by Garry Disher
Ellen glanced at Challis and answered for both of them. Coffee, please.
Pull up a pew.
Coulter poured the coffee and sat across the table from them, precise, contained, watchful, his grey eyes clear and untroubled. He said nothing and betrayed no curiosity or apprehension. Hell wait us out, Challis thought, sliding a photograph across the table.
Is this you, Mr Coulter?
Yes.
What can you tell us about it?
Im having sex with a woman, on a bed, being watched by other men and women.
Did you receive a copy of this photograph in the mail on Monday?
Yes.
What did you make of that?
I made nothing of it. I have nothing to hide. I cannot and will not be blackmailed.
You received a blackmail demand?
No.
Then how do you know its blackmail?
I assume that Im being softened up for blackmail, Coulter said, blowing across the steaming surface of his coffee.
You say you cant and wont be blackmailed, Ellen said. Is that bravado?
I cant and wont be blackmailed because I simply dont care enough, Coulter said. So what that I go to sex parties? I have no family who would be shamed if word got out, and my clients certainly wouldnt care. I represent interests in the horse-racing industry and my reputation with them rests solely on my ability to make and save them moneywhich I do very successfully.
Challis disliked the mans coldness and vanity. Did you build this house yourself? he asked, noting Coulters work-hardened hands, incongruous against the soft, costly fabric of his shirt.
I did.
Impressive.
Coulter said nothing, aiming for a prohibitive silence.
Ellen drained her coffee. Have you any idea who sent you the photographs?
Janine McQuarrie. Thats why youre here, isnt it? You think I killed her?
Did you?
Coulter looked bored. Why? What would be the point?
She threatened your reputation.
Perhaps you werent listening: I dont care about my reputation.
The photosor Janine herselfwere a threat in other ways.
Ive never met the woman.
She was murdered not far from here, Challis said. Was she coming to see you?
No. I wasnt here anyway, but in my office in Mornington and needless to say I can prove it. But perhaps she was on her way here with more photographs.
It occurred to Challis then that if Janine was murdered because shed attempted to blackmail someone, wouldnt that someone want to search her home and office for all copies of the photographs? Yet neither place had been broken into. On the other hand, Robert presumably had access to the keys.
As if reading his thoughts, Coulter said, Did she have copies with her when she was shot?
Never let them ask the questions. How did you know that Janine McQuarrie took your photograph?
I saw her do it.
With what?
Her mobile phone. Look, I go to these sex parties to look at faces and responses. Everyone else watches the sex. I saw her, I saw what she was doing. It amused methough I was surprised to get photos in the mail. I assumed she was taking photos to meet some kind of basic and boring erotic need.
Did anyone else see her? Ellen asked. Challis could see tension in her jaw, meaning that she loathed Coulter.
Possibly, but thats your job, isnt it? I can just see it: the police going in heavy-handed, knocking on forty or fifty doors, throwing a scare into people who until then thought their grubby secret lives were safe from scrutiny, and theyre all going to deny knowing anything about Janine McQuarrie and her pathetic photographs.
Youre the one whos pathetic, Ellen said.
Coulter grinned to know that hed goaded her and Challis saw at last, behind the cool faade, an empty man.
Mr Coulter, you say your clients are in the horse-racing industry.
Yes, and I daresay some of them are dishonest, and a handful know the type of men who will shoot someone dead for a few thousand bucks.
Do you know such men?
If I do, they havent announced themselves to me.
Do you hear whispers?
Ive heard whispers all my life. Am I going to inform? No?
But you might know who to go to if you wanted someone shot dead? .
I might, but I dont. I dont care enough about anything to want anyone dead. I cant raise the emotional heat. Theres nothing I want to preserve, no gain I want to make. The woman could have published my photo on the net, for all I care. Now if thats all, I have an appointment at a stable in Mornington in thirty minutes.
Early, Challis observed.
Horse-racing people are early people, Coulter said.
Thats how its going to be between us, Challis thought. No confession or clear signs of guilt. Just a hard slog through Coulters past and present.
* * * *
33
Robert McQuarrie and the other men had identified the settings of Janine McQuarries photographs as two bedrooms in a house in the old part of Mornington, where solid dwellings sat on leafy streets a short walk away from the park, the beaches and Main Street. Ellen drove, slowing at one point to indicate a low-slung modern building that had gone to seed: drifts of paper and cellophane caught in the fence, untended grass, peeling paint, playground equipment growing a patina of rust and mould. That was a heartbreaker, she said.
She didnt need to explain. A childcare centre; allegations of sexual abuse against the husband and wife who ran the place; no charges laid after a fruitless investigation. But the case remained open.
And a hundred metres further on we have the Wavells and their wholesome sex parties, she continued.
Anton and Laura Wavell, aged in their early forties, and both at home at 8.45 on a Thursday morning. We work from home, Anton explained, showing them into the sitting room. He was a thin, gingery, nondescript man with long pale fingers that fluttered from his belt to his mouth to his neck.
We offer IT support, Laura explained. System upgrades, data recovery, website design, virus eradication. So, if you ever have any problems...
Shes drumming up business, Challis thought, even as she suspects why were here. He eyed the Wavells. Hed stopped being surprised by the resemblances that husbands and wives developed to each other: like her husband, Laura Wavell was gingery. She sported rampant freckles on a broad face, and coarse red hair tamed by large clips.
Would you like to see? she asked, indicating a closed door at the end of the room.
There was something desperate about the question, as though Challis and Ellen might think better of the Wavells if shown a room devoted to cutting-edge technology and evidence of plain, everyday hard work. In Challiss experience, guilt was never very far from the surface when it came to the sexual proclivities of ordinary people. Only hardened paedophiles never showed a conscience or remorse. The Wavells were probably close to protesting sulkily and fearfully that they were only helping others have a bit of fun. Challis had no moral opinion one way or the other about the sex parties: he didnt care what the participants did; he only cared when someone stopped playing the game.
Another time, he said, and sat in a pillowy sofa, obliging the others to sit. There was a plasma widescreen TV in one corner of the room, a small bar, a scatter of Ikea easychairs, bright rugs and cushions, track lighting on the walls and ceiling. With the wintry sun picking up dust motes and finger smears, the room held a less than tepid erotic charge. He distributed Janine McQuarries photographs over the surface of a coffee table that had been constructed from recycled floorboards in the form of a low, wide box with a pair of shallow push-pull drawers. These were taken in two of your bedrooms last Saturday night.
For some time there was silence. Antons hands were busy and he swallowed; Laura straightened her back, slanted her knees to one side, and folded her hands in her narrow lap.
We did nothing wrong, she said.
We certainly didnt take
these photos, Anton said. Search the place if you like. No hidden cameras.
Cameras are strictly forbidden.
Against etiquette.
Oh, etiquette, Ellen said, and Challis saw something dangerous in her face and voice. Ellen in full flight could be something to see. It even produced results from time to time.
We have standards, Anton said.
Standards, said Ellen flatly.
Yes.
Do you know these men?
They come to our occasions.
Occasions. Thats a good one, Ellen said. Ill see if I can occasion my husband tonight, if hes not too tired.
Anton flushed. I can read you like a book. You think theres something smutty about our parties because you yourself think sex is a smutty thing. Its not.
I love a bit of smut, Ellen said. Hal?
Me too, Challis said carefully, wondering if her fury came from disappointment with him. Hed wanted her yesterday, and the day before that, and shed picked up on it. He hadnt acted: had she wanted him to?
He placed a photograph of Janine McQuarrie on the coffee table, the studio portrait taken for Bayside Counselling Services. Do you know this woman?
They peered with dutiful frowns. Shes been here.
Been to the sex parties?
Yes, Anton said stiffly.
One of the wives, Laura said, as if to stress legitimacy.
Ellen leaned forward and with great sharpness and concentration said, She was murdered two days ago, almost to the hour.
They knew. Janines likeness had been plastered all over the TV news and daily press. I fail to see what that has to do with us, Anton said.
Dont you?
No.
She took these photos at one of your parties and now shes dead.
A pause. She took them? How?
Mobile phone.
The Wavells shifted about as if kicking themselves for not anticipating that, for not policing it.
But why? Laura asked.
Ellen ignored her. Tell me more about these orgies of yours, she said in her dangerous, reckless way.
Theyre not orgies! Tell her, Anton.
Theyre not orgies.
Okay, group-sex gangbangs. Tell me more about them.
Youre deliberately goading us, deliberately cheapening everything, said Laura.
Were not doing anything wrong, anything illegal, said Anton. No drugs, no coercion, no underage girls, no sexually transmitted diseases, just healthy safe sex for consenting adults.
Multiple sex acts between desperate adults, Ellen snarled.
Theyre hot desperate. Tell her, Anton.
Couples, Anton said, who already have sexual partners and want to explore and extend the possibilities.
Sounds like desperation and fear to me, Ellen said. You knew Janine McQuarrie was taking these photographs, didnt you?
No. Absolutely not.
You encouraged it.
No way.
You commissioned it, Challis cut in. Youre running a nice little blackmail racket and Janine was your partner. You sent these photographs to four of your potential victims to soften them up before making demands for money.
Dont be stupid. Why would we do that? Our parties, as you like to call them, would soon grind to a halt.
Power. Money. Revenge.
Not interested. Were decent people, not criminals.
Into the silence that followed, Anton said meekly, Do we need a lawyer?
Ellen pointed to a pale, grainy, globular backside. Heres one.
He flushed angrily. Are you going to shut us down?
Shut you down? said Ellen in amazement. Who do you think we are?
* * * *
34
That was the early hours of Thursday. A raw wind had risen by the time Challis and Ellen returned to CIU, and there was a message for Challis to telephone his elderly next-door neighbour. A huge gum trees come down across your driveway, Hal. Its sticking out into the road. I tried to cut it up but cant start my chainsaw.
Try the shire, Challis said, shrugging out of his coat.
I did. There are trees and branches down everywhere and they cant promise theyll get around to it today.
Challis cursed. Ten oclock. He was obliged to attend the Navy inquest at eleven. Ill be there in fifteen minutes.
He dragged on his coat again, grabbed his laptop and inquest notes, and stopped at Ellens desk. Ill be out for two or three hours. I want you to call on Janines sister. I doubt if Janine was the confiding type, but Im pretty sure Meg intuited something about her recent activities.
Ellen sat back in her chair, tapping a pen against her teeth. Everything in this case is a trace of a ghost of a faint chance of a possibility.
He was relieved to see her smile. Eloquently put.
Challis drove to his home along roads festooned with twigs, branches and long scraps of bark. By the time hed cursed his chainsaw into life and sliced the tree up and rolled the segments of trunk out of the way, and showered and dressed again, he was late for the inquest.
The ruling was as expected: the Navy armourer had shot dead the Fiddlers Creek Hotel bouncer, and then committed suicide. Hed been drinking heavily in the main bar, but was also under the influence of a cocktail of drugs bought from a Navy cadet, and this, compounded by his sense of grievance at being ejected from the hotel, had disturbed the balance of his mind.
But the coroner went further. Reading from Challiss own report, he noted that the armourer had used a Browning automatic handgun from the armoury, and recommended that an investigation be held into how it had been removed despite electronic surveillance measures and bi-weekly spot checks on the inventory, and whether or not other weapons had been removed, and if so, who had them.
The proceedings continued briskly and by early afternoon Challis was stepping out into a ragged wind, fits of sunlight and obscuring cloud masses. He hurried to his car, checked his mobile, and saw that Superintendent McQuarrie had called him. Twice.
Challis, sir.
Finally. Was your mobile switched off, Inspector?
Coroners inquest, sir, that Navy shooting.
And?
Murder suicide.
Into the pause that followed, the superintendent said tightly, I understand you went to see my son again.
Sir.
May I ask why?
Loose ends, Challis said. Surely Robert hadnt told his father about last nights visit. The sister-in-law? Nomost probably one of McQuarries spies, he decided.
Such as?
Challis debated with himself. Could he reasonably expect to keep the super from learning about the photographs? Either way, he was in a bind: damned if he told the super, damned if he didnt. It was partly a courtesy call, sir, and we went over old ground to see if he could remember anything further about his wife.
Old ground? What about new ground, Inspector?
As if to suggest that Challis hadnt been thorough the first time around and liked to spend his days upsetting important and influential people.
In the absence of leads we have to check phone records again, said Challis, read correspondence, look for holes and inconsistencies in witness statements, as well as talk to new witnesses who might come forward. Jesus.
McQuarrie was silent. Then he said, I thought we agreed this was a case of the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time.
You agreed it, Challis thought. Its important to keep an open mind, sir.
Dig deeper into this witness protection woman.
Sir.
There was another silence, and then McQuarrie seemed to tiptoe through his words: Is there anything about Janine that I should know, Hal? A secret lover? Was she skimming funds from the clinic? Blackmailing her clients?
Is McQuarrie simply waiting to be told the worst? wondered Challis, or does he know something that we dont? Whatever it is, well find it, Challis said. You had to say things like that to your boss and a fearful public. He meant it, but he was saying it to shut McQuarrie u
p. Anxious to get going, he finished the conversation and returned to his office in CIU and a backlog of paperwork that owed plenty to the superintendents cost-cutting measures. The budget destroys resources, Challis thought, the paperwork destroys time, and the jargon destroys reason.
