Challis - 05 - Blood Moon (2 page)

Perhaps he should be asking:
would
the seclusion bother her, over time? Theyd only been together for three
weeks. Hed asked her to house-sit while he took leave to be with his dying
father, and within a couple of hours of his return they were lovers. It had
surprised them bothkind of. Shed muttered something about finding her own
place, but only half-heartedly, and he urged her to stay.

He tried to sort out his reasons
now. Of course, attraction played the greatest part, desire, affection, even
though he hadnt spelt out any of this to her. They were not good at
endearments. There were no I love yous yet. It seemed they both thought
endearments and declarations were currency too easily squandered.

And he couldnt discount the fact
that hed returned to the Peninsula from his fathers funeral feeling
vulnerable and a little unhinged. He wasnt sleeping, the job promised
continued human misery and droning days. The death of his father was raw in
him. Back when his mother had died hed thought about her every few minutes at
first, then every few weeks, and every few months, fading into occasional happy
memories, but then when his father began to die the grief was rekindled. Double
grief. Now, when least expected and often when least wanted, hed hear his parents
voices, see their faces and remember the past with frightening clarity.

Challis had never been a man to need
a crutch, but Ellen Destry was a balm to him, in addition to everything else.

On the other hand, they worked
closely together. Too closely, on problems too complicated, for love to work as
well? Never mind that some police bureaucrat was bound to wave a regulation in
their faces sooner or later. Challis reached the end of the dirt road and
pulled over. Hed replaced the old cassette player with a CD unit and was in
the mood for Chris Smither. Drive You Home Again blaring, he turned onto the
sealed road toward Waterloo. Soon he was passing an aspirant French chalet and
a Tuscanesque villa, new houses that didnt sit naturally in the landscape but
had claimed the high ground from the ever-shrinking farmland. It sometimes
seemed that hed blink and a new mansion would have gone up overnight.

The towns of the Peninsula were also
changing, their original dimensions swelled by new housing estates which
attracted young families shackled to debt on house-and-land packages they
couldnt afford. The social divide between them and the cashed-up retirees and
sea-change professionals was growing; the schools, hospitals, welfare agencies
and police were overburdened.

He came to the intersection with
Coolart Road and stopped for an approaching school bus. The mock colonial
paling fence on his right contained a herdmob? fleece?of alpacas. Ten years
ago there hadnt been any alpacas on the Peninsula. Now they were everywhere,
looking like toys, made-up creatures. Then the bus was past, The Landseer
School scrolled across its big rump. Challis sighed: one of the most exclusive
schools in the country, fees close to twenty thousand a year, a place hed normally
have nothing to do withand now hed have to send in one of his officers to see
if it was linked to the assault on its chaplain.

Following the road past vines and
more alpacas he came to the garden centres, plumbing suppliers and timber yards
on the outskirts of Waterloo. One of the biggest towns on the Peninsula,
Waterloo had been down-at-heel at one time but was undergoing a renaissance: a
K-Mart, new housing, a delicatessen that offered imported delicacies, the old
fleapit second-hand shops bulldozed to make way for small arcades with smoky
glass. It was all bringing some pride back into the place.

He skirted the southern flank of the
town, coming to Trevally Street, a long street that ran parallel to the
shoreline, residential on one side, parkland, the municipal swimming pool,
skateboard ramps, coin barbecues, walking paths and a yacht club on the other.
Apart from a crammed collection of brightly coloured nylon tents on a vacant
lot beside the tennis courts, it was all familiar to Challis.

Those tents. The first had appeared
on Friday afternoon, dozens more on the weekend, erected by eighteen- and
nineteen-year-olds whod come to Waterloo intent on celebrating the end of
their Year 12 exams. Schoolies Week. The main schoolie playground continued to
be Queenslands Gold Coast, followed in popularity by the Victorian towns of Lorne
and Sorrento, but cost, distance, overcrowding and parental nervousness had led
some kids to seek out low-rent alternatives, like Waterloo. Last year a hundred
of them had discovered the town, which had reeled a little. This year many more
were expected and the locals were better prepared. The motels and boarding
houses were offering special rates, vacant land had been opened up for camping,
and there was a greater police and volunteer presence to cope with the
drunkenness, overdoses, assaults and tears.

It hadnt been enough to stop
Saturdays sexual assault, however. The victim, an eighteen-year-old from one
of the girls schools in the city, hadnt known her attacker, hadnt seen him,
in the dunes late at night, hadnt been able to identify him in any way. All
they had was a spill of semen on her T-shirt and shorts. What was the betting
thered be no DNA match to anyone in the system?

Challis slowed the car, spotting Scobie
Suttons Volvo station wagon parked outside the Villanova Gardens apartments.
The Volvo was twenty years old but still pristine, a car that had never broken
the speed limitwhich didnt mean that it was ever driven well, for Scobie
Sutton was a well-known lousy driver. There was also a police car and a black
Astra soft-top.

The Villanova Gardens was named
after an Italian sailor whod jumped ship a hundred years earlier, when
Waterloo was a huddle of fishermens makeshift tents and cabins. Challis parked,
got out and glanced both ways along the street, spotting Pam Murphy and a
uniformed constable knocking on doors. Few street lights in this part of town,
he noticed. He eyed the apartments. They were double-storeyed, in a row of ten,
each with a small, incorporated garage, hedges for privacy, and an upper-level
balcony that he guessed gave a view across the yacht basin and Western Port Bay
to the distant smoke stacks of the refinery on the other side. Uninspiring, but
you could honestly call it a view.

He approached number 6, fishing ID
out of his suit coat and showing it to Andy Cree, the constable whod been
stationed to keep a log of all those authorised to enter or leave the building.
Cree was a new recruit to the station, young, athletic, engaging, always
wearing the easy air of a kidder. Challis preferred that to shyness, ineptitude
or flunkeyism, but Cree was in a lazy mood today, in no hurry as he logged the
details. Keeping it light but firm, Challis said, Ive got all day, Andy.

Cree flushed. Yes, sir.

Whos here? Whos been and gone?

Cree checked the log. Ambulance
guys have taken the victim to hospital. Constable Murphys doing a doorknock
along the street with Constable Tankard. The crime scene technicians arent
here yet. DC Sutton from CIU, and the victims brother, name of

Challis said, The brother? Whats
he doing here? This is a crime scene.

Crees face flickered, then cleared.
He said he wanted to take toiletries and pyjamas to the hospital. Constable
Sutton gave the okay, sir.

Challis made to go in, then paused. Where
was the victim found?

There was a low hedge running beside
the footpath. Cree pointed over it to the small patch of lawn between the
street and the front door. Lying right there, sir.

There were also hedges on either
side of the yard. Given the hedges, the sparse street lighting and the darkness
of night, it was possible to see why Roe hadnt been spotted by his neighbours
or passers-by until daybreak.

And theres blood on that rock,
Cree said, pointing to a hefty stone lying on the concrete pathway leading to
the door. It was painted white and had been removed from the border around a
bed of roses. Nodding his thanks, Challis walked up the short, narrow path to
the open front door and into a hallway that led to a cramped living and dining
area with a kitchen through an archway, and beyond that a door that probably
led to the laundry and a bathroom. Minimalist but expensive fittings and
furniture, he noticed quickly, before glancing up the plain staircase to the
upper level, where the bedrooms would be. And where voices were raised.

Challis pulled hard on the banister
to propel himself up the stairs. He tracked the voices to a small office at the
rear, where Scobie Sutton stood by helplessly as a man dressed in jeans and a
polo shirt wrapped a power cable around a laptop computer that had been on the
desk under a window. Sutton looked up. Sorry, boss...

The detective had the bony
narrowness and angularity of an undertaker, an impression reinforced by his
dark suit and glum air. He gestured feebly as if to grab the laptop. Meanwhile
the other man dodged him and turned to Challis. Who the hell are you?

Challis told him coldly.

Well, my name is Dirk Roe and for
your information my brother was almost beaten to death last night. Or this
morning.

Challis glanced at Roes hands: they
were well kept and unmarked. He shifted his gaze to the mans face, which wore
the sour look of someone whod once been admired and was waiting for it to
happen again. Roe was no more than twenty-five, with a round, faintly stupid
schoolboy face, reinforced by spiky hair, black jeans, a pale yellow polo shirt
and running shoes, which were two fat slabs of vividly-coloured rubber. There
was a soul patch above his pudgy chin, rings in both ears.

Challis stepped into the room,
saying, I can sympathise, Mr Roe, but I must ask you to leave. This is a crime
scene, and our crime scene officers havent processed it yet.

But Lachie was bashed
outside,
on
his front lawn.

His attacker might have been inside
the house before the assault.

My brother doesnt know people like
that.

People like what?

Violent people. Criminals, Dirk
Roe said. He tucked the laptop under his arm and made to edge past Challis.

Sir, Challis said, I must ask you
to leave the laptop behind.

A flicker of something passed across
the young mans face. But Lachie might need it. He could be in hospital for
days.

Challis shook his head. Impossible,
Im afraid. The computer could hold information that would help identify your
brothers attacker. He paused. Did you meddle with it in any way?

Dirk Roe wouldnt meet his gaze. Me?
No. Why?

Either way, the computer stays.

I dont think you know who I am,
Roe said.

Challis was immediately weary of
this game. So, who are you?

Roe drew himself up. I manage Ollie
Hindmarshs electoral officeand you know what
he
thinks of the police.

Ollie Hindmarsh was Leader of the
Opposition in the state parliament and his electoral office was a short
distance away, around the corner in High Street. Hindmarsh was a law-and-order
tyrant and his way of attacking the Government was to accuse the police force
of corruption, cronyism and being run by union thugs. Most cops loathed the
man.

Challis smiled emptily. You manage
his electoral office?

Yep.

Meaning you answer the phone and
lick envelopes.

Listen here, you. I

Sir, I must ask you to wait
outside. Scobie?

Sutton had been wearing an
expression of faint alarm, as if aware of undercurrents that he couldnt
identify. A man with a decent narrowness of range, he went to church regularly,
was loyal to his wife, and had almost no insights into human nature. He wasnt
a bad cop. He was dogged. But he wasnt quite a good cop, either. He shuffled
forward apologetically and, after a tussle, removed the computer from under Roes
arm and took him by the elbow. Sorry, Dirk.

Challis frowned. Did the two men
know each other? He filed it away and they all walked downstairs, reaching the
living area just as the forensics officers appeared in their disposable
overalls and overshoes. Great, said one, a contaminated crime scene.

Yeah, yeah, said Challis. Your
main area of focus is the lawn outside the front door.

And the bloodied stone on the
pathway. What about inside?

Dust for prints, check for blood
and fibres, the usual.

Dirk Roe swayed and stumbled a
little, as though finally registering the fact that violence had been used
against his brother. Scobie escorted him outside, saying, Dont stay here
Dirk, head across to the hospital. Are you okay to drive?

I think so.

Why hadnt Roe gone straight to the
hospital? Challis wondered. He joined Sutton on the footpath and together they
watched Roe drive away in the black Astra. Challis said, Scobie, you and Pam
finish up here. Ill check on the victim. Briefing at noon.

Boss.

Challis paused. Andy Cree had
abandoned his station to chat with Pam Murphy, half a block away. He was a head
taller than Pam, languid and suave, and Challis heard her break into laughter.
Then she spotted him, flashed him an embarrassed smile, and turned to continue
her doorknocking. Cree wandered back, saying, Sorry, sir.