Challis - 04 - Chain of Evidence (43 page)

She also liked the shadows and
planes of his face. The way his backside looked in a pair of pants, too, a nice
distracting thought while it lasted. But right now she needed to know what hed
do, if he were stuck in her situation. She swivelled agitatedly in her office
chair.

Funny how the mind works.
Stuck
in
her situation. There was that old Creedence song shed played last night,
Stuck in Mobile again. Why did place names in American popular songs sound
mysterious, sad, romantic? Shed also played Sweet home, Alabama, singing
along to the words. Yeah, she could see that working in Australia: Sweet home,
New South Wales.. .Stuck in Nar Nar Goon North again... Twenty-four hours
from Wagga Wagga.

Sarge?

Ellen jumped.

I did knock, Sarge.

Sorry, million miles away, Ellen
said. Close the door, pull up a chair.

Sarge, Pam said, obliging.

You had a little fun tonight,
Ellen said, when they were settled. It was now 10 pm.

Pam laughed. Not the first time its
happened to me. Back when I was fresh out of the academy they sent me to an
address, said Mr Lyon was drunk and disorderly. It was the zoo.

Ellen grinned. They sent me to the
arms locker to get a left-handed revolver.

God, that had been twenty years ago.
Without wasting any more time, Ellen told Pam everything, watching the younger
woman shift from perky interest to distaste and finally nervy alertness as she
responded with the question uppermost in Ellens mind: If they can kill Van,
whats to stop them from killing us?

Ellen felt a tiny surge of hope. Pam
had used the word us. It said that she saw herself as part of a team.

We need to work fast. We need to
talk to Billy DaCosta again; for a start.

I saw him at Vans, Pam said,
explaining the circumstances.

Ellen regarded the younger woman for
some time. You were fond of Van, werent you?

Pam nodded, her eyes damp. I know
he wasnt a paragon of virtue, Sarge, but he was on the right side.

Ellen nodded. Youre going to his
funeral?

Yes.

Me too.

There was a brief, fraught pause,
then Ellen coughed and said, Heres my interview with Billy. See if it tells us
anything.

She aimed the remote control and
pushed the play button. Pam watched. She stiffened. Thats not Billy DaCosta.

Ellen paused the tape. Thats not
the kid you saw at Sergeant van Alphens house?

Positive. Completely different kid.
Sure, there are vague similaritiessame sort of clothing, same grubby gothic
lookbut thats not the Billy I was introduced to.

Ellen was silent. They looked at
each other. The real Billys dead, Pam said.

Yes.

God, Pam said fervently, the
nerve, the ability, not only to kill Van but also substitute a witness to
discredit him.

The substitute could also be dead.

Sarge, Im scared.

Me, too.

What do we do?

We try to find whoever this is,
Ellen said, indicating the flickering screen. He might not be dead. He might
be a victim whom theyve turned. He might be one of the gang now, and be
willing to talk.

Pam stared at the false Billy
DaCosta. It looks like you interviewed him in the Victim Suite.

Yes.

Hes drinking Coke.

Ellen sat very still for a moment,
then went around and hugged the younger woman. Brilliant.

But the cleaners would have cleared
the can away, I suppose.

Billy handled every single can of
drink in that fridge, Ellen said. No one has used the room since. We can lift
his prints for sure.

She stood and placed her hand on Pams
shoulder. We cant do any more tonight. Go home. We have a lot to do tomorrow.

* * * *

Meanwhile
Challis had reported to Sergeant Wurfel and was waiting by the phone. The call
came at 10 pm, clamorous in his fathers gloomy house. Was she there? he
asked.

Yes.

The voice was disobliging. And?
Challis demanded.

Wurfel waited before he spoke again.
Challis read hesitation, tact and a hint of impatience in it. Look, I
questioned her as a favour to you. You were persuasive, Ill give you that. But
it was a monumental waste of my time and I dont appreciate having my time
wasted.

She and her husband are in it
together, Challis said heatedly. Gavin intended to prosecute Rex for mistreating
his horse, and Rex lost his temper and killed him. They staged his
disappearance, and created evidence incriminating Paddy Finucane, just in case.

So you keep saying. She denies it.

Of course she denies it.

She says you barged in on her this
evening, throwing your weight around. You scared her.

Rubbish. She waved a shotgun at me.

You scared her, Inspector. She
looked scared to me.

Challis shook his head in the
cheerless room. Check with Sadler, Gavins boss. Hell tell you that Gavin was
going after Rex Joyce.

Look, this is not my case. Sadlers
been interviewed. A suspect is in custody. Case closed.

Do you think Im making all this
up?

Well, are you? demanded Wurfel. Isnt
this personal? Mrs Joyce told me that you and she had been romantically
involved in the past. She said you had trouble accepting that it was over and
have hassled her from time to time ever since. I advised her to file a
complaint, in fact.

You bastard, Challis snarled. He
felt close to losing it.

Inspector.

Challis swallowed. Was Rex there?

No.

Didnt you at least ask where he
was?

Rex Joyce is away on business, Wurfel
said flatly. He often is.

Dont tell me youre his little
mate, too, Challis said, before he could stop himself.

Lets pretend I didnt hear you say
that, shall we?

Hes going to inform Nixon and
Stormare, thought Challis. Theyll inform McQuarrie. And I dont care.

I think its worth getting up a
search party tomorrow morning, he said. Its possible Rex is suicidal. He
could be up on the Bluff somewhere. He likes to go there, Lisa said.

Rex Joyce, said Wurfel with false
brightness, is away on business. Goodbye.

* * * *

55

Challis
slept badly and at first light on Tuesday morning drove to the Joyce homestead
and mounted the steps again.

It was a replay of yesterday
evening, except that this time Lisa waited behind the screen door with the
shotgun. She looked perky and rested, and said, Hal, I swear Ill shoot you if
you try to touch me.

He said gently, Has Rex come back?
Let me talk to him.

Hes still away. Look, you scared
me last night.

Lisa, does Rex have a mobile phone
with him?

She frowned. Yes.

He took out his own phone. Whats
the number?

She shrugged, told him, and he
called. Reaching Rexs voice-mail, he pocketed the phone again. Hes not
answering.

So? Please go.

He could be hurt, Lisa. Please stop
the charade.

She looked discomposed for the first
time. Stared past him at the gentle dawn light on her spreading lawns and shady
trees. Sparrows and starlings were busy, calling out, squabbling, nest
building.

Lisa? said Challis gently. Lets
go and look for him.

She snapped into focus again and
said briskly, He
did receive
a call yesterday. He left the house soon
afterwards in the Range Rover.

Challis nodded. What mood was he
in?

She searched for the word. Upset.
Rambling.

Lets try the shepherds hut.

She seemed embarrassed. Because it
has significance to him?

Something like that.

She opened the screen door and
stepped out, still holding the shotgun. She smelt of perfumed soap and shampoo,
a clean, healthy woman who wore jeans and a sleeveless, crisply ironed cotton
shirt that revealed toned, faintly tanned, delectable skin. Challis was
repelled. He took the shotgun from her hands and rested it against the
verandah. Lets leave this here, okay?

Whatever. She pointed past him.
That
wont make it up the Bluff

Challis eyed the Triumph, which sat
dented, sun-faded and low-slung on the gravelled driveway. Oh.

He felt uncertain. Lisa took charge.
Theres an old Jeep in one of the sheds.

She fetched the keys. She drove.

* * * *

Fifteen
minutes later they were deep into the foothills and following sheep pads, the
dusty erosions that scribble all over the outback, meandering along slopes,
through long grass and around stony reefs. Lisa set the Jeep to
four-wheel-drive, the old vehicle wallowing and pitching, climbing steadily
toward high ground. Below them lay the town, several kilometres away. The sun
flashed on distant windscreens, and crows and hawks wheeled above, sideslipping
in the air currents.

Suddenly the Jeep powered over a
hump in the ground and they were on a little plateau, startling half-a-dozen
sheep. On the far side was the shepherds hut, in the foreground the glossy
Range Rover, facing away from them. Lisa braked, peered over the steering
wheel. Hes sitting in the back seat. Suddenly she thumped the heel of her
hand against the horn. Rex! she shouted futilely.

To Challis there was something
unnatural about the shape in the rear of the Range Rover, something wrong about
the relationship of the head with the shoulders, the back of the seat and the
window glass.

Is he asleep? asked Lisa.

Stay here, okay?

Im coming with you.

Lisa, he said.

Im coming with you.

They approached, drawing adjacent to
the rear of the Range Rover. Rex Joyces head lolled back; there was blood
spatter on the glass beside his left ear but more on the ceiling lining above
his head. Challis assessed the signs rapidly. Joyce had shot himself. The rifle
was between his knees, the muzzle under his jaw. It made a certain kind of
sense.

Meanwhile Lisa had gasped and moaned
and doubled over, dry-retching. Challis reached out to touch her shoulder. Dont
touch me!

He snatched his hand back.

She straightened. Sorry. Sorry,
Hal. Ill be all right in a minute. Phew. She swallowed, grimaced at the
taste. Theres water in the Jeep.

Challis let her go. He finished
making his visual inspection, then followed her. He could see her shape behind
the open door of the Jeep, head tilted back as she drank from a plastic bottle.

Halfway there, he stopped. He spun
around and strode back to the Range Rover. First he checked the drivers seat.
It sat well forward, as though the last person to drive the vehicle had been
short. Rex Joyce was tall. Then he peered through the gap in the seats, noting
the rifle between the victims legs: it was long-barrelled, a hunting rifle.
Too long for Joyces arms? He couldnt be sure about that, but he was sure
there should be more blood on the seat back and ceiling.

He closed the drivers door and
opened the door beside the body.

He was sorely tempted to lean in and
check for signs of lividity. If Rex had died sitting upright, his blood would
have pooled and settled in his buttocks, the underside of his thighs and in his
feet and the bottoms of his legs. Challis was betting hed find lividity all
along the body, indicating that Lisas husband had died somewhere else, then
been laid flat and transported here.

Police work had made Hal Challis an
infinitely sympathetic man. That didnt mean he condoned, necessarily, just
that he understood, and now he turned his patient, sorrowing gaze toward the
Jeep and Lisa Joyce, even as a hole appeared in the window beside him, glass
chips sprayed over his face and chest, and a slipstream plucked at the hairs on
his head.

* * * *

56

While
Challis was being shot at, Ellen Destry and Pam Murphy were attending Kees van
Alphens funeral. They were surprised by the turnout: his wife, daughter and
extended family, friends from Waterloo and other Peninsula police stations,
McQuarrie and other top brass, and even a handful of snitches and hard men whod
remade their lives.

Back in the CIU incident room they
worked the abduction of Katie Blasko and a backlog of minor crimes, using them
as cover for more specific actions. Pam searched, without luck, for the missing
files mentioned in Kees van Alphens notes, and checked, and confirmed, some of
his other statements. Ellen drove to the forensic science lab with all of the
soft drink cans from the Victim Suite refrigerator, stopping along the way to
show photographs of Duyker, Clode and Kellock to Andrew Retallick. He neither
confirmed nor denied that theyd abused him, but he did flinch and look
distressed.