Challis - 05 - Blood Moon (30 page)

Good! He deserves it!

Pam asked what they all genuinely
wanted to ask: Why, Josh?

For what he did to Mike.

Your brother?

Yes.

Michael went to him for advice last
year? At school?

Yes?
cried Josh. The bastard had just
been appointed chaplain. All this crap at assembly, all these politicians were
there, how great the school chaplaincy program was, how great Roe was, how hed
offer guidance and support.

Murph said gently, But he didnt,
did he, Josh?

He killed my brother! Josh said
shrilly, face distended, spittle flecking the table.

Something he said to Michael?
Something he did?

Josh wrenched his head from left to
right, not meeting their gaze, his neck tendons standing out like rods under
his skin. Mike was gay.

He didnt say anything after that,
and Tank tried to put it together. Murph said, Michael was upset or confused
about his sexuality?

Yes, whispered Josh.

Did your parents know?

Fuck no! You dont know what theyre
like.

Did he confide in you?

Not much, said Josh miserably.

But you knew.

He left me a note! He fucking wrote
me a letter, then took an overdose and killed himself

Pam reached across the table and
held his hand. Do you still have the letter? she asked presently.

No, Josh said, eyes sliding away,
returning his hand to his lap, so that Tank knew he was lying. Maybe Sergeant
Destry would find it.

What did it say?

Josh leaned forward tensely. Hed
gone to Roe for help. He wanted to know how to tell Mum and Dad and me he was
gay, how to broach
it.

Josh stopped. Murph said, What
advice did Roe give your brother?

The tears spilled down Joshs face.
He said, very distinctly, The bastard told Mike that being gay was an
abomination in the eyes of God and all right-thinking people. He said Mike
should be ashamed and beg forgiveness and change his ways. He said Mike was
sick, a sick person, with sick thoughts. He said Mike made his skin crawl.

Even Cree seemed affected. Pam said,
And your poor brother had nowhere to turn?

He could have come to
me,
Josh
said, pleading. Why didnt he come to me? Id have understood.

Its not your fault, Josh.

It
is
my fault. I would have
understood. I know kids who are gay. Im not anti-gay.

Murph said gently, Michael was too
distraught to think clearly, Josh. He felt he had nowhere to turn, and took his
own life.

Shouldnt have happened! Josh
said.

You were so angry with Mr Roe that
you argued with him, suggested Pam, and it escalated.

Tank was watching Josh. He saw the
kid almost say something like, No, I tried to kill the bastard, but then a
glimmer of intelligence replaced the heat, and his face closed down again. He
cocked his head at Murph. Something like that.

Pam said, Josh, for the benefit of
the tape, are you admitting to the assault on Lachlan Roe at or near his home
on the evening of Monday, the sixteenth of November?

Yes.

You will be charged with assault,
Josh. Do you wish to add anything in relation to this matter?

Some of the tension had lifted. Josh
muttered, Nup.

What about today, Josh? The
shotgun. Why did you need it?

A kind of shiftiness came into the
kid. I was still upset over last Monday.

Tank found himself stepping away
from the wall, saying, Why go after that chick in the surf shop, Josh? What
did she have to do with your brother and all that other stuff?

Murph shot him a frown. He gave her
one of his old looks, from back when they were partners in a patrol car, a look
that said, Bite me.

Irritated, she returned her
attention to Brownlee. Did Ms Moon drug you and take away your clothes one
night this week, Josh?

The lawyer gaped and looked at her
client, who shook his head carelessly. Hed recovered some of his cockiness. Nah,
he said coarsely. Got drunk, thats all, decided to have a swim in the nuddie
and forgot where I put my clothes.

Traces of the date-rape drug GHB
were found in your system.

Thats how she got his DNA, Tank
thought.

I was partying. Must have taken it
by mistake.

Its not shameful to admit you were
taken advantage of, Josh.

Wasnt taken advantage of.

I put it to you, Josh, that you
intended to accost or even shoot Ms Moon, that you wanted to pay her back. What
do you have to say to that?

Bullshit.

Josh had folded his arms stubbornly,
the powerful emotions long gone. He seemed to have some control over this new
issue being raised. The other matter, his brother, hed had no control over.

The question is, Josh, why did she
take advantage of you?

She didnt.

Was it revenge? Revenge for
something that happened to her?

The solicitor said, Where is this
leading?

It is alleged that Josh and his
little pals raped one or more of the young townswomen last year. They
considered these women to be an easy targetworking class, uneducated,
therefore of loose morals and no account. Except that Caz Moon surprised you,
didnt she, Josh?

Constable, please, the lawyer
said.

Josh said, Wheres the evidence?

So youre not denying it? Pam
demanded.

Wheres your evidence?

That was a good question, and there
it ended, with Josh Brownlee charged and bailed and likely to plead to
mitigating circumstances for his rampage that morning.

* * * *

You
okay, Murph? said Tank later. Hed tracked her down to the canteen, where she
was drinking fucking peppermint tea with Cree. Good job in there, he added,
conscious that Cree was watching him.

She said, very distinctly, Tank,
when I am conducting an interview, kindly butt out, okay?

Cree smiled then, nothing and
everything in it, and edged his chair closer to Murph. Tank couldnt bear to
watch it. He couldnt think of anything clever to say. Finally he asked, Does
his DNA tie him to any of the sex stuff?

She sighed and pushed her mug of tea
away. Afraid not. But he was involved, I know he was.

But you got him on the assault,
Cree said. It was brilliant, Pam, absolutely brilliant.

Tank wanted to thump him. More so
when Murph bumped shoulders with the prick and said, Win some, lose some.

* * * *

42

They
thought shed gone to search Josh Brownlees bedroom but Ellen Destry was
knocking on the door of a house on the Seaview Estate in Waterloo, a small sign
on the fence behind her, Grants Gardening Services.

Mr Grant?

He was a generic blue-collar guy,
with a shaven skull, face ruddy from beer and the suns rays, still dressed in
his work wear of shorts and a T-shirt. The voice was metallic: You got him.

My name is Sergeant Destry,
Waterloo police station.

He looked alarmed. Is it Tina?

She smiled. Nothing to be alarmed
about, sir. I understand that you did gardening work for Mrs Ludmilla Wishart?

The voice was less metallic as
emotion gripped it. Christ that was awful.

Ellen fished inside her jacket. This
was found during a search of Mrs Wisharts possessions.

He took the envelope from her,
opened it, peered at the invoice and the cash. Well, Ill be buggered.

Sir?

Didnt think Id ever get paid. The
husbands a prick, no offence, but his wifes also been killed, so no way was I
going to hassle him.

Ellen nodded, sizing him up. A woman
with a child on her cocked hip appeared behind Grant, smiled pleasantly,
disappeared again, cooing to the child. The yard and garden beds were tidy, the
work van clean. But appearances werent everything. Whos Tina?

My oldest daughter. Shes at
netball practice.

Ellen nodded. Sorry about this, Mr
Grant, but may I ask your movements on Wednesday afternoon? Its routine, were
questioning everyone who came into contact with Mrs Wishart.

No worries. He jerked his head. Our
youngest needs a cochlear implant. We were up in the city, five oclock
appointment. He gave her the details.

Ellen beamed. Thank you, sir.

Hey, no, thank
you,
Grant
said.

Feeling marginally better, Ellen
drove to Olivers Hill and searched Josh Brownlees bedroom fruitlessly in the
waning light of late afternoon.

* * * *

As
evening settled, Scobie Sutton took his daughter to the Jubilee Park netball
courts in Frankston. The indoor courts this time, the stored-up air still and
sweltering, the huge building having baked in the sun all day.

Ros played for the Tyabb Allstars,
their uniform a shapeless, pale blue sleeveless top over an unflattering dark
blue skirt. It seemed to Scobie that the very dowdiness of the uniform affected
their ability to play well. They plodded around the court and fumbled the ball.
Meanwhile their opponents, the Somerville Silhouettes, who wore close-fitting
scarlet outfits with pert short skirts, were swift and decisive. They were also
coquettish preeners.

Not an observation I can share with
the netball mothers, Scobie thought. Theyll think Im a dirty old man.

Not a reflection he could share with
Beth, either; she wasnt there.

Please come, hed said.

Next time, she told him.

That had been at four oclock, two
hours ago. To his dismay, shed still been in bed. He saw the future, Beth
spending her life replacing one faith with another, continuing her drift away
from husband and daughter. What the hell was he going to do? Who could he talk
to? Her mother and sister? What would they think? Would they help?

Wheres Beth this evening? said
one of the netball mothers.

They were all sitting on the tiered
wooden seats, surrounded by schoolbags, bits and pieces of clothing, older and
younger sisters, grandparents, sole parents, both parents, bottles of water
from which the netballers took gasping swigs between quarters. What could he
say in reply? The netball mothers were at the same time school mothers and town
mothers, and knew everyones business. I think shes coming down with
something, he said.

Theres a bug going around.

Heart bug, thought Scobie. Soul bug.
At that moment Ros threw a goal, surprising herself, surprising everyone, and
the little dance she gave, of unalloyed joy on her skinny legs, made everything
better for Scobie, just for a little while.

* * * *

By
now it was fully dark. With a Mediterranean and a margarita from Westernport
Pizza, the latest Batman DVD from Blockbuster, and a red wine from the
drive-through bottle shop, Pam Murphy and Andrew Cree were chilling out in Pams
sitting room, Andy temporarily back in his boxer shorts, Pam in a thigh-length
T-shirt. The pizzas had got cold; theyd lost interest in the film. Already the
bed was beckoning again; or the sofa or the carpet. Andy yawned. His head was
in Pams lap, his bare neck and shoulders against her bare thigh, a major
distraction and a reminder that your senses matter. It seemed to Pam that for
months, years, all shed done was apply her brain to catching a crim or solving
a crime. Yeah, she tested her body every day, but only in the sense that it was
a machine, a police machine. Her sense of herself as a
sensory being
had
atrophied. All those moist smells, textures and elasticities that shed denied
herself for too long.

When the film credits came up, she
pressed the eject button on the remote. She had her wine glass in her other
hand. She wished that she had a third hand. She wanted to stroke the lock of
fine hair away from Andys forehead or feel around inside his boxers. Switch
off? Watch some TV?

You choose.

He turned his head and kissed her
stomach just as she switched over to the TV. It was the late news and Josh
Brownlees arrest.

I wish I could get him on rape as
well.

Who? Andy murmured, nuzzling her,
raising goosebumps. He glanced at the TV. Oh, that guy. You got him for
bashing Roe. Forget the rape.

You cant forget a rape.

They were silent, lost in separate
thoughts. Andy said, I bet he was trying to prove himself.

What do you mean?

His brothers a poofter, right? Hes
scared hes a poofter, too, so he tries it on with this Caz chick.

Pam said mildly, I think it was a
bit more than that, Andy.

Whatever.

Pam chewed on the inside of her mouth,
thinking about Josh Brownlee. She wanted someone to pay for the rapes. Caz Moons
act of revenge wasnt enough. At the same time, she wanted to hate Josh
Brownlee more comprehensively, but Lachlan Roe, with his evil and harmful
ideas, kept getting in the way of that. She wished that she could be more like Andy
Cree and not care.