Challis - 05 - Blood Moon (34 page)

Wishart spluttered, Dont know what
you mean.

You were no closer to South-East
Asia than your TV set, Challis said.

We checked, said Ellen.

Youve been telling lies, Challis
said.

All those guys at the RSL club, all
those
genuine
vets...

What are they going to think when
they find out?

Youll be a laughing stock.

Youll have to sell up and move to
Outer Woop Woop.

After they come around here and
beat the shit out of you.

After the
Herald-Sun
and Today
Tonight demolish you in public.

Wisharts gaze flicked from one to
the other. He grew sweaty, greasy with it, and seemed smaller suddenly. He
collapsed onto the stool behind the counter. Please. Leave me alone.

Who should we inform first,
Sergeant Destry? said Challis. The newspapers? His mates?

I think we should tell everyone,
said Ellen, but she was swallowing a little, her heart no longer in it. Who
didnt have pathetic little secrets?

In his delicate way, Challis seemed
to read her. He said, in a gravely courteous voice, Mr Wishart, you provided
the police with an alibi for your nephews movements on Wednesday, the
eighteenth of November. Would you care to revise that statement?

All right! screeched Wishart.
Then, subsiding, he muttered it: All right.

Adrian was here, yes?

Yes.

You had lunch together?

Yes.

But he didnt stay with you for the
whole afternoon, did he?

No.

Where did he go?

Back to check on Mill.

In his car?

Terry shook his head. Too
distinctive. He took my car.

What time was this?

He left around two-thirty.

Half past two on the afternoon of
Wednesday the eighteenth of November?

Yes.

What car do you drive?

Falcon station wagon.

And there were millions of them on
the road, thought Challis. What time did he return?

Almost seven oclock.

Early evening, not seven the next
morning?

Correct.

Did he say why he wanted to check
on his wife?

She was having an affair.

He wanted to catch her meeting her
lover?

Yeah. He knew hed be spotted if he
drove the Citroen.

What was his state when he
returned?

What do you mean?

Dress, manner. Was he dirty? Any
blood on his clothes? Was he excited, depressed, tearful, agitated?

Why?

Well, hed just murdered his wife.

No way. Uh, uh, no way, said
Wishart emphatically.

Hed cleaned off the blood?

There was no blood!

Did he ask you to get rid of his
clothing? The tyre lever? Did you provide him with a change of clothing? Have
you checked to see if he replaced the tyre lever from your car?

The questions were coming thick and
fast, and Terry Wishart backed away, saying, He didnt kill her! Hed never do
that! He followed her, thats all.

We have to arrest you for providing
a false statement to the police, providing a false alibi for a suspect, said
Ellen gently. Mainly she didnt want Terry to warn his nephew.

No, please.

Its all right, said Challis
smoothly, youll be out in no time.

Just, said Terry Wishart
helplessly, just dont tell anyone about the Army stuff. Please?

* * * *

47

The
murdered womans husband was returned to the interview room and his lawyer
recalled. Adrian Wishart looked tense and wary, but more contained than
afraidas if he were expecting tedium, another session explaining his side of
the story to a couple of slow thinkers. Sitting upright, a long-suffering
expression on his face, he demanded, What now?

His lawyer, Hoyt, followed with, Either
charge my client or let him go.

Challis gazed levelly at each of
them, turned his attention to

Wishart, and said, Weve just come
from a long talk with your Uncle Terry.

The hesitation was no longer than a
millisecond, but it was there. So?

Fought in Vietnam...

Wishart eyed him. So?

He must have seen some pretty
terrible things.

The lawyer leaned forward. Inspector
Challis, I hope youre not about to suggest that Terry Wishart isnt a reliable
or a credible alibi witness for my client, owing to his war experiences. Hes
telling the truth.

Truth, said Ellen. She looked
tired, wilting in the stifling air, but still tense and focused. I dont think
weve heard much truth from the Wishart boys. And they
are
boys.

The lawyer ignored her, addressed
Challis. Terry Wishart was formally interviewed?

Yes.

Re
-interviewed.

Yes.

And?

There are some anomalies, Challis
said.

A nerve twitched at the corner of
Adrians left eye. His veins stood out. He was tightly wound but otherwise
inclined to be impatient and contemptuous. What anomalies?

We need to go back several years,
Challis said.

Wishart blanched, but Hoyt frowned,
looking for a trap. Are you suggesting a family tiff? A falling out?

No.

The lawyer stared intently at her
client. Adrian, is your uncle competitive with you? Jealous? Envious?

Ellen could see where this was
going. Before Wishart could open his mouth to reply, she cut in: Ade, she
said, with a big, blokey smile, elbows on the table, remember all those photos
on Terrys wall? His Army mates, excursions to the War Memorial, stuff like
that?

What about it?

He served in Vietnam, didnt he?

Wheres this going?

Your parents ever talk about that
time, Terry going off to war?

No, not really.

No stories of waving him off,
greeting him on his return?

No.

And what about Terry? Any tall
tales from the trenches?

It was pretty hush-hush, his Army
work, Wishart said desperately. He cant talk about it.

I wonder why.

Faint alarm showed in the lawyers
eyes, as though she sensed hidden shoals ahead. Getting back to the matter at
hand

Challis ignored her. What your
uncle cant talk about, he said, is the fact that he didnt serve in Vietnam.

Wisharts mouth was dry. Rubbish.
He

He wasnt even a soldier. He made
it all up.

Hes a sad, pathetic little man,
said Ellen. With emphasis on the words sad, pathetic and little. She
paused. A bit like you, really.

Wishart glanced wildly at his
lawyer, whod thrown down her pen tiredly and apparently lost some of the will
that had got her out of bed that morning. She examined a spot on the lapel of
her blouse, ignoring him.

Your Uncle Terry has a desperate
need to be loved and admired, said Challis, with a kind of gentleness that
only a fool would underestimate, and Wishart was no fool.

A need to belong, Ellen said.

Still Wishart wouldnt fold. He has
medals...

Oh, cut the crap, Ade. He bought
them on eBay, and you know it.

I need time to be alone with my
client, Hoyt said.

Challis continued to watch Wishart. You
knew the shame of being found out would kill him. You were counting on it.

Of course, we havent told anyone
his secret, Ellen said.

Were not cruel.

But he has agreed to stop the
charade and tell the truth.

The thing he fears more than
anything is his mates finding out.

Hed do anything to avoid that.

All right! said Wishart, slamming
his hand onto the table between them. His head slumped. So he lied for me. So
what.

Emotional blackmail, Ellen said. Families,
eh?

I want time with my client, Hoyt
said.

Wishart turned to her. Forget it, I
need to say what happened.

Hoyt made a broad gesture with her
arms as if to say it was his funeral. Wishart nodded at her, turned to Challis
and Ellen and said, I admit I followed my wife.

On Wednesday afternoon?

Yes.

In whose car?

Terrys.

Because yours is too conspicuous?

Yes.

Why did you follow her?

Wishart bowed his head. The
tracking device had showed her regularly going to Bluff Road in Penzance Beach.
Sometimes twice a day. I couldnt stand it any longer, I had to know, so on
Tuesday I followed her in my car. Ive never done that before, I swear.

And?

Wishart said woodenly, And I saw
Mill with that fellow from the residents committee. I thought they were having
an affair. But they spotted me, so on Wednesday I followed her in Terrys car.

And what did you see?

Nothing. I mean, nothing
suspicious. All they did was look at the site where that old house was.
Wishart twisted his mouth. I now accept they werent having an affair.

Did anyone see you? Did your wife
or Mr Vernon see you?

No. I was careful about that.

And then?

I thought Id attract attention if
I waited too long in the vicinity, so I drove back to the city.

You didnt follow your wife to the
murder site?

On my honour, no.

You werent in the habit of
following her but you were in the habit of tracking her movements with the GPS
device?

Yes.

Challis folded his arms, sat back
comfortably and said, I put it to you that you followed your wife to the house
near Shoreham and murdered her.

No!

What, then? Are you saying she was
murdered by someone else?

Yes!

Who?

I dont know. Id tell you if I
knew.

What time did you leave the area?

Wishart frowned, making a production
of it. Between four-thirty and five, I guess.

Challis supposed that it could be
true. A good defence barrister would add some definition to the hazy outline
and make it seem probable. We need hard evidence, he thought.

Why didnt you tell us this before?
Didnt you want us to find your wifes killer? You know how crucial the early
stages of an investigation are.

I was
ashamed,
said Wishart
with a burst of feeling. He turned to Ellen, eyes damp, and seemed to shrink
before her. You said I was pathetic. Well, its true, I am.

How awful for you, said Ellen.

* * * *

48

All
Pam Murphy had wanted to do that Saturday was spend it in bed with Andy Cree,
but tomorrow was the end of Schoolies Week and she was expected to be around
until then. So, late morning, she kissed Andy goodbye, drove to Waterloo and
tackled the paperwork on Josh Brownlee for the Director of Public Prosecutions.
Josh had been remanded in the lockup and would appear before a magistrate on
Monday. He might not get bail, owing to the serious nature of the attack on
Lachlan Roe. Or maybe his parents would fork out for a good lawyer, one whod
air the damage that Roe had caused. She almost felt sorry for Josh, but
recalled that the little shit was also a rapistprobably a rapistand for that she
hoped theyd throw away the key.

The only cure for her sour mood was
to think about Andy, his body and smile and the way he made her feel. She
glowed, a tingling low in her abdomen.

The hours wore on. The paperwork
mounted. Eventually she grew aware of sniggering in the corridor outside CIU.
What the hell was going on? There were fewer people around, as usual on a
Saturday, but all morning shed sensed an unmistakeable undercurrent of cloaked
conversations and sudden, red-faced silences. And now the sniggering.

She looked up, catching Smith and
Jones staring at her from across the office.

* * * *

John
Tankard had spent the last few hours watching Pam Murphys rented house in
Penzance Beach. He saw Murph leave for work, but Andy Cree had remained, the
shit.

What made it worse, he was starving.
Hed also been obliged to take a slash against a ti-tree, hoping the people in
the fibro holiday shack behind him werent watching. That would be great, a
patrol car comes out from Waterloo and says, What the fuck are you doing,
Tank? We got a report of some guy waving his donger around.