Challis - 04 - Chain of Evidence (22 page)

Ive had time for a proper look
since then, Clode said. This is just a junkie burglary.

More than that, Mr Clode, Scobie
said. You were beaten up pretty badly.

Ellen was watching Clode, and saw
him go very still. Im fine. I dont want to make a fuss, he said. It hardly
seems worth bothering about.

Now, why is that? Ellen wondered.
Muttering about briefings and deadlines, she nodded goodbye to Clode and
hurried Scobie out to the car. So, what do you think?

Scobie swung his mournful face toward
her. About what?

Scobie, wake up. What did you make
of Clode?

He seemed to make an effort. Er, its
hard to tell.

His head was all over the place. Forget
it, Ellen said. Hal Challis had always been her sounding board, but he wasnt
here.

* * * *

28

This
was his routine now, to leave the house for a couple of hours in the afternoon
while his father napped. Meg was usually sitting with the old man when Challis
returned. A freelance bookkeeper who worked from home, she had the freedom to come
and go.

That Wednesday Challis made for the
little library, briefly pausing on the footpath for a road-train as it headed
north with huge bales of hay to where the drought was most acute. He crossed
the road and went in. The library opened on Wednesday and Friday afternoons,
and he was the only borrower. He selected three talking books for his father
and took them to the desk.

Hows your dad doing? the
librarian asked.

Retired now, shed been Challiss
English teacher twenty-five years ago. Fine, Mrs Traill.

She sighed. And Meg? I bet she
needed the break.

Did Mrs Traill know how demanding
the old man could be? Challis smiled neutrally. Nothing was sacred or secret in
the Bluff.

Arms went around him from behind and
his first thought was: Lisa. Even the words were the same. Guess who!

More exuberant than Lisa. He turned
and kissed his niece. You wagging school?

As if Id come hereno offence, Mrs
Traill.

None taken, dear.

Eve wasnt in school uniform, a
liberty allowed the senior students, Challis supposed. She was returning a
couple of books. Research?

Exams soon, Uncle Hal.

Have you seen Mark?

Eve nodded. They gave him a ticking
off, made him pay for petrol. She paused. Sorry I overreacted on Sunday.

You were sticking up for your
friend, Challis said. Thats important.

She gave him a brief hug. Thanks.
Wurfels okay, I suppose. A bit law and order, friends with the local gentry.
She beamed at him challengingly.

Challis glanced at Mrs Traill, who
was seventy years old, round, comfortable and powdered, an old grandmother who
had a perspective on everything and a sense of humour. She gave them both an
enigmatic smile, as though she understood many of the things that happened in
the town but kept them to herself. Let me take those books from you, dear.

Eve handed them over. Hows Gramps?

The same, said Challis.

Tell him Ill try to pop in later.

I will.

Have to go, she said, looking at
her watch.

Challis glanced through the window.
An old car, two girls and a boy in it, bopping to music. See ya, he said.

See ya, and she was through the
door and into the car.

Mrs Traill smiled fondly after her. Shes
often in here. She studies hard, that girl.

Challis nodded.

A tragedy.

Challis gazed at her. Did you know
Gavin very well?

He wasnt from around here.

Challis gave her a half smile. But
did you know him?

I was one of your mothers best
friends. She told me about the strange mail Meg was getting.

Mum and Meg didnt tell Dad about any
of that.

Who can blame them? A lovely man,
your father, but some things are best kept quiet.

Yes.

Anything else?

It suddenly occurred to Challis: the
weekly
Northern Herald
would have covered Gavins disappearance.
Unfortunately it was based in another town. Do you keep back issues of the
local paper?

Of course.

Going back five years?

Gavin?

Yes.

Stay there.

She was gone for some time. After a
while, he strolled idly around the shelves, peering at book titles, and then
heard the main door open and close. He peered through a gap in the books and
saw a woman enter shyly, scurry to one of the little tables, remove a book from
her cane basket and begin to read, all of her movements painfully slow and
defeatist.

You can use the back room, said
Mrs Traill behind him.

He jumped. Thanks.

She led him behind her desk to a
storeroom, where shed dumped dusty bound copies of the
Northern Herald
on
a table. That woman who came in, he said.

Alice Finucane, married to Paddy.
Shes here every Wednesday and Friday, her only escape.

Challis remembered a story that Meg
had told him, of how Paddy had been reported to the RSPCA for mistreating his
dogs. Gavin had investigated and been kicked and punched off the property.

Poor thing, said Mrs Traill.

Challis smiled non-committally and
sat at the table. Ill leave you to it, said Mrs Traill reluctantly.

When she was gone, Challis began to
read. Gavins disappearance had been covered in fair detail, but there were no
hard facts beyond the abandoned car and a faint hint that Gavin Hursts job had
been demanding, which Challis read as meaning Gavin had been unpopular. He
wiped dust from his hands, thanked Mrs Traill and left the building.

The library was next door to the
shire offices. Parked outside it was a dusty new Range Rover with tinted
windows. One window whirred down and Lisa said, from the front passenger seat, Afternoon,
handsome.

Challis glanced automatically at the
heavy glass doors of the shire offices. Rex is in there making a nuisance of
himself, Lisa said.

What about?

Council rates. It happens every
year.

Challis stood by her door for a
while and they chatted. Life had slowed right down, to this, gentle walks
around the town and idle conversation. He half liked it. At the same time, he
missed the Peninsula, and catching killers.

Rex came out, looking angry. He wore
the uniform of the successful grazier who doesnt like to get his hands dirty:
tan, elastic-sided R. M. Williams riding boots, R. M. Williams moleskin pants,
Country Road shirt, even a wool-symbol tie. Then Challis could smell the man: a
heavy aftershave, tinged with alcoholic perspiration. Blurry red eyes,
heightened red capillaries in his cheeks, dampness under the arms.

Rex edged between Challis and the
passenger door of his Range Rover. He placed a pale soft hand on his wifes
forearm, which rested on the windowsill. Everything about him said: I got the
girl. The girl chose me, not you.

Sorry to hear about your father,
Hal, he said, probably not meaning it.

Challis nodded. Well, mustnt keep
you.

Challis nodded again and stepped
away from the Range Rover, which sped away soon afterwards, voices muffled
inside it.

* * * *

29

That
same Wednesday afternoon, John Tankard sloped off work to pick up his car. He
intended to take it to the VicRoads office in Waterloo, wave the roadworthy
certificate under their noses, and pay for a years registration. But the head
mechanic at Waterloo Motors said, Bad news, pal.

What?

Im pretty sure your car was a grey
import that was subject to rebirthing.

Explain, Tank demanded.

Your car was never sold in
Australia. It came in as a grey import and was fitted with compliance plates
and VIN number from a written-off vehicle. Theres no way it complies with
Australian design rules. Even if you did spend the thousands and thousands of
dollars necessary to make it compliant, there are no parts available locally,
and service costs would be high.

Tank snarled, Im a police officer.

I can see that, the guy said,
taking in Tanks uniform. As a policeman you know we have to abide by the
regulations. Your car is missing many of the items necessary for registration
here: side intrusion bars, child restraint mounting points, for example. He
was reading from a list. The seatbelts dont pass, the cooling system is insufficient
for Australian conditions, the speedo is only graduated to one hundred and
eighty kilometres per hour, the exterior mirror on the drivers side is convexI
could go on.

Tears of rage and disappointment
pricked Tanks eyes. He felt a black cloud hovering. Youre just loving this.

The mechanic was unmoved. He handed
Tank the keys. Theres no charge. I could see immediately what was wrong.

Why didnt you call me?

Busy, said the mechanic.

Im going to see what VicRoads has
to say about this.

Ive already informed them. Sorry.

Youre not sorry.

Tank shot around to the VicRoads
office in High Street and asked what could be done. He was hot and blustery and
it did him no good at all. Im afraid weve already black-flagged your car,
sniffed the guy behind the counter, the sniff owing a little to hayfever and a
lot to superciliousness. He had very red lips, dampish eyes and nose. John
Tankard wanted to thump him.

What do you mean, black-flagged?

Tank had slipped away from work for
five minutes. He could see that hed need five hours.

Just what I said. You cant
register that car in Victoria, or anywhere in Australia. Weve black-flagged
it.

But I bought the car from a dealer
fair and square.

But not with a roadworthy
certificate, apparently. That should have alerted you.

Youre saying its
my
fault?

Sorry, sir, but youre a policeman.
Go back to the dealer and get him to return your money.

The dealer, then the finance
company, thought Tank miserably, and neither one is going to want to know me.

* * * *

Evening,
the light outside setting toward full darkness as Ellen sat with a scotch in
one of Challiss armchairs. The fact that it wasnt her own armchair, glass or
scotch served to underline her estrangement from her old life. Shed had
foundations back thenher own house, family lifeand now she was living alone
in temporary accommodation. She took a gulp of scotch: seeing her situation in
those terms was too depressing for words. For a start, it rendered Hal Challis
as some kind of remote landlord who might turf her out at any moment. She
needed to hear his voice. That would banish the image.

She called him. No answer.

She immediately called Larrayne. Everything
okay, babe?

Yes, for the ninetieth time.

Larraynes voice was muffled, her
tone distracted, as though she was engaged in some other activity, like
painting her nails, taking notes from a textbook or fondling her boyfriend.
Ellen didnt know. Larrayne had a new life now, new daily habits.

Just checking.

Yeah, yeah, Larrayne said, and
Ellen wanted to slap her.

Mum, said Larrayne suddenly, her
tone focussing, are you working on this paedophile thing?

Yes, Ellen said. Maybe shed get
some respect, some acknowledgement.

But Larrayne failed to follow
through. Ellen heard chewing. Its a nasty one, she went on.

Dont tell me, I dont want to
know, Larrayne said, Ellen sensing a shudder of distaste in her daughter. A
creature cried in the night. Maybe a fox, maybe after the ducklings.

The call finished, Ellen turned to Evening
Update, which told her that Katie Blasko had been abused and kept dosed with
Temazepam. Now, that information could have been leaked by a hospital worker,
but just as easily by a member of her team. Shit, shit, shit.

* * * *

30

Just
before lunch on Thursday, Ellen Destry learnt a great deal more about Neville
Clode, owing to a visit from a Childrens Services psychologist.

I dont understand why you didnt
come to us as soon as Katie disappeared, Ellen said.

What good would that have done?

Jane Everard was about forty, with a
cap of pale fine hair, and wore a sleeveless white shirt over a dark blue
cotton skirt. Her glasses, costly and fashionable, glinted contemptuously, an
impression reinforced by her mouth, half open with a sardonic twist to it. Her
teeth were a little crooked, which Ellen found oddly reassuring. In all other
respects, Dr Everard was forbidding.

They were in Ellens office on the
first floor of the Waterloo police station. We would have investigated, Ellen
replied.