Challis - 04 - Chain of Evidence (29 page)

He asked pleasantly, May I see whats
on the camera?

Sadler glanced at his watch. Im
sure the batteries are flat after all
these years.

But Challis was already trying the
buttons, without success. He tipped out the batteries, two rechargeable AAs. Shall
we try
your
camera?

Hed taken charge of the man, the
room, and the situation. Sadlers RSPCA camera sat on the windowsill. It also
took AA batteries, which Challis transferred to Gavins camera.

He scrolled through the photographs
stored in the memory. Several
showed bony but not starving pigs eating
scraps in a cement trough. Are these Paddys pigs?

Sadler looked. Yes.

How would you rate their condition?

As I said, I made an inspection. I
found the situation didnt warrant prosecution or intervention. The pigs werent
fat, but they hadnt been mistreated.

Challis chose his words carefully. Meg
said that Gavin seemed a bit zealous in the weeks and months before his
disappearancehis death.

Sadler stroked his jaw like a farmer
faced with a knotty problem and not the words to express it. I did have a
couple of complaints.

From whom?

I cant tell you that.

Challis let it go. Did
you
have
any run-ins with Gavin?

I spoke to him about the
complaints.

How did he respond?

Shouldnt I be telling this to the
South Australian police?

Challis said shamelessly, It will
help put Megs mind at rest to know these things.

Sadler looked angry, but answered
the question. He said tensely, He blew up at me on the phone.

And?

Then he got tearful. Then he blew
up at me again. I slammed the phone down. Then the next thing I know, hes
disappeared.

The police spoke to you at the
time?

Yes. I told them his mood had been
up and down a lot.

The people who complained: did they
make threats against him?

No. He just said to send someone
else next time.

Challis pounced.
He?
It was
a man who complained?
One
person?

Sadler looked hunted. I shouldnt
be telling you any of this.

I am the police.

Even so, its not right.

* * * *

Thats
all Challis could get out of Sadler. Nixon and Stormare were pulling into town
as he was pulling out. He saw them glance with their roving cops eyes at his
old sports car, because it didnt belong in the bush, and because it had
Victorian plates, and finally because they recognised him. He accelerated
sedately, watching his rear-view mirror, and saw them swing around in a U-turn
on the long, dusty highway and race after him. A moment later they were on his
tail, flashing and tooting. He pulled over onto the gravel verge and they
pulled in behind him. A semi-trailer went by in a blast of aggrieved air. He
got out. Stormare and Nixon got out. He perched his rump against his door. Gentlemen.

Inspector, youre out of your
jurisdiction here.

Am I?

Dont play dumb. You went to see
Sadler.

Yes.

Youll stuff up our investigation
if you keep talking to our witnesses, Nixon said.
Sir.

Im helping my sister.

Youre putting ideas into the heads
of our witnesses, Stormare said. Surely you realise that.

Challis did realise. For all he
knew, Stormare and Nixon were very good at their job and would find the killer.
He wouldnt like it if they trampled over one of his investigations. But he
wasnt going to lose face with them or make promises he didnt intend to keep.

My brother-in-law was pretty
unstable in the weeks and months leading up to his murder. Moody,
hypercritical, even violent. Not only with my sister, but also with his work
colleagues, and with the people he was investigating.

We know that, said Stormare
tiredly. He waited while another truck blasted past. Dont tell us our jobs,
okay? Butt out. Sir.

Im going to see Paddy Finucane.

Where do you think weve been?
snarled Nixon. Theres no need for you to see him.

How did you hear about him?

Your sister, sir, in fact.

Challis nodded. What did Paddy say?

Sir, Stormare said, Im afraid well
have to speak to our boss, who will speak to
your
boss, if you continue
to interfere with our investigation.

Challis thought they would do so
anyway. The complaint would take a while to find its way to McQuarrie. He
rubbed grit from his eyes as a refrigerated van passed close to their cars,
followed by a school bus, the kids waving madly, one kid baring his bum in the
rear window. Challis glanced at his watch. Almost 4 pm.

Mr Finucane has made a statement,
Nixon said.

Stay away from him. Sir, said
Stormare.

* * * *

37

Scobie
Sutton was obliged to wait for three hours before the shooting board officersa
man and a woman, both youngish and expressionlesstook him into an interview
room. With a nod and a grunt, they sat him where suspects usually sat, so that
he felt like a suspect and almost wanted to add his mark to the scuffs,
scratches and graffiti on the tabletop.

You want to ask me about the shooting
of Nick Jarrett? he said, trying to keep his voice unconcerned and
accommodating.

The male officer, an inspector named
Yeo, gave him a humourless smile. Correct.

I didnt see what happened.

We know that, said the female
officer, a sergeant named Pullen. But you were on the scene soon afterwards,
you collected evidence, and took that evidence to the lab.

Yes.

She, like Yeo, smiled without warmth
or humour. We were contacted by the lab. Apparently there were irregularities
in regard to the way you collected the evidence.

Scobie swallowed.

Are you protecting Senior Sergeant
Kellock and Sergeant van Alphen, DC Sutton?

Scobie shook his head mutely.

We understand that theres a
certain culture in this police station, said Pullen.

Not sure what you mean, Scobie
said, his voice betraying his nerves. He was quaking. Hed never been in
trouble before. Hed never done anything to warrant trouble. An unwelcome
thought came to him that this was punishment for his displeasure with his wife
and the feelings hed had for Grace Duyker yesterday. Could God act so quickly?

Oh, I think you do, said Pullen. A
masculinist culture, arrogant, protective. Kellock and van Alphen are running
their own little fiefdom, correct? Men like you do their bidding, protect them,
cover up for them. A culture that cuts corners, that likes to get a result,
whether lawfully or not.

The whiplash words were somehow
worse coming from a woman, and maybe that was the point. Youve got it wrong,
Scobie whispered. He wanted his wifes cuddly arms around him, protective,
forgiving.

Or maybe it was tunnel vision,
said Yeo. You went in looking for what you expected to find rather than what
was there. You all hated Nick Jarrett, after all. I mean, he was scum, killed
the son of one of your civilian clerks.

I followed procedure, said Scobie
stiffly.

I followed procedure,
sir,
said
Yeo.

Sir.

Dont make me laugh. Rather than
call in bloodstain and GSR experts you gathered evidence and then released the
scene before the techs could do their job properly. We lack separate, isolated
tests for gunshot residue on Jarrett, van Alphen and Kellock, for example. Too
late now. Thanks to your bull-in-a-china-shop methods, we cant construct a
narrative of what happened.

Narrative was a new buzzword.
Scobie felt a rare anger, but tried to look baffled, an expression hed seen on
the faces of the consummate liars hed interrogated over the years.

Pullen leaned forward. What did you
think you were doing, bundling everything together? Didnt your training tell
you about cross contamination?

Before Scobie could reply, Yeo
hammered another question home to him. And you let the crime-scene cleaners
come in the very same morning. Why did you do that?

I didnt know theyd been ordered
to clean up, Scobie protested. The others must have arranged it.

Weve seen the paperwork, said
Yeo. Your name is on the requisition: Detective Constable Scobie Sutton. Look.

He showed Scobie a faxed form. Thats
not my signature, Scobie said.

He swallowed and looked inwards,
down long roads of fear and shame brought on by men like van Alphen and
Kellock, and their schoolboy equivalents before that. He wanted to admit that
hed been intimidated. But he could picture the scorn and contempt the
admission would bring. And he didnt really mourn Nick Jarrett, he realised
suddenly. But van Alphen and Kellock were dangerous. Theyd killed a man, after
all. So he did what most people did and played dumb.

We dont know who was doing what,
or where, said Pullen. We cant verify the sequence of events.

No narrative, Scobie muttered.

Are you being smart?

Yeo leaned forward. Why the hell
didnt you photograph the scene, at least?

No camera, Scobie muttered. Budget
constraints.

Maybe he could lay all of this at
the feet of Superintendent McQuarrie.

Oh, thats convenient.

A camera, Scobie realised, would
have frozen Nick Jarrett in time, his position on the floor, his gloved hands,
the knife before it was moved from one hand to the other. Yeo and Pullen had a
point, that was for sure.

Those cuts on Kellocks forearm,
said Pullen. Whats that about, do you know?

Scobie frowned uncomprehendingly.

You didnt notice the neat
grouping? Three shallow, parallel, non-life-threatening cuts?

Defence wounds, Scobie said.

Defence, scoffed Yeo. Id say van
Alphen and Kellock have their defence pretty well sewn up, wouldnt you, DC
Sutton?

Sir?

Pullen leaned forward. We need your
on-scene notes, DC Sutton. Now, please.

Scobie swallowed and looked at the
wall behind her and said, in creaking tones, I lost my notebook.

Lost? Oh, thats a good one.

They kept him there until early
evening. When he came out he saw Pam Murphy in the corridor. He tried to rally.
I thought you were away on an intensive?

She was young and bright and healthy
and he couldnt stand it. Just finished the first week. They let us go home
for the weekend.

Well, good luck.

Thanks, Scobie.

* * * *

Pam
knocked on van Alphens door. Got a moment, Sarge?

He waved her in. He looked deeply
fatigued.

Heard about Nick Jarrett, Sarge,
she said carefully.

He scowled. This afternoon I was
chewed on by a couple of shooting board dogs.

Everything okay?

He shrugged. Theyve got nothing.
Take a seat. What can I do for you?

Thought I could pick your brains,
Sarge.

About?

Interview techniques.

Interview techniques? said van
Alphen, faintly mocking.

Normally Ellen Destry would have
been Pams first choice, but Ellen was snowed under, looked distracted, even
miserable. Plus, Pam felt a little guilty because she was leaving the uniformed
branch and moving on to plainclothes. She didnt want van Alphen, her old
uniformed sergeant, to think that she was a snob, had no more time for her old
colleagues.

I have to write an essay, she
said. Worth twenty-five per cent of my marks.

Essay? You should be out cracking
heads.

Pam smiled at him across his tidy,
gleaming desk and said, Well, youre a dinosaur, Sarge. Me, Im up-and-coming.
Three thousand words by Monday morning, so Ill have to work all weekend.
Questioning witnesses versus questioning suspects. What to ask, what not to
ask. Establishing mood and rhythm. Using psychology and body language.
Etcetera, etcetera.

Van Alphen stared at her in
disbelief. His expression said that he relied on experience and instinct,
techniques learned on the job, not in a classroom, and which didnt have fancy
names like body language.

Murph, you know how to interrogate
people, he said. Ive seen you in action. Youre good at it. Just write what
you know.

What I know doesnt add up to three
thousand words, Sarge.

Then you shouldnt have gone to
detective school, should you? he said, with a sharkish smile.

Oh, thanks a lot, Pam said,
getting to her feet.

He waved her down. Take it easy,
take it easy. I realise you have to get on in this game, you dont want to be
stuck behind a desk or the wheel of a patrol car.