Challis - 04 - Chain of Evidence (6 page)

All in all, you didnt dare meet the
eye of a Jarrett: you crossed the street or stayed indoors if a Jarrett was around.
You didnt complain: It was never proven but theyd firebombed the house of a
woman whod got up a petition against them.

It hadnt taken long for public
opinion on the estate to turn against the police. Scobie was sympathetic. The
Jarretts should have been evicted long ago, but the Waterloo cop shop was
understaffed, like many on the Peninsula, the Jarretts were cunning, and the
younger constables found excuses to respond late, or not at all, to callouts to
the Jarrett house. Meanwhile the Housing Commission bureaucrats lived in the
city, not on the estate, and liked to say that they worked for a government
that stood for the battlers in society. In their view the Jarretts paid their
rent (more or less), hadnt trashed the house much), and were a struggling
family deserving of charity, not criticism, from those who were luckier than
they were. Besides, it was argued, the Commissions resources were stretched to
the limit.

Did they have a fleet of brand-new,
fuel guzzling four-wheel-drives too? wondered Scobie.

If Nick Jarrett had been convicted,
he thought, we could have made a start on dismantling the whole clan. Pursued
charges against the others, found decent homes for the kids, weakened Laurie
Jarretts power base.

Now theyd have to start all over
again.

Just then a marked patrol car pulled
up behind him and tooted. He glanced in the mirror: Pam Murphy and John
Tankard, here to watch the Jarrett house. Scobie waved and drove on to the
Community Centre and there was his wife. Hello, love, she said, taking him
away from all of the badness for a while.

* * * *

On
the other side of Waterloo, Ellen Destry was asking Donna Blasko how she was
coping.

Im a wreck, Donna told her, all
this coming and going.

It must be hard, Ellen said. Have
you thought any more about where Katie might have gone?

Donna shook her head. Weve both
been out searching.

Yeah, said Justin Pedder, doing
your job for you.

Ellen ignored him. No ones seen
anything? Heard anything?

Donna shook her head. Maybe Katies
trying to ride her bike to my mothers place.

Ellen went very still. Bike. Why was
she only just learning about a bike? Why hadnt it occurred to her that there
would be a bike? Katie rides to school?

Yeah.

Can you describe the bike for me?

Just a bike.

A Malvern Star, said Justin. Gears,
a pannier. I keep it in good nick for her.

And Katie would have been riding
her bike when she left school yesterday?

Yes.

Did she also have a helmet? A
school bag?

Donna nodded wretchedly. We looked
everywhere. She can be a bit careless sometimes, you know how kids are, shes
coming home from school and meets a friend and just dumps her stuff on the
ground while she has a play, then comes home empty-handed. But no way would she
leave her Tamagotchi on the footpath, it was her favourite thing in the whole
world.

* * * *

Two
streets away, Sasha was home. A cross between a Shi-Tzu and a Silky Terrier,
with a squashed-in face and adenoidal breathing, Sasha was small, guileless and
hairy. She didnt discriminate between humans, for all humans adored her. She
sought them out. She sought warmth human and sun. When shed jumped into the
Tarago van yesterday, it wasnt the first time shed done something like that.
Last year shed travelled all over the Peninsula in the back of an electricians
van, asleep under the guys spare overalls. When called on his mobile phone by
Sashas owner, hed sworn black and blue that Sasha wasnt with him. The poor
owner had gone out of his mind looking for Sasha, phoning the dog pound, the
RSPCA, all the vets in the local phone book. Then, at the end of a long day, hed
received a sheepish call from the electrician: Got your dog here, mate. Sorry.

Everyone knew the story, and so,
when an elderly woman who lived on Trevally Street saw Sasha jump out of an
unfamiliar white van that Friday afternoon, she smiled indulgently and watched
Sasha race home. The stories she could tell if she could talk, thought the old
woman fondly. What adventures has she had this time?

If Sasha had been able to talk, she
might have revealed that she hadnt been fed for twenty-four hours. She also
hadnt been
loved
for twenty-four hours. Her instincts had told her to
cuddle up to the child, but the child had been asleep for most of the time. At
one point Sasha had bared her teeth in protection of the child, had even drawn
blood, and been kicked clear across the room for her pains.

* * * *

7

Sitting
in the patrol car outside the Jarrett house, John Tankard was thinking about
life after Pam Murphy.

He felt betrayed. Sure, he knew that
hed often rubbed her up the wrong way, and she hadnt appreciated his clumsy
attempts to get her to sleep with him over the years, but hed always counted
her as an ally, one of the gang, us against themthem being ordinary citizens,
crooks and senior police officers.

Now she was leaving him behind,
stepping over a line that would take her into the ranks of the enemy. He didnt
know if he could work with anyone else. Would a new partner put up with his
bullshit, or report him? Would a new partner watch his back? Console him when
things got a bit rough, personally speaking?

He shifted in his seat, half closed
his eyes and gazed at the Jarretts wreck of a house. Three cars crowded the
front yard: a rusting Toyota twin-cab, a little black Subaru and a lowered
silver Mercedes with smoky windows. Just then, four Jarrett kids came out,
boys, one of them sauntering over to the front gate, where he turned and
swiftly dropped his jeans. Pale, skinny shanks. Tank was furious. We can
arrest him for that.

Murphy said wearily, Leave it,
Tank.

Yeah, well, said Tank uselessly.

Who at Waterloo did he like and
trust apart from Pam? Some of the other constables were okay, guys you could
have a beer with, but they came and they went. The plain-clothed crew, like
Challis, Destry and Sutton, were a bit up themselves. Kellock and van Alphen
were okay, old-school coppers crippled by the kinds of procedures and
regulations that made it hard to do your job properly. Yeah, John Tankard had
plenty of time for Kellock and van Alphen.

Pity they were a lot older than him.
Pity they were senior in rank. He couldnt see either of them becoming his best
pal when Murph left. He respected them, thats all. Looked up to them. Thank
Christ he had that in his life.

Two girls aged about ten walked
past, beating their knees with tennis racquets. Sweet kids, friends, not a care
in the world. Then they saw the Jarretts and veered away, suddenly afraid, and
John Tankard acknowledged what was at the back of his mind: an image of
Natalie, his kid sister, and how awful it would be if anything ever happened to
her.

The radio crackled. Sergeant van
Alphen was replacing them. Apparently Sergeant Destry had called an urgent
briefing.

* * * *

Pam
was glad of the reprieve. It was close in the patrol car; even closer, with
big, sweaty John Tankard behind the wheel, overheated from watching the
Jarretts and from learning that she might be leaving the uniform behind. Even
so, she couldnt see any harm in raising the temperature a little. Are you
going to miss me, John?

She usually called him Tank. He
scowled and muttered, reading John as an insult, and pressed hard on the
accelerator pedal.

Sorry, I didnt catch that?

Think your shit doesnt stink.

Charming as ever.

She looked away at the run of tyre
outlets and engineering firms that lay between the estate and the Waterloo
police station. He
is
going to miss me, she thought. Hes always been
half in love or lust with me, I dont let his bullshit get to me, and hes
afraid of being left behind. Its no big deal, Tank. Its just a training
course. Doesnt mean there are any detective positions open once Ive completed
it.

A training course for a select few,
he said. Who did you suck up to? Challis? Destry?

Im not going to honour that with
an answer, John.

They rode in silence. The shadows
were lengthening, pines and gums striping a roadside field that would soon be
crammed with new housing. Plenty of traffic, people returning home from work,
heading for the pub, the Waterloo Showor just cruising, Pam thought, as a
lowered Falcon utility roared up behind them, two kids on board, nervous about
passing a police vehicle but itching to all the same. Pam, her window down, could
hear the hotted-up motor.

Tank, she said, is everything
okay?

After a pause he said, Im working
a one-up tomorrow night.

A one-up was a lone patrol, just
you in the vehicle, owing to a shortage of police on the Peninsula. Pam herself
had made several lone patrols in the past few weeks. Nothing bad had happened
to her, but you heard stories. Take it easy, okay? she said, meaning it.

His voice lightened, welcoming the
concern in hers. No worries.

Pam daydreamed. Then she heard him
say, Katie Blasko. Ive got a bad feeling.

Me, too.

Its no bullshit, there really
is
a paedo ring on the Peninsula?

Ive heard rumours, thats all.

He shook his head. Ive got a
sister her age. I was at her birthday last weekend. It makes you think. Makes
you... He rolled his hand, searching for the word. Makes you feel how
vulnerable they are.

Hed never mentioned a kid sister
before. Whats her name?

Natalie. Nat. My parents had her
late in life.

Pretty name.

He shrugged. Hed revealed too much,
and gave a blokey squaring of his shoulders. Im picking up a new set of
wheels tomorrow.

Until recently hed driven a real
shitheap, a barge-like Falcon station wagon, in which hed hauled the local
kids to and from football matches, but the motor had seized on it and hed
given up coaching the Waterloo Wallabies at the end of the season. What kind?
said Pam.

Mazda RX, one of the scarce series.

She had no idea what that was. Where
from?

Caryard up in Frankston. I saw it
in the
Trading Post.
Thirty grand, he said proudly.

Thirty grand? Jesus, Tank.

He said defensively. Low
kilometres, one owner. I beat him down from thirty-five.

Pam gazed out of her side window,
not wanting to talk about cars or let him see that she thought hed done a
stupid thing. They reached the station, parked at the rear and got out, but
instead of heading inside, Tank walked off into the shadows with his mobile
phone. Oi, were supposed to be at the briefing, Pam said.

Ill be there in a sec. Gotta make
a phone call.

Shrugging, Pam entered the station
and climbed the stairs to CIU.

* * * *

8

The
evening light was drawing close in Waterloo. Ellen stood at the head of the
incident rooms long table, waving around a small plastic object clipped to a
narrow woven neck strap. It resembled a flattened purple egg with buttons and a
screen. This is a Tamagotchi, she said. A pink one resembling this was found
on Trevally Street, not far from the foreshore reserve, and identified by Donna
Blasko as belonging to her daughter, Katie.

Shed sent the original Tamagotchi
to the new lab, ForenZics. This one belonged to Scobie Suttons daughter,
Roslyn. Hed gone home for the day, but shed called him in again. You dont
get time off when a kids missing.

Just then, John Tankard hurried in. Nice
of you to make it, Constable.

Tank went red and sulky. Sorry,
Sarge.

Her face tight, Ellen said, To
continue, Donna Blasko found her daughters Tamagotchi lying on the footpath
near her home and

Kees van Alphen raised a lazy hand. What
the hells a Tamagotchi?

Scobie said indulgently, Its a
little electronic toy. You give it a name and a personality. My Ros spends all
of her free time

Ellen had to cut him short before he
bored the pants off everybody. I was there for an hour before Katies mother
mentioned the damn thing.

Nothing else? asked van Alphen,
bored, picking nuggets of Styrofoam out of the rim of a disposable cup. No
signs of a struggle? No witnesses?

No.

No sign of the bike, helmet or
school bag?

Correct.

So what are you saying?

They all looked bored, this was just
a missing kid, but, in her bones, Ellen was afraid for Katie Blasko. She wanted
to act swiftly. There were three whiteboards behind her: photographs of the girl,
and headings and notes in her neat hand. Here are the obvious alternatives,
she said, using a pointer. One, Katie Blasko ran away.