoria Police went to the pub with Kellock and van Alphen.

You saw them?

Yes. We tried to talk to them
immediately after the interviews, but they warned us off, said it would be all
in their report. I was so pissed off I followed them to the pub. They gave me
the cold shoulder.

Id like copies of all reports.

Im a step ahead of you, Jane
Everard said, passing a folder across the desk. Main summary on top.

Ellen scanned it quickly, catching
the phrase on the grounds that no criminal offences were disclosed. She
looked up. Did you follow through?

We decided to report the matter to
the Department of Human Services. They followed it up, then reported back to
us, saying theyd elected not to pursue the matter further because the sexual
crimes unit and the Waterloo police had told them that a full investigation had
been carried out and the children were safe.

Safe to be abused by Clode again,
Ellen muttered.

Are you going to do anything about
this?Jane demanded.

Yes.

Jane got to her feet, gathered her
things. Good luck, she said, evidently not believing in luck, or Ellen.

* * * *

Meanwhile
Scobie had been assigned to interview Neville Clodes married stepdaughter,
Grace Duyker. He was shown into the kitchen of a kit house situated on a sandy
track among ti-trees in Blairgowrie, on the Port Phillip Bay side of the
Peninsula. The house was vaguely American log cabin and mid-western barn in
design, the air laden with a headachy mix of new wood, carpet, plasterboard,
paint and wood stain odours. And freshly baked muffins on a rack. Green
numerals on the oven gave the time as 13.10. Scobie realised that he hadnt had
lunch. Hed been poured a mug of weak tea but not offered a muffin.

He took out a pen and his notebook. First
if I could have Mr Duykers work details.

Grace Duyker was confused. What?

Wed like to speak to your husband
as well, Mrs Duyker.

Grace Duyker threw her head back
with an appreciative laugh. Duyker is my mothers maiden name. I didnt take
my husbands surname.

Forgive me, Scobie Sutton said,
making the alteration in his notebook. He said delicately, Is there a reason
why you didnt take your fathers name?

He was never in the picture. It was
only my mother and me. Then when I was fourteen, Mum married Nifty Nev.

Scobie grinned. Nifty Nev.

Grace Duyker grinned back. She was
about thirty-five, he guessed. His gaze flickered around the kitchen, taking in
further information. There were crayon drawings under fridge magnets, a bicycle
abandoned on the back lawn, which was visible through the window above the
sink, and four or five photographs of Grace, her husband and seven-year-old
daughter. Typical family snaps: plenty of sunshine, grinning teeth and bright
T-shirts. But there was also a photograph of a middle-aged woman who looked
worn down by life.

My mother, Grace said, following
his gaze.

He nodded. Clode has a similar
photo of her.

Thats not exactly reassuring.

There was something unbalanced about
the composition of Graces photograph of her mother, as though part of the
subject matter had been cropped with scissors. Clode?

She died last year, Grace
continued.

Im sorry.

Neville Clode wore her down, said
Grace simply.

Scobie said nothing but waited.

A real creep.

In what way?

Oh, nothing overt. He never touched
me or anything when I was a kid, but the way he looked at me gave me the
creeps. I used to hate taking my daughter to visit. Now that Mums gone I dont
see him. Look, she said, changing her tone, whats this about? I know he was
attacked, it was in the paper, but somehow I dont think thats why youre
here.

Were investigating another matter.

And keeping it close to your chest,
said Grace Duyker, scooping up their empty cups and taking them to the sink.
Scobie heard the tap run, saw her upend the cups on the draining board. She
wore lycra bicycle pants under a shapeless T-shirt that reached her thighs. Her
feet were bare. She returned to her chair, a solid, capable woman with a
challenging air. The antithesis of her sad-looking mother, Scobie thought.

Hes clean, Grace said, surprising
him.

Clean?

My husband and I tried for years to
get Mum to leave him. We looked into him.

Private detective?

Yes. Nifty Nevs never been in
trouble with the law.

Scobie already knew that. But he
made you feel uncomfortable.

Yes.

You didnt want him around your
daughter.

Grace Duyker gave him a lopsided
grin. Finally.

Finally what?

Finally you want to know if hes a
paedophile.

Scobie shrugged minutely.

My instincts say yes, but I have no
evidence, Grace admitted. My uncle, on the other hand.

Scobie stiffened, got his pen ready.
Uncle?

Write it down: Peter Duyker. My
mothers brother.

Scobie recorded it dutifully. His
stomach rumbled. Silently Grace crossed to the cooling muffins and placed two
before him on a plate. They needed time to cool. Enjoy.

Thank you.

He nibbled cautiously: blueberry.
Slightly doughy. But warm-centred and delicious. He took another bite, almost
cramming it in.

Grace smiled. Youre enjoying that,
arent you.

Delicious.

She folded her arms. A real piece
of work is my Uncle Pete.

Scobie finished chewing, nodding for
her to continue.

Convictions for fraud in New Zealand
and Queensland.