Challis - 04 - Chain of Evidence (42 page)

Anything wrong, Scobe?

He pushed the fingers of both hands
back through his sparse hair tiredly. The van Alphen shooting.

It was a good diversion, and close
to the truth. The Fab FourEllen Destrys term, but entirely apthad questioned
him again, this time concentrating on van Alphens role in the Nick Jarrett
shooting. Pretty sketchy, these notes of yours, DC Sutton, they said, and Perhaps
you were steered by Kellock and van Alphen, and It would appear that a
culture of protection and containment exists in this police station. They
asked questions that the shooting board officers had asked: Why had he failed
to test for gunshot residue on the hands of Kellock and van Alphen? Why had he
bundled items of clothing from both men together with the victim? Why had he
let them move the body, or at least before he photographed it? Why had he
failed to have the blood on the carpet tested, and allowed the carpet to be
steam-cleaned?

Scobie was a wreck.

Where are you going? he asked his
wife now.

The Community House on the estate.

Why?

Beth gave him her mild, reproving
smile. Sweetheart, I told you, the public meeting. The petition.

Scobie remembered. The locals were
trying again to have the Jarretts kicked out. Five hundred signatures from
residents and local shopkeepers. Officials from Community Services and the
Housing Commission would be there, together with Childrens Services welfare
workers and a senior officer from Superintendent McQuarries HQ.

Good luck, said Scobie tiredly,
looking around the kitchen absently to see if shed prepared something for his
dinner. He could see Grace Duyker coming up with something rare and subtle, a
vaguely French sauce over tender veal, a fragrant Middle Eastern dish.

I hate to see families broken up,
Beth was saying worriedly, kids taken away. In my opinion this kind of
pressure is only going to lead the Jarretts to
more
crime, not less.

Scobie thought approvingly of Grace
Duykers toughness and scorn, and found himself snarling at his wife: The
Jarretts continue to commit crime because theyre evil, and because gullible
people like you believe they can be saved.

Beth stood stock still, her face
white and shocked. Is that how you see me? Gullible?

Scobie swallowed. I think you try
to do good where it sometimes isnt warranted, where it wont work.

Her hand went to her throat. Oh,
Scobie, I thought I knew you.

Forget I said it. Im sorry.

I cant.

Scobie touched her upper arm, his
voice gentle. Go to your meeting, love.

Beth said stoutly, I might just
vote to let the Jarretts stay.

Scobie, punch-drunk with tiredness
and strange emotions, said, Do what you like.

Suddenly he was bawling. Beth, with
a brave little face, said, You work out whats wrong and well talk about it
when I get back. For dinner you could zap last nights leftovers in the
microwave.

* * * *

Detective
Constable (provisional) Pam Murphy still had to sit a Police Board interview,
but shed passed all of her core subjects and been assigned to work with Ellen
Destry in Waterloo CIU, so life was looking pretty good by Monday evening.

She didnt miss the physical
training, the theory or the gruelling tests. She didnt miss the Academy at
Glen Waverley or the classrooms at Command headquarters, where each day shed
had to pass through the foyer with its glass cabinets displaying guns and other
murder weapons. Instead, she was feeling thankful that it was all over. Sure,
shed be obliged to take a million training courses in the coming years, but
none of the really gruelling stuff. God, last week shed run into a group of
guys whod enrolled for Special Operations Group training: of the sixty
candidates, only nine had survived.

Seven oclock, clouds across the
moon, so it was pretty dark out, especially at the Penzance Beach yacht club.
Uniform had checked it out: a burglary, meaning it was now a CIU case. Sergeant
Destry, looking edgy and distracted, had told her John Tankard had called it
in. Apparently the managers on the premises, waiting to give you a statement.

The wind rose on the water, moaning
through the ti-trees, and soon there was a lonely metallic pinging. Sail
rigging, Pam realised, slapping against the masts of the yachts parked in the
yard behind the clubhouse. She approached the building and found a door open
but almost pitch black inside. She went in, one hand patting the wall for a
light switch. Shed left her torch in the CIU Falcon. It occurred to her that
she still had a lot to learn.

Police! she called.

Maybe the burglars had come back and
beaten the manager over the head, tied and gagged him.

The door slammed behind her.

She spun around, thoroughly spooked
now, and felt for the doorknob. It wouldnt budge. She was locked in. She
looked up and around, trying to find the patches of lighter darkness that
indicated the windows.

They were clerestory windows, up
high, far out of reach.

She tried to swallow and her heart
was hammering. She fumbled for her radio, badly panicked, the weeks of training
counting for nothing.

Stay cool, she told herself,
releasing the call button of her radio, her mind racing.
Think.

Her thoughts didnt take her in the
direction of burglars and burglary. They took her in the direction of rookies,
probationary cops, who are always good for a laugh. It was entirely probable
that everyone at the Waterloo police station was waiting to hear how she coped
tonight. They wanted fear, loss of control, booming through the public address
system. Theyd preserve her shame on tape, burn it onto a CD, for the world to
enjoy over and over again.

DC Pam Murphy, requesting urgent
assistance, she said, pressing the transmit button.

The radio crackled in delight, Go
ahead, DC Murphy.

Pam gave her location. Im with
Constable John Tankard, she continued. Im afraid hes soiled his trousersfear,
or a dodgy lasagne at lunchtime. Please send assistance and a spare nappy. The
smell is awful.

The dispatcher snorted. Will do.

I got a peek when he cleaned
himself up, Pam said. I know theres a height requirement for the Victoria Police,
but shouldnt there also be a
length
requirement?

Behind her the door was flung open
and a teary, angry voice beseeched her to shut the hell up.

* * * *

54

All
through that long Monday, Ellen repeated it like a mantra:
Trust no one.
It
made sense. According to Andrew Retallick, not just one but
several
policemen
had abused him. Kellock, presumably, but who else? Maybe even the
superintendent. Maybe even Scobie Sutton. She wasnt dealing with a couple of
miserable individuals but a secretive, protective and organised circle of men.
Shed known from other cases in Australia, Europe and the States how powerful
these circles could be. The makers and keepers of the law often dominated:
judges, lawyers, cops, parole officers. These men had the clout and know-how to
protect themselves, subvert justice, and kill.

At least now she knew that van
Alphen hadnt been involved. That didnt mean hed been a sensitive, caring
individual: fuck, he was so blinded by hatred of the Jarretts that hed branded
Alysha a tart and liar and helped ambush Nick Jarrett. A vaunting avenger,
yeah, but not a paedophile.

Hed been working for the good guys,
and that had cost him his life. Who had shot him? Kellock, probably. Ellen, in
the incident room on Monday evening, glanced back over her shoulder and kept
misjudging the reflections in the darkened windows. Would he come for her here?
At Challiss? Arrange an ambush somewhere?

She tried Larrayne again. The phone
went to voice-mail again. Where was she? Finally she tried Larraynes mobile
phone, knowing it was futile, for there was no signal in the little valley
where Challis lived.

But, bewilderingly, Larrayne was
there on the line, shouting, shouting because there was background noise, not a
weakened signal. Im in my car, Mum.

Ellen practically fainted with
relief. Where?

Just coming in to Richmond.

Ellen pictured the old suburb, on
the river and close to the inner city. Students, yuppies, small back street
factories, a solid working-class core and a long street of Vietnamese
restaurants and businesses. She was puzzled and concerned. What are you doing
there?

Do I have to tell you everything? A
group of us are having a swot session for next weeks exams.

Thank God for that. When will you
be back?

I left a note on the table. Ill
stay overnight, work in the library tomorrow, and come home tomorrow evening.

Sweetie, can you stay away longer?

Larrayne was the daughter of police
officers. She said warily, Somethings happened.

Ellen said simply, Someone might
try to do me harm.

Mum! You cant stay at that house
any more, out in the middle of nowhere!

I know that, sweetheart.

Well?

Ill find somewhere else, I
promise.

I dont like this, said Larrayne,
a little hysterical now. Van was shot. Are the same people after you?

Not if I get them first.

Larrayne went into full paranoia
mode. Text me, okay? Or send an e-mail with the details. Dont trust the
phones.

I will, sweetie.

Ellen finished the call and went to
the head of the stairs to listen. The station was muted but not dead. She heard
voices and laughter. Suddenly Pam Murphys voice came crackling out of the
public address speaker above Ellens head. There was an edge to it. Ellen
listened tensely, realising that Pam was in trouble. But as she listened, she
relaxed. Soon she was grinning. She said aloud, Good one, Pam, and returned
to the incident room, where she made a call.

I need you back here now.

Sarge, Pam said, Im sorry about
the radio business, but

Forget that. I need you on another
matter.

Sarge.

While she waited, Ellen mused. She
dipped into her store of Kellock memories, Kellock over the past few weeks. The
cuts on his hands, that morning she asked for extra uniforms. Scratches? From a
dog, or Katie Blasko? The briefings in which hed discredited Alysha Jarrett.
The briefings in which hed emphasised the DNA cockups. Hed been protecting
Clode and Duyker, she realised. And in murdering van Alphen, hed been
protecting the entire ring.

But how did Billy DaCosta factor
into all of this? How had Kellock got to him in time? Had Kellock intimidated
or paid the kid into changing his story? Had Billy acted alone, spurred by the
murder of van Alphen? Or had van Alphen, a man who would help shoot dead a criminal
in the interests of meting out rough justice, not hesitated to create a witness
to bring down Kellocks gang?

There were no women in the lives of
Clode and Duyker, but Kellock had a wife. A wife who suspected something?
Colluded? Knew nothing? Ellen had once investigated a case of child abduction
and murder in which the killer had a wife and children. On the surface he was a
decent, plausible man, who went to church and was active in youth groups. When
arrested, hed denied everything. Then hed claimed that the child had been the
instigator. Then he said the child had choked in his car and hed panicked and
buried her. A kind of accident, in other words: can I go home now? Finally, as
Ellen and the other investigators pulled apart his story, he got angry. A moment
later he was full of apologiesnot for losing his temper, as such, but for
allowing his faade to slip. Yet it was the mans wife whom Ellen remembered.
Shed known nothing of her husbands hidden life, or his past convictions for
indecent exposure to children. She was protective of him. She dismissed
everything that Ellen had to say.

But Ellen had sown a seed. Before
long the woman remembered that her husband had washed his own clothes on the
day of the murder. Hed never done that before. Hed also washed and vacuumed
his car, something he never did unless the family was going on vacation.

Men like him are dead inside, Ellen
thought now, feeling spooked by a movement in the window. Shed signed for a
service .38 and put her hand on the butt, ready to slip it out of the holster
on her hip. But it was only a passing headlightpossibly reflected upwards from
a raked windscreencatching the corner of the whiteboard. On an impulse, she
called Challis in South Australia.

Voice-mail.

She badly needed him here. She didnt
deny it. She wanted his stillness. It was a supple kind of stillness. He was
respected, and respectful, but people were wary, too, for they couldnt always
read him. He was good at spotting complexities and nuances that others missed,
but he also knew when to look the other way in the interests of commonsense and
the best outcomes. He was a chameleon sometimes, able to connect with a
homeless kid one moment and a clergyman the next. He remembered names: not only
of criminals, informants and the people in the corner milk bar but also their
families, friends and acquaintances.