Challis - 04 - Chain of Evidence (35 page)

Van Alphen tolerated Lester, knowing
never to sink all of his hopes in just one informant. It was impossible to know
how long Lester would be useful to him, however, or even how long Lester would
live. Meanwhile Lester was in it for different types of gain: to get money, or
revenge, or some hard guy off his back; to feel good about himself; to divert
the attention of the police away from his own activities. Van Alphen knew all
of this, but he needed guys like Lester. After all, Lester had told him where
on the Peninsula hed find the likes of Billy DaCosta.

Not that Lester went in for young boys,
or girls. There was something oddly asexual about the man. He lived with his
mother above the betting shop they ran, on High Street in Waterloo. She fed
information to van Alphen sometimes, too.

Van Alphen drove. Hed never met
Lesters sister or brother. Hed heard all about them, though: the sister a
single mother, on methadone, the brother a head case who kept forgetting to
take his medication. A typical Seaview Park estate story...At that moment, van
Alphen frowned: he could have sworn that Lesters sister and brother lived on a
housing estate outside Mornington, on the other side of the Peninsula. Still,
people like that tended to move around a lot.

He entered Seaview Park estate and
crept along the darkened streets. More than half of the overhead lights were
out, shards of glass at the base of the poles. The houses watched him mutely,
most well kept but others with old cars in the front yards, rusting inside a
shroud of dead grass. No one stirred. This was a country of shift workers and
young families: any noise would come from people like the Jarretts, or those
who had no job or anything to look forward to but blowing the welfare payment
on booze and dope every night. And so it was quiet and dark along Bittern
Close, Albatross Crescent, Osprey Avenue and, finally, Sealers Road. Van Alphen
wound down his window and aimed his powerful torch at the front windows of 19
Sealers Road. It was the last house in the street, deep within a corner of the
estate, bound on one side and the rear by the estates stained pine perimeter
fence, and on the other by an unoccupied house, a For Sale sign on a lean in
the dead front lawn. Number 19 looked dead, too, but if Lesters sister was a
junkie, or a recovering junkie, she probably didnt care about the upkeep of her
garden or want light pouring in.

Van Alphen parked his car and
knocked on the front door. A dog some distance away barked, but otherwise there
was only the wind, and the sensation of the earth whispering through space. Van
Alphen had these fancies sometimesencouraged now by the scudding clouds and
the moon behind them. There was no sign of Lesters little Ford Fiesta, big
surprise.

After a while he went around the
side of the house, peering through windows, to the back yard, where someone had
jemmied open the glass sliding door, buckling the aluminium frame and cracking
the glass. He froze. He edged aside the curtain with his torch and went in, to
where there was sudden movement behind him and a shotgun exploding, the sound
deadened by a pillow, but not the outcome.

* * * *

43

Challis
completed his call to Ellen Destry feeling a little frustrated. Hed wanted to
tell her that his father had been taken to hospital that morning. Hed wanted
to tell her that it was maybe his fault.

It started after Gavins funeral,
when hed argued with Meg, the argument continuing all weekend.

Cant you see? she said. Dads
worse.

He seems the same to me, Challis
had said.

Its subtle, but hes definitely
worse. He should go back into hospital.

What can they do, except observe?
All that to-ing and fro-ing will do more harm than good. He needs rest.

Saturday passed, Sunday, some bad
old history informing their arguments. Eve forced them to apologise, but they
were wrung out and could not do more than that. They were stubborn; it was a
standoff.

And then, as if to underscore the
fact that Meg knew what she was talking about because shed stayed close to her
family and Challis hadnt, the old man had collapsed after breakfast and been
rushed to hospital. Challis had just come home from spending the day there.

His conversation with Ellen cut
short, he felt restless and incomplete. The house oppressed him at night, and
he didnt want to sit for hours in the hospital again.

Then the kitchen phone rang and he looked
at it with dread. Megs voice was low and ragged. Its Dad.

At once Challis pictured it: their
father in the grip of another stroke or one of the weeping fits that seized him
from time to time, as though life was desolate now. He asked foolishly, Is he
okay?

The raggedness became tears. Oh,
Hal.

Challis understood. Ill be right
there.

He fishtailed the Triumph out of his
fathers driveway and sped across town to the hospital. There was a scattering
of cars parked around it, but otherwise the place seemed benign, even deserted,
as though illness and grief had taken a rest for the day. He parked beside a
dusty ambulance and barged through the doors. Here at last were people, but no
sense of urgency or of lives unravelling.

Hal!

He wheeled around. A dim corridor,
smelling of disinfectant, the linoleum floors scuffed here and there by black
rubber wheels. Meg and Eve were sitting outside one of the single rooms with
Rob Minchin, who patted Meg and got to his feet as Challis approached.

So sorry, Hal.

The two men embraced briefly. Ill
be back soon, Minchin said. Couple of babies due some time tonight.

Challis turned to Meg and Eve. Their
faces were full of dampish misery, but uplifted a little to see him, as though
he were their rock. He didnt feel like a rock. It was a lie. He was quiet and
thoughtful, and people mistook that for strength. In fact, all he wanted to do
was join Meg and Eve in weeping.

Meg drew him onto a chair beside
her. Eve gave him a wobbly smile.

He said gently, What happened?

Massive cerebral haemorrhage.

He found that he couldnt bear to
think of it. There would have been suffering, brief, but intense. There would
have been a moment of extreme fear. He didnt like to think of his fathers
last moments.

Meg held his hand in her left and
Eves in her right. It could have been worse, she said.

They sat quietly. Can I see him?

Meg released his hand and pointed. In
there.

The room was ablaze, a nurse and an
orderly bustling and joking as they worked. They sobered when they saw him. Hal,
said the nurse.

He peered at her. Nance?

She nodded. Another one hed gone to
school with, the younger sister of...

Hows... He couldnt remember her
husbands name.

Oh, hes history. Good riddance.

She took Challis by the elbow and
gently ushered him to the bedside. We have to move him soon, but I can give
you a few minutes. She patted him and he was aware of the lights dimming and
of Nance leaving with the orderly.

His fathers mouth hung open, and that,
with his scrawny neck and tight cheekbones, seemed to configure despair, as
though the old man wasnt dead but imploring someone to help him. Challis began
to weep. He tried to close his fathers mouth but nothing was malleable. Maybe
the old guy had never been malleable. Challis pulled up a chair, sat, and held
a light, papery hand. He let the tears run until Meg joined him and he found
the strength to say to himself,
Enough.
Enough for now, at any rate.

* * * *

44

On
Tuesday morning Scobie Sutton stared in fascination at the man who had abducted
and raped Katie Blasko, possibly abducted and murdered other young girls, and
also cheated a stack of people of $395 plus booking fee. Duyker, with his eyes
dead as pebbles, dry, heavily seamed cheeks and neck, and patchy, tufted brown
hair, did look disturbing close up. At surveillance distance hed seemed
nondescript, a tradesman on his day off, maybe, a man who favoured pale
coloured chinos, deck shoes and a polo shirt. You wouldnt look twice at him.
Now Scobie couldnt take his eyes off the man. He visualised Grace Duyker,
sweet Grace, with her skin like ripe fruit, sitting unconsciously close to him
as hed interviewed her about Duyker. Well, the closeness was probably
unconscious, but Scobie had liked it, and had unconsciously moved his bony
thigh closer to hers as she told him about family occasions when she was young,
and the creepy way Uncle Peter had looked at her.

He forced himself to pay attention,
and heard Ellen Destry say, Youve been identified by a witness, Mr Duyker.
You, Neville Clode and other men have for many years been sexually abusing
underage boys.

An equal opportunity child rapist,
Scobie thought, boys and girls. Of course, Ellen was jumping the gun here. Van
Alphen hadnt produced his witness yet, hadnt even come in to work yet.

Duyker, on the other side of the
interview table, folded his arms and stared at the ceiling panels. Scobie
looked up, astonished and angry to see wadded tissue stuck up there, as though
this was a public toilet. He privately vowed never to leave a witness alone in
an interview room. Mr Duyker? he prodded.

Im not saying anything until my
lawyer gets here.

Out of the corner of his eye, Scobie
saw Ellen lean back in her seat. Now, where have I heard that before? she
said. Scobie continued to stare at Duyker, looking for the flinch that said to
keep pushing. Duyker was expressionless. The air in the little room contained
an evil stink, suddenly, as if Duyker exuded contempt through his pores while his
eyes remained fiat and dead. Contempt for young girls, police, anything decent
at all. Scobie shivered involuntarily and said a few words of prayer to
himself.

We have enough to hold you, Mr
Duyker, Scobie said. May I call you Pete? Peter?

Nothing.

Fraud, in addition to the sex
offences.

Nothing.

You defrauded my wife of $395,
Scobie went on. A policemans wife. We have a pattern here, dont we? Your
record shows fraud charges in New South Wales and across the water in New
Zealand.

Duyker said flatly, My lawyer.

Hes
not helping us with our inquiries,
Pete,
you
are, Ellen said.

Scobie pretended to read a page from
the file that lay before him on the chipped table, where coffee rings
overlapped like Olympic logos rendered by deranged children. This pretend
photography. It wasnt all pretend, was it? You took
actual
photographs
sometimes? Little girls? Naked? Having sex with you and your mates while they
were too drugged to resist?

Scobie found himself reeling in
distress at the sudden pictures in his head, of his sweet daughter at Duykers
hands, and he himself floundering, unable to save her.

Duyker sat unblinking.

So Scobie said, headlong and
spiteful, Your DNA matches DNA found in the house where Katie Blasko was
found.

Beside him Ellen threw her pen down
softly. Around him the air shifted, and a slow smile started up in Duykers
face, an empty smile but a smile.

I dont recall giving you a sample
from which to make a match. I dont recall that you asked for one. Meanwhile my
DNA is not on file anywhere. Stop playing games.

Well be asking for a sample,
Scobie said, going red. Ellen breathed out her disgust.

Duyker was amused. I wonder what my
lawyer will say.

Scobie and Ellen were silent, Scobie
mentally kicking himself.
Never give them ammunition to use against you:
Challis
had drilled that into him time and time again. And this interview was being
videotaped: a good copper always keeps his facial expressions neutral in those
circumstances.

Ellen tried to take the initiative. Youve
been identified from a photograph array as being one of the men involved in the
sexual abuse of underage boys, Pete.

According to Kees van Alphen,
thought Scobie in disgust. Van Alphen had been evasive lately, supplying
partial answers or none at all, and he was never in his office. Running his own
investigation, as Ellen had said in frustration last night.

Then, out of nowhere, an appalling
thought came to Scobie: van Alphen was running interference for this gang of
paedophiles. Van Alphen had assured Ellen that his informant, some kid named
Billy DaCosta, had identified Duyker and Clode from a photo array, but maybe
that was a delaying tactic, or an outright lie. And where were van Alphen and
his mystery informant?

Duyker was yawning. Are we done?
Can I go?

Youre not going anywhere, Ellen
said. We intend to make the fraud charges stick.

So, make them stick.

We will

My lawyer will have me back on the
street so fast your heads will spin, said Duyker, showing heat for the first
time.

Scobie suspected it was true. A
search of the mans house had found nothing. His van was clean, apparently
washed, waxed and vacuumed until it was like new. But Scobie and Ellen knew
what Duyker didnt know: there was a paint smear in the rear compartment.
Purple enamel, the same colour as Katie Blaskos bike, a smear so tiny that it
was no wonder Duyker had missed it, amongst all of those other scuffs and
scratches, obtained from years of loading and unloading. They were waiting for
a paint analysis. Theyd already approached the manufacturer of the bike for
the composition of the paint that had been used on bikes like Katie Blaskos.