Challis - 05 - Blood Moon (9 page)

What attitude?

Exactly, Tank said.

* * * *

Four
oclock in the afternoon. Pam Murphy had spotted Tank with that cute new guy
but was too busy to chinwag with them. First she made her way down High Street
to the foreshore, where the schoolies were already partying. A number of cars
were parked facing the mangroves and the yacht basin, tailgates up, revealing
mattresses and sleeping bags, surfboards and eskies full of beer and
bourbon-and-cola cans. A few dome tents had been pitched nearby. Otherwise the
scene was full of kids, most of them standing around blearily, holding bottles and
cans, others standing on the roofs of their cars, dancing to the music that
blared from competing sound systems. They were all having a bad hair day, and
the guys hadnt shaved for some time. Guys and girls, they wore shorts,
boardies, singlets or T-shirts, often over bathing suits. Most were in bare
feet, grimy feet. These werent the swimming, surfing or bike-riding schoolies,
but, by the same token, they werent overdosing, harassing the locals or
fighting, either. Plenty of energy, though: the girls were on the lookout for a
hot guy, the guys for a hot girl. Looking for love. Like everyone.

All kinds of regulations were being
broken but Pam turned a blind eye. She wandered among the kids, introducing
herself, handing out ID bracelets, informing them about the Chillout Zone,
telling them to eat, drink plenty of water; advising them to stay in their own
groups and look out for each other.

Then she wandered back up High
Street. Many of the shoppers and shopkeepers knew her and nodded hello. There
were schoolies here, too, in clumps and pairs strolling, window-shopping. Some
of them knew her; some shed helped. One group, clacking through the T-shirt
racks outside HangTen went into a mock panic. Cool it, guys, ditch that
ecstasy, hide the vodka, its ...
Schoolie Patrol!

Very droll, Pam said.

She lingered to chat with the kids.
High Street was mild and docile under the springtime sun. Then a car pulled
into the kerb, glossy red, a hot little Subaruthe kind of toy your well-heeled
schoolie might drive, she thought enviously. Shed been known to buy the wrong
kind of car and pay too much for it. She saw a young guy get out from behind
the wheel, his girlfriend from the passenger seat, and saunter into HangTen as
if they owned it.

A minute later, they came out, the
guy looking royally pissed off.

* * * *

Caz
Moon, working one of the cash registers in HangTen, saw the red Subaru pull
into the kerb. For just a moment then, everything clenched tightly inside her,
but by the time Josh strolled in, holding the hand of a female version of
himself, she had recovered.

Before shed quite known she was
going to do it, Caz called across the shop, Hello, Josh. Raped anyone yet?

He was good-looking in that blond,
vacant, mouth breathing, never-had-to-think, -feel, -question-or-want-for-anything
private school way. Right now he was staring about vaguely. Perhaps he was
stoned, perhaps he hadnt heard her. Josh? she said again, lifting her voice
above the racks of brightly coloured scraps of cotton. Raped anyone so far
this season?

She rang up a sale, gave a kid her
change. HangTen was pretty cool for Waterloo; had the right labels. The local
kids liked to hang out there, occasionally buy a Billabong T-shirt or some Rip
Curl board shorts. Not her scene, however.

She continued to stare at Josh.
Finally he woke up. He looked at Caz, a dangerous flush settling over him.
There were two other sales assistants, a handful of customers, and all were
watching, waiting.

How about it, Josh? said Caz.

He didnt rise to it. Instead, he
said, Fuck you, and dragged the girlfriend out. She wore painted-on jeans and
heels she couldnt manage. She wailed Joshua! and he told her to shut up.

Caz smiled at her customers,
shrugged, said Schoolies, as if that answered everything.

When that young copper came in,
wanting to know if there was anything wrong, Caz put on a brilliant smile and
said, Not a thing.

* * * *

12

Late
in the afternoon Challiss desk phone rang, the duty sergeant. Sir,
Superintendent McQuarries here.

Challis had been expecting this, or
at least a summons to regional headquarters. Send him up.

He wants you to come down, sir.

It was petty and needless, meaning
that the super was summoning him and not the other way around. Challis trundled
down the stairs, but backtracked before he reached the bottom, re-entering his
office and grabbing the White Pride e-mail and the photocopied pages of the Roe
Report.

As expected, the superintendent was
in the ground floor conference room, a dim, quiet enclave that resembled a
boardroom done up on the cheap. What was not expected was that McQuarrie hadnt
come alone. He was standing with Ollie Hindmarsh.

Inspector, said McQuarrie, a
small, tidy individual who always wore the look of a man whod been adored, but
only by his mother and long ago. He shook Challiss hand, then gestured at the
politician. Im sure you know Mr Hindmarsh.

Challis nodded, reaching his hand to
the Leader of the Opposition, who turned the shake into a brief contest of
strength and said, In the interests of my electorate, including the school
community and Mr Roes many friends, I thought it important to see at first
hand how the investigations going.

Challis nodded gravely, intimating
that he didnt believe a word of it. I understand.

Lachlan Roe is a very fine fellow.
I dont want this swept under the rug.

Challis regarded Hindmarsh
carefully, wondering how to play it. The man was clearly attaching great
importance to the case, coming all the way down to Waterloo when Parliament was
in session. That was one thing. The other was that hed apparently said jump
to McQuarrie and McQuarrie had jumpedmaybe because Hindmarsh was notoriously
critical of the police and the superintendent wanted to make a good impression.
Would there come a point at which McQuarrie placed his officers ahead of
pleasing a shithead like Hindmarsh?

Were in the process of following
several leads, Challis said flatly.

What does that mean, in the
process? The processes of the Victoria Police dont withstand much scrutiny,
in my opinion.

Challis had sympathy with some of
Hindmarshs publicly expressed criticism of the police. Surely when you chose
to be a police officer you were making a profoundly simple vow to yourself and
the world to be one of the good guys? Challis knew all the argumentsthat most
police officers were honest and hardworking, but a handful were bound to burn
out, err or act dishonestly because they were only human, the work was nasty
enough to turn anyones mind, and like all large organisations the force was
open to nepotism and inefficiencybut he thought there was a limit to how far
you could push that line. He was capable of turning a blind eye, even of
tweaking legalities a little, so long as justice was served and no one got
hurt, but he was beginning to believe that only a kind of cultural rottenness
in the police force explained the growing instances of bullying, cronyism,
sexism, racial thuggery, homophobia and resistance to change. Not to mention
plain old criminal activity. Sure, Ollie Hindmarsh liked to use these instances
to political advantage, but they were real, not beat-ups.

Not that Challis would ever say any
of this. Wishing McQuarrie were not so gutless, he gazed steadily at Hindmarsh,
fixing on the mans fierce, hooked face.

It was the face of an outraged but
boozy prophet. Hindmarsh, big and barrelly, fifty years old and a womanising
ex-league footballer and Army veteran, was an anachronism in a world of sleek
lawyers and publicists. Hed been known to fiddle his expense account, assault
reporters and photographers, and harass the young women who worked for him. A
union basher, a hawk in military matters and suspicious of immigrants, he was
the kind of stern father figure that most Australiansdespite their veneer of
cheery individualism and non-complianceyearned for.

And there were plenty of men like
Hindmarsh around. Challis met them from time to time, and had a pretty fair
understanding of what formed them. They were often born into money, but not
necessarily love and intimacy. Theyd be sent to exclusive boys-only boarding
schools which filled that void with a competitive and repressive masculinity,
and where the few women they ever saw had teaching, nursing or servant roles.
No wonder they went on to become aggressive and autocratic CEOs and
politicians, driven to succeed but also aloof, insecure and blinkered.

Challis himself had had two
encounters with Hindmarsh. He was sitting in a Qantas jet one Monday morning,
about to fly to Sydney to extradite a woman wanted for murder, when Ollie
boarded. Hed delayed taking his seat at the head of the plane and remained
standing for several long minutes, so that everyone saw and recognised him. And
during a charity dinner in the Waterloo town hall a month later, Challis had
gone looking for the mens room in a warren of corridors and found Ollie
screaming into the face of a waiter: Do you know who I am? Ive half a mind to
grab you and run you against a wall, you scumbag. Youre an absolute joke.
Hindmarsh was red-faced, his veins popping, spittle flying. It seemed
reasonable to assume that hotel staff, airport clerks and chauffeurs around the
country had received the same treatment over the years.

The guy was also Mr Everywhere.
Challis kept finding Ollies publicity leaflets in his letterbox, two or three
photographs of the man on every foldturning a sod for another housing estate,
singing to a roomful of pensioners, cutting a ribbon, introducing a chaplain to
a school community.

Perhaps we should sit, Mr
Hindmarsh, Challis said now, taking charge.

That threw both men for a moment,
but Challis sat and they followed. Hindmarsh made an effort. Look, were
reasonable men here and

Challis cut him off. He dealt out
the photocopied e-mail and blog pages one by one across the heavy table. This,
he said, is a provocative and racist e-mail forwarded to Lachlan Roe by his
brother, Dirk. Lachlan then forwarded it to others.

He glanced at Hindmarsh and
McQuarrie. He had their attention. And these pageshe stabbed them with a
forefingerare taken from a blog called the Roe Report. It is viciously
racist, to the extent that it breaches racial vilification statutes. Criminal
charges may be laid. The material appears to have been written and posted by
Dirk Roe, with contributions from Lachlan Roe. Dirk Roe is the manager of your
electoral office, Mr Hindmarsh, am I correct? Challis didnt give the man a
chance to answer. And Lachlan Roe was appointed chaplain of Landseer with your
support? One of my best detectives has spent the morning at the school. She
assures me that Roe is deeply disliked there, by staff and students. I have
also learned that Lachlan Roe heads a...fringe religious sect.

Hindmarsh patted his thinning hair
as though to reassure himself that some remained. He coughed. I happen to
believe in the fundamental decency of his platform. The fact remains

Finally, McQuarrie stirred. The
fact remains, Mr Hindmarsh, that you employed one racist and assisted another,
he said, his voice starting with a squeak but gaining in strength. One would
like to see how
that
plays out in the media.

You little shit, growled
Hindmarsh. Ive a good mind

Challis had never seen McQuarrie so
firm and dignified. My officers and I are not vindictive. We dont play games.
We dont play politics. It hardly needs to be said that Dirk Roes blog is
public property. Theres a very good chance that members of the media already
know about it.

Hindmarsh opened and closed his
mouth. Fucking Dirk, fucking stupid little...

McQuarrie tipped back his chin. He
didnt like the language. Will that be all?

Hindmarsh nodded. He looked lost.

* * * *

When
the man was gone Challis said, Thanks, sir.

But the honeymoon, if thats what it
had been, was short-lived. The superintendent gestured dismissively, as if hed
forgotten Hindmarsh already, and said, Certain things have come to my
attention.

Ellen,
thought Challis.

Oh?

Are you.. .How do I put this.. .Are
you and Sergeant Destry...?

In a relationship sir, yes.

McQuarrie blinked. Some of the
irritation faded. Hal...

Challis waited.

You
work
together, man.

Sir.

In the same unit, the same police
station.

Sir.

Surely you see the pitfalls...

Yes, sir.

For a very good reason, there are regulations.

Sir.

Hell of a mess, McQuarrie looked
away, then back at Challis. You could be accused of undue influence. Of bias
and favouritism. What do your colleagues think? Or the constables who have to
answer to you both? And what happens if events in your relationship spill
over into your day-to-day police work? Its not on, inspector.