Challis - 05 - Blood Moon (28 page)

He pulled to the side of the road
and re-read the file. The air outside his open window was mild, full of
cut-grass odours and something heavier, marshier. That made sense: the nearby
paddocks had been slashed for hay, and Frenchs Reserve was, according to a
report in the file written by a Melbourne University ecologist whod studied it
for ten years, a regionally significant wetland. Challis read on: Any
clearing of the land adjacent to the reserve will have a detrimental impact on
a rare orchid, Astral ladies tresses, and on the growling grass frogs, the
southern toadlets, the swamp skinks, the dwarf galaxias and the southern brown
bandicoots.

Challis glanced out at the denuded
land, which lay torn and sunbaked between his car and the Reserve. He thought
that $120,000 plus an appearance in court and other reparations was a pretty
fair motive for murdering the person whod brought it all upon you. Then he saw
the For Sale sign, and when he drove in to the farmhouse, he saw that it had
been cleared of all furniture and all desire for a future there.

He made a note of the real estate
agents phone number, and headed further southeast to Bittern, where a husband
and wife named Read had removed indigenous trees from a house block in a
residential zone without a permit. When warned by Ludmilla Wishart to cease,
they went on to remove understorey vegetation. They were fined $16,000 in the
magistrates court in Waterloo, and from the dock had hurled abuse at Wishart.

He found the Reads on their
property, directing as two teenage boys planted trees and grasses on the area
that had been illegally cleared. The Reads were elderly and grossly overweight,
Tom Read wheezing in a wheelchair and Bev Read in a walking frame.

We paid the fine, said the
husband, gasping the words out.

His wife was smoking. Were putting
in new trees and that.

So leave us alone.

Challis said firmly, After
sentencing, you were heard shouting Youll get yours, bitch at Mrs Wishart.

I been drinking, wheezed Tom Read.

He was that upset, his wife said,
the cigarette bobbing in her mouth, grey smoke wreathing her grey face and
hair.

They were unlikely murderers. Theyd
probably cheated, thieved and lied for all of their lives, but they werent
killers. They were the kind to sulk and blame others when they got caught, not
get violent.

Challiss last call was to the
environment protection manager for the eastern zone. Ive just been to Frenchs
Reserve, he said.

Jessie Heinz looked like a Girl
Guide leader: tanned, energetic, comfortable in a khaki shirt and shorts,
probably never owned a dress in her life. That ones a nightmare, she said. The
owners put the place on the market a month ago and skipped to Queensland.

Do you know if they threatened Mrs
Wishart in any way?

They threatened
me.
Set
their dogs on me.

But Mrs Wishart?

Her role in this one was behind the
scenes, Heinz said. She paused. Theyd have a greater motive to murder me. I
made an issue out of the threat to the ecology of the reserve. They couldnt
seem to get it into their heads that it was serious. They kept saying, We can
clear our own land if we want to and What ecology? and The reserves on the
other side of the farm and a breeding ground for mosquitoes. They called me a
tree-hugger.

It was said with a grin and Challis
grinned back. Are there any other sensitive ecological issues that you and Mrs
Wishart were investigating? Were aware of the tree clearing at the property
where her body was found, he said, but what else was she working on? Particularly
issues that hadnt made it as far as a written report.

Trees, said Heinz. Its always
trees. She crossed her office to a wall map. About a hundred trees have been
vandalised along this part of the bay in the past year. She indicated the coastline
between Waterloo and Flinders. Its the same on the other side of the
Peninsula. People drill holes in the trees and fill them with poison. The trees
die, we have to cut them down. Or they skip the poisoning and come along after
dark with a chainsaw.

People with homes overlooking the
sea?

And property developers. Theres
been a flurry of apartment developments all along both coastlines in the past
decade.

Heinz paused and grinned again. Weve
had to get quite creative. Sure, we plant five trees for every one killed, but
weve also been wrapping the poisoned trees in bright orange plastic, and were
seeking council approval to erect view-blocking screens like they have along
the Surf and Bass coasts. She paused again. Ludmillas ideas.

That would have made her very
unpopular.

But who would have known it was
her? Heinz demanded.

Deciding that he could trust her,
Challis said, Tell me about Mr Groot.

She looked at him steadily. Pro-development.

For example?

He doesnt appreciate the village
atmosphere of the coastal towns. Twice now hes approved the commercial
development of a general store, one dating back to the 1920s, another to 1935.
Sweet little buildings, kind of the village hub. Sure, they needed some tender
loving care, but he was allowing Melbourne developers to put up six-storey shop
and apartment blocks in their place. The other planners hate his guts, but he
always knows the fine print and can be pretty insistent and persuasive.

A slash-and-burn kind of guy.

An over-development kind of guy.

* * * *

39

There
was no point in mobilising an armed response team to protect Caz Moon. By the
time a team had geared up, found its way from the city to this corner of rural
Victoria and been briefed, Josh Brownlee would be long gone.

And so, as Pam raced them down and
across the Peninsula to Waterloo, Ellen put contingency plans into motion.
First she ordered a chopper from Frankston and then ordered the police station
at Waterloo to send a couple of cars down High Street to HangTen.

Our person of interest is driving a
red Impreza and should be considered armed and dangerous. Received?

Sarge.

If you can, evacuate the nearby
shops and divert traffic at each end of the block.

Sarge.

Then she called HangTen, Caz Moon
grasping the situation swiftly, not asking Ellen to repeat who she was or her
connection to Pam Murphy.

Im using the cordless phone, she
told Ellen, sounding breathless. Im at the back door now, locking it. ..done.
Im moving to the front doordone. Are you sure he has a gun?

Highly likely. Are you alone?

No customers. Chloes with me, the
other sales assistant. There was a pause. Are you sure hes coming after me?

Pretty sure.

If we stay here in plain view, he
could shoot through the glass.

Yes.

If we leave the shop, he could
ambush us.

Yes.

Ellen had a sense of wheels turning,
and asked, Is there a secure room you can hide in? A storeroom, maybe?

Storeroom. It has a steel door and
no windows.

Hide there now, Ellen said.

Something then, a sixth sense, a
shift in the quality of the connection, an intake of breath, told Ellen that
they were too late. Caz? she said, trying not to convey the panic she felt.
Paddocks sped past her window, trees, a dam, a horse with a couple of birds
upon its back. They were still several kilometres short of the town. Traffic
was sparse. Caz?

Cazs voice came then, sounding
steady enough. Hes here. Outside, two wheels up on the footpath. Nearly hit
someone. Hes getting out. Yep, a gun.

Caz, for Gods sake, take Chloe and
run to the storeroom.

Ellen heard scrapes, breathlessness
and whimpering, as though the two women were duck waddling to the rear of the
shop behind the only available cover, glass-topped counters and racks of
clothing. Are you nearly there?

Nearly. He just rattled the door.

Are the lights on or off?

Off. First thing I did.

So he might think youve closed the
shop and gone home?

No. I didnt have time to wheel the
sales racks in from the footpath.

Please, Caz, hide in the storeroom.

More sounds and then Caz said, Hes
pounding on the window and yelling.

Caz

I know, I know, hide.

A radio transmission cut in. It was
John Tankard. Suspect sighted. I can confirm that hes armed. A shottie. He
looks agitated.

John, said Ellen, as Pam Murphy
floored the throttle and expertly flicked past a delivery van, never once
glancing at her passenger, be very careful. Did you evacuate the area?

Didnt have time, but people
started evacuating themselves when they saw the gun.

No shooting, John, not if there are
people about. Not unless its absolutely necessary. Well try to talk him into
surrendering. Received?

Sarge.

Are you alone?

Andy Crees with me. Weve got a
second car at the roundabout.

Ellen put a face to the name: the
good-looking rookie, Pam Murphy possibly sweet on him. Impress on Constable
Cree and the others, no shooting. I dont want any headlines.

Sarge.

Whats our person of interest
doing?

Pounding on the window of the surf
shop.

Where are you?

Other side of the street, waving
people to get out of the way.

Get them
well
out of the way.

Sarge.

Check his carany other head on
board?

Hes alone, Sarge.

Switching back to her mobile phone,
Ellen said, You there, Caz?

The reception was scratchy suddenly,
the young shopkeepers voice fading in and out. In.. .locked...

Shes in the storeroom and the walls
and steel door are interfering with the reception, Ellen guessed. Then John Tankard
cut in again: Hes spotted us.

Keep your heads down.

Dont worry.

Whats he doing?

Getting back into his car.

Be prepared to follow, but dont
panic him. Ive called for a chopper.

Hes already in a panic, Sarge.

Dont aggravate it, John, okay?

Okay, Sarge.

You
drive, not your partner.

Sarge.

She knew that Tankard had done an
advanced-driving course; she didnt know about Cree and didnt have the time to
find out. But when Pam Murphy gave the briefest recriminatory flicker just
then, she guessed shed trodden on toes. Couldnt worry about that now: All we
do is track him, okay?

Received.

Where is he now?

Heading for the roundabout.

Tell them to let him through.

Sarge.

Pam and Ellen were no more than two
minutes away from Waterloo now. If Josh Brownlee headed for home, hed pass
them going the other way. But there were other possible exits from the town:
further south toward Penzance Beach, or directly across the Peninsula to
Mornington, on Port Phillip Bay. Pam said, All we need to do is get him on a
straight stretch of road, Sarge. Take him when there are no cars around.

But how?

Mobile take-out.

You know how to do that?

Yes.

Ellen knew that the younger woman
had received pursuit car training. Does Tank know?

Yes.

Ellen switched to the radio, saying,
John?

Sarge.

Where is he?

Heading for Jamiesons Road.

Pam and Ellen were on Jamiesons
Road. It was quiet and straight for long stretches. Pam braked immediately and
did a U-turn. Ellen looked back over her shoulder. Were on Jamiesons now.

Facing which way?

We turned around so he should be
coming up behind us any minute. Where are you?

Just behind him.

Are both Waterloo cars on his tail?

Affirmative.

We do a mobile take-out. You up for
that?

Am I? Tank said. Just say the
word.

Ellen visualised the gleam in the
eyes of the beefy young cop. By the book, John. This isnt the Grand Prix.

Sarge.

The voices were quieter after that,
calmer but more tense, as Pam Murphy mapped out the strategy and Ellen relayed
instructions to the pursuit cars. Hell come up behind us. Pam will keep her
speed down. Before he pulls out to overtake, your two cars need to come up fast
behind him, one on his rear bumper, the other beside him. Hell be boxed in and
have nowhere to go.

Sarge.

John,
you
need to be the one to come alongside
him.