Challis - 04 - Chain of Evidence (19 page)

Fuck you! the kid screamed.

He had a knife. It seemed to
materialise in his hand. He was wild-eyed, waving it around, there in that
alley that smelt of cat piss and mouldering cardboard.

Just as suddenly, Pam had her .38
centred on his chest. Sir, put the knife down, please. I dont want anybody to
get hurt.

Im not goin back to jail! I didnt
steal nothin!

Then you have nothing to worry
about. Just put the knife down, please, sir.

The tension left the kids face. It
was gone in an eyeblink. He tossed the knife aside, said cockily, There.
Satisfied?

Pam bolstered her .38 warily. Thank
you, sir. Now, if you could just step away from the knife.

The kid snatched the knife from the
ground. He lunged, the blade winking in the dim light, flicking cruelly past
her unprotected stomach. Any closer and her guts would have spilt out. Shed
relaxed too soon. She might fumble getting her revolver out again, drop it,
have it snatched by this quicksilver kid, something shed never live downif
she lived.

She had a fallback position, her
capsicum spray. Before the kid could take another swipe at her, she let him
have it full in the face.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, overkill, he
said, wiping water from his eyes.

She grinned, handed him her
handkerchief commiseratively.

Not bad, Constable Murphy, the
training officer said. Behind him the other trainees applauded ironically.

Thank you, sir.

But you know where you went wrong?

Yes, sir. Didnt shoot him, sir.

The other trainees cheered, and the kid,
a senior constable, gave her the finger.

* * * *

Scobie
Sutton got home at six that evening to a house full of cooking smells, but
something else registered in his senses, too, an atmosphere. Maybe Beth had
been yelling at Roslyn. She did that sometimes. She hadnt used to, before she
was retrenched from her job with the shirevia e-mail. Scobie came to the back
door, as usual, removed his shoes in the little space they called the mud room,
as usual, and walked in his socks to the kitchen, where the fluorescent light
was merciless, showing up the essential tackiness of their out-of-date cabinets
and bench tops. Theyd had plans to renovate the kitchen, back when Beth still
had her job. The atmosphere: it wasnt frustration or anger, it was guilt.

Hello, my darlings, Scobie said,
wondering if his tone alone would tip the balance toward harmony.

Beth was brushing oil over an
uncooked chicken. Cubes of potato and pumpkin ringed it. She hardly dared to
glance at him but kept her face and eyes averted as she accepted his kiss. She
felt stiff in his arms.

Scobie turned to his daughter, who
was absorbed with her homework. She liked to do her homework here. The kitchen
was at the centre of things. The cheap pine desk in her bedroom wasnt. He ruffled
her hair and kissed her bent neck. She squirmed delightedly before saying Daddy!
and throwing her arms around him. He couldnt get enough of that.

How was everyones day?

Fine, his wife muttered.

His had been miserable. That poor,
poor child.

Presently Roslyn wandered into the
sitting room to watch The Simpsons. Scobie turned to his wife. Whats wrong?
he said, his tone a little sharp.

Ive done something stupid.

Such as?

They kept current bills, letters and
junk mail in an old in-tray beside the fridge. Beth took out a brochure. I
paid for this, she said, her face furiously red. My own money.

Scobie scanned the brochure. It said
Rising Stars Agency
in bold type, with a list of the agencys
accomplishments, including modelling contracts in Sydney and New York, and
young actors placed in several films and TV shows. I thought it would help our
finances if Ros got picked, Beth said.

Scobie was pretty blind when it came
to his daughter. His coworkers could have told him thatand some did. But even
he didnt think it likely that Roslyn would be hired to model little dresses
and tops for the Myer or Pumpkin Patch catalogues, or get picked to play
someones kid in a TV serial. When was this?

A month ago, said Beth in shame.

Scobie dimly recalled it. Hed been
embroiled in a murder inquiry at the time, obliging him to spend long hours
away from home, and had thought his daughter was having her photograph taken at
school. He felt stricken: poor Beth. All she wanted was to help ease the familys
financial situation. But to do it like this! The world must be full of hopeful
mothers, he thought, who believed their children photogenic enough to be models
and actors. Oh well, he said gently, these sorts of things are bound to be a
long shot.

Its not that, Beth whispered. They
promised theyd deliver the photos within seven days, but its been weeks now
and they still havent arrived. I called the number on the brochure and got a
recorded message, Please check the number and call again.

Scobie frowned down at the brochure.
No address, not even a post office box. Only a cell phone number.

Youve been conned, sweetheart.

Beths face crumpled. Oh, Scobie, Im
so sorry.

No harm done, Scobie said. Hed
pass it on to the fraud squad. The guys prints might even be on the brochure.

You dont have to go out again, do
you? Beth said, wringing her hands a little.

Scobie shook his head. Im staying
home all night.

* * * *

25

The
darkest hours, well past midnight. Inside the ambush house, a roomy
weatherboard cottage on a quiet street behind the fitness centre, van Alphen
examined the expensive gear, the highly polished floorboards. The owner clearly
made good money on the oil rigs. A tasteful place, if you discounted the Harley
Davidson pennants and Grand Prix posterswhich van Alphen didnt.

A night spent in silence in an
unfamiliar house is a long night. From time to time Kellock and van Alphen took
turns to prowl through the dark rooms, but otherwise they were still, and
rarely conversed. They pinpointed which floorboards creaked, which leather
armchair crepitated under their weight. Van Alphen was a smoker but he couldnt
smoke tonight; Kellock badly wanted a drink. They didnt touch a light switch,
rarely used the torch.

At five minutes to four on the
morning of Wednesday, 2 October, van Alphen whispered to Kellock, We have a
visitor.

They waited. They tracked the glow
of a torch as it passed one window and then another. Nothing happened for ten
minutes. Finally there came the sounds of a window being forced. They were in
the sitting room. A short hallway led from it. They moved to the hallway,
listened again.

The spare bedroom.

Still they waited, allowing time for
the guyNick Jarrett?to boost himself through the window and into the room.
They heard a soft thump, as though someone had jumped down onto a carpeted
floor. Now, whispered van Alphen.

Kellock moved first, a torch in one
hand and his .38 Smith and Wesson service revolver in the other. Police, dont
move! he shouted. Police, dont move!

A retired forklift driver lived next
door. Owing to his years of shift work at the oil depot on Westernport Bay, he
often woke at four in the morning. He heard Kellocks shout. I heard it twice,
he told investigators, in the days and weeks that followed.

And then?

Nothing for a while, then I heard a
couple of shots.

Two shots?

Yes.

How long after the shouted warning?

Hard to say, really. Could have
been two minutes, could have been five.

* * * *

So
much for Scobie Suttons vow to stay in all night. He got the call, beating the
ambulance, in fact. Kellock and van Alphen met him at the door. Hed always
been intimidated by them. They were big men, in size and in the way they
carried themselves, and had always treated him with faintly amused contempt, as
though he were not a man, as though decent men, churchgoing men, were a joke.
It couldnt be contempt though, could it? What sorts of upbringings had they
had? What values had their parents instilled in them? Scobie couldnt work them
out and was afraid, as they stood there in the doorway, not letting him in.

Somehow he found the nerve to say, Unusual
for a sergeant and a senior sergeant to be on a stakeout together.

Kellock made a wide, lazy gesture,
snideness in his sleepy eyes.

Staff shortages, Scobe old son.
Plus I had uniforms watching three other houses.

Scobie swallowed. Can I come in?

Both men pantomimed
are-we-stopping-you? Scobie edged past them, then paused, looking at Kellocks
arm. Youve cut yourself.

Defensive wounds, van Alphen said
matter-of-factly. He was right behind Scobie, practically breathing in his ear.
The little cunt pulled a knife on him, didnt he, Kel?

Yep.

Who shot him? Scobie said, backing
away from them.

I did, Kellock said.

Where is he?

Along here.

They took him to the spare bedroom.
Nick Jarrett had apparently stumbled backwards, collided with the bed, and then
fallen crookedly beside it. He wore overalls and had been shot twice in the
chest. Gloved hands, his left clutching a knife. Good riddance, eh, Scobe?
said Kellock, crowding him there in the doorway.

What happened?

Told you, he pulled a knife.

Scobie said stupidly, That one?

No, a huge Japanese samurai sword
that we put back over the fireplace. Of course that fucking knife.

I have to be sure, said Scobie
defensively. So, he cut you?

No, he gave me a haircut, said
Kellock, clutching a handkerchief to his forearm.

Kel, admonished van Alphen mildly.

Sorry. Sorry, Scobie.

Scobie didnt believe it. Can I
see?

Kellock proffered his arm. Three
shallow cuts, parallel to the watchstrap. Defensive wounds.

Too shallow, too neatly arranged,
for that. Scobie swallowed again. Thats what your report will say?

Why? You think Im lying, Detective
Constable Sutton?

Im just here to note what was said
and done, thats all, Scobie said.

Mate, youre a real character.

They were creeping him out. He heard
a vehicle arriving, a heavy motor. That will be the ambulance, he said,
relieved.

He was gone about a minute, greeting
the ambulance crew and showing them to the body. Soon the little room was
crowded, and Scobies view of the body obscured. Weak pulse, one of the
paramedics said. We have to get him to the hospital pronto.

Scobie saw van Alphen and Kellock
exchange a complicated glance. Were they relieved? Worried? He couldnt say.

I need to bag the knife, Scobie
said, pushing through to Nick Jarretts body, taking an evidence bag from his
jacket pocket. He paused. He could have sworn the knife had been in Jarretts
left hand. He could have sworn that Jarrett had been wearing gloves. Jarrett
gasped then, drawing a painful, rattling breath. His hands fluttered.

Mate, an ambulance officer said,
elbowing Scobie, we have to get him out, now.

Scobie bagged the knife wordlessly,
using his last few seconds to run his gaze over Jarrett. There was a cut above
one eyebrow, signs of swelling on one cheek.

Mate?

Okay, okay, just remove his
overalls first.

He stood back while it was done.
Finally Jarrett was carried out to the ambulance, which tore away, sounding the
siren once it had reached the main road.

Weve got a situation, Scobie
said.

No we dont, said van Alphen
emphatically.

Scobie trembled and his voice wouldnt
come. There were procedures to follow. But van Alphen and Kellock were his
police colleagues. At the same time, he didnt exactly mourn Jarrett, who was a
killer, a man prone to violence. Scobie didnt doubt that a tox screen would
show large amounts of speed in Jarretts system. Jarrett would have been
volatile, vicious and unpredictable, so it could have happened as described by
van Alphen and Kellock.

Headquarters will have to look into
this.

We know that.

There will be a coronial inquest.

In about a years time, Kellock
said. A lot can happen in that time.

Boss, I need to bag your weapon,
Scobie said, his voice not holding up. I also need the outer clothing of both
of you.

Well, sure, said Kellock, not
moving.

I have to do this by the book,
gabbled Scobie.

Wouldnt have it any other way.

I have a couple of forensic suits
in the back of my car.

Not a problem.

Van Alphen and Kellock said nothing
more but stared at him. He could feel their eyes at his back as he left the
house.