Challis - 03 - Snapshot

by Garry Disher

  Reaching a wooden gate, she perched on the top rail and waited for the other Bushrats to arrive. The rail was damp and mossy under her thighs but she wore old jeans and didnt care. She sat staring out over the orchard where the stolen Toyota had come to rest, and then glanced around at the reserve. The driver of the Toyota had fled towards it, but then shed lost sight of him and he could easily have doubled back amongst the clumps of old apple trees. Andy Asche was his name, according to Scobie Sutton. Where had he been headed with the stolen gear?

  Hello, there!

  A voice, torn into ribbons of sound by the wind. Pam turned her head. A fellow Bushrat, slogging across the paddock towards her. He must have parked further down the road; probably feared getting bogged, she thought. He was in his sixties and made heavy work of it. Partly his weight, partly the sodden terrain, for the old orchard was full of corrugations and drainage channels. He waved. She waved back.

  Suddenly he stopped dead. Even from a distance of fifty metres, she saw his jaw go slack, his face white. He stared down at his feet, sunk in dead grass and tussocks.

  His voice failed him on the first attempt. He tried again. Theres a body in the drain.

  * * * *

  57

  Ellen Destry stared gloomily at the body, which lay face down in a reedy drainage channel. Female, judging by the skirt, tights, smallish trainers, hair-tie and ankle bracelet. She guessed that the face, which lay in water, would be too decomposed to allow immediate identification, but she recognised the Waterloo Secondary College uniform, and the hair was blonde, so this was probably Scobie Suttons missing teenager, Natalie Cobb. Scobie Sutton had tied her boyfriend, Andy Asche, to the stolen gear found in the Toyota, so it was reasonable to suppose that shed been along for the ride. If so, she must have been thrown out when the Toyota overturned, then dragged herself or stumbled for some distance before collapsing into the drainage channel, which was partly obscured by long grass and nearby apple trees.

  Ellen swallowed, feeling a stab of pity and guilt. Would Natalie have been found if shed ordered a grid-pattern search? Was she dead already, or had she lain in the grass for a while, before falling into the channel? Ellen looked across at Pam, who was securing the scene with tape. I accepted her word that there had been only one occupant. Always check, she admonished herself. Always check.

  Then she was running: the Bushrats were entering the reserve. Sorry, she gasped, youll have to cut down pittosporum elsewhere this morning.

  There were eight of them, wearing old clothes and kindly smiles. We wont get in your way, they said politely.

  Im afraid you will, Ellen said. Im securing the reserve as a secondary crime-scene.

  She saw understanding dawn on their faces, and then they were moving off obediently, one woman touching her arm and murmuring, You poor thing, I hope you keep dry and warm.

  Ellen returned to the body. Pam joined her, and together they waited for the crime-scene techs, Scobie Sutton, and the ambulance that would take the body away. No need to call Challis, not unless Dr Berg ruled it a suspicious death. But, suspicious or accidental, what if the girls death was unrelated to the crashed Toyota? What if shed been murdered and dumped here at a later date? Or had come here to party and died of an overdose or something? Ellen turned to Pam and said, Lets have a scout around for empty bottles and cans, joints, any kind of drug paraphernalia, she said.

  Sarge, said Pam, moving off, and then stopping. Do you think she was in the van?

  Did you see a passenger?

  No. Tinted windows.

  They searched for several minutes, then returned to the body. Maybe she wasnt wearing her seatbelt, Ellen said. She swallowed, thinking of Heather Cobbs grief and feeling suddenly vulnerable and helpless. The last time shed seen her own daughter there had been a blazing row, Larrayne furious with her for leaving Alan. She badly wanted to fish out her mobile and call Larrayne, to see if she was safely tucked up in bed on this Sunday morning, but knew she wouldnt get any thanks for it if she did.

  Sarge, Pam said, breaking into her misery, look at her hands.

  The right hand was outstretched and touching the bank of the drain. Two fingers were missing. The left lay in the water, the skin partly detached, like a glove. Ellen grimaced: she knew that the glove could be removed by the pathologist, distended and then fingerprinted, but she was hoping that the dead girls teeth would provide all the identification they needed.

  You dont have to stay here, you know, she told Pam.

  The wind blew, laced with misty rain. They both shivered. Id like to stay, Pam said. Keep you company and watch and learn.

  Appreciated, Ellen murmured. She cleared her throat. By the way, Im glad the inquiry cleared you.

  An awkward moment. She knew exactly what a prick her husband had been. By attacking you, she wanted to say, Alan was attacking me. By taking broader swipesat Challis, CIU, and the conduct of plainclothed policehe was attacking me.

  But she didnt say any of this and they talked desultorily of other things. Thirty minutes later, several vehicles arrived: Scobie Sutton, a crime-scene photographer, a video operator, an exhibits officer, the pathologist and several uniformed police. Ellen stationed a couple of the uniforms on the road to wave on the gawkers, and directed another half dozen to search the orchard and along the fence line, then rejoined Scobie and Pam, who were watching the pathologist and her assistant work on the body, which had been pulled from the water and now lay on its back in the grassy verge. The face was pulpy; Ellen looked away.

  Doc, she managed to say, I dont want to influence you, but this could be related to an incident that happened here about three weeks ago.

  Freya Berg glanced up at her quizzically.

  Ellen pointed. A van crashed through the fence and rolled, coming to rest just over there.

  About three weeks ago? Ill bear it in mind.

  They moved away while the pathologist worked. I should have searched the area more thoroughly, Scobe, Ellen said.

  I should have done a lot of things in my time, he said gloomily.

  She was pretty sure hed come from church: hed thrown an old gardening jacket on over a good shirt and trousers. Even more morose than usual, it was clear that he was taking the sacking of his wife pretty hard. I think its Natalie Cobb, she said.

  Id say so, he said.

  And you found her boyfriends prints on the stolen gear?

  Scobie nodded gloomily. Hes done a runner, but I tracked him as far as Queensland.

  A big state.

  Yep.

  Do you think he knew she was dead?

  Scobie shrugged. Its possible. When I questioned him, he didnt seem to know she was missing, but he might have put two and two together and come looking for her.

  Ellen glanced around at the deceptive folds in the land, the grass, weeds and clumps of old, unpruned apple trees. An awful place to die.

  Scobie nodded in his mournful way.

  Dr Berg glanced up at them. Preliminary findings?

  Sure, Ellen said.

  I found a student ID card in the name of Natalie Cobb, Waterloo Secondary College. Now, immersion in water does terrible things to the skin over time, but her clothing did protect her to some extent, and there are marks on her abdomen suggestive of seatbelt bruising. I also found the usual signs of exposure and putrefaction on the exposed areas, her face and hands. Her right hand appears to have been gnawed by animals. All in all, Id say that shes been in the water for at least two weeks. A body immersed in water decomposes at half the rate of a body left in the opendepending on temperatures, insect and animal activity and dampness, of course. But Ill know more after the autopsy.

  But can you say for certain that her death was related to the accident?

  Dr Berg shrugged her expressive shoulders, humour in her dark eyes. Sorry, Ellen. Her presence here, and manner of death, might be quite unrelated to it.

  More complications, Scobie muttered.

  Ill know more in the lab, the pathologist continued.
There appears to be some head trauma, and I might find internal injuries, and these might have killed her. Or she drowned.

  Ellen saw a twist of anguish in Scobie Sutton. All of his emotions were there on the surface. He felt things too keenly, too quickly. He imagined everyones heartache. For a moment then, Ellen sympathised, seeing her own daughter sprawled dead in the muddy grass. Pam, she said, youre wet through. Go on home. Its all under control here.

  The younger woman looked relieved. If youre sure, Sarge.

  Im sure.

  Ellen watched her walk away, then called after her: When you saw the driver legging it into the reserve, was he carrying anything?

  Not that I could see, Pam called back, slipping through the fence to her car.

  Ellen brooded. Shed still have to search the reserve. The driver this Andrew Aschecould easily have dropped something in the reserve when he fled, something that would tie him to the Toyota, to Natalie, to the burglaries.

  And what if there had been two passengers, and another lay dead in the reserve?

  Calling for Scobie and a couple of constables to accompany her, Ellen made for the railing fence and climbed through it into the reserve. An hour later, restless and frustrated, she found herself in a small clearing. She crossed it, bending occasionally to pull up pittosporum saplings in sympathy with Pam Murphy and the Bushrats. Her hands and back ached; a misty rain had blown across the reserve.

  Pittosporum everywhere. Poor Bushrats. Ellen straightened the kinks in her back, then leaned over again to jerk a sapling from the rich soil. And some confluence of circumstances thenthe light, the angle of her bent head, the sense that the surrounding soil and grass had been altered in some way, and, finally, knowledge and instincttold her that she was looking at a shallow grave.

  * * * *

  58

  Challis found vehicles up and down the fenceline at Myers Reserve: photographer, video operator, exhibits officer, crime-scene technicians and the forensic pathologist. A couple of uniforms stood by the access track, one to sign in those authorised to attend, the other to keep onlookers away. Several uniformed police officers were searching the adjacent paddock in a grid pattern, supervised by Ellen Destry. Challis pulled on rubber boots and slogged through wet grass to join her.

  Over here, she said.

  She took him into the reserve, the ground soft under their feet. Bracken brushed their thighs and soon Challiss trousers were hopelessly sodden. What made you think it was a grave?

  Ellen grinned, oddly pleased with herself. The ground looked different. A regular shape, rectangular, a faint depression of the surface, and the grass and weeds were somehow more vigorous.

  Challis grunted. They came to a clearing and an inflatable forensic tent, under which Freya Berg was brushing leaf mould and damp soil away from a body. A crime-scene technician was sifting the nearby soil for objects that might have fallen from the body or whoever had buried it.

  So, Freya, Challis said, two for the price of one.

  Wait until you get my invoice, Freya said. I was halfway back to the city, dreaming of a long hot shower, and your good sergeant calls me and says Guess what?

  What have we got? he asked in his CSI Miami voice.

  She grinned, speaking as she worked. Youngish male, fully clothed, hard to say how long hes been here.

  Approximately?

  She sighed. Theres no adipocere, so were not talking months.

  Challis swallowed involuntarily. He knew all about adipocere, the crumbly, waxy substance that appears over large areas of the skin as body fats convert to long-chain fatty acids. Hed once touched the stuff: never again.

  There are complicating factors, Freya went on. Contact with the soil, the type of soil, its moisture contentall these affect the rate of putrefaction.

  As Challis and Ellen watched, Freya and the forensic technician lifted the body onto a stretcher, and then the technician peered into the grave. Theres a section of matted leaves here, not fully broken down yet. He looked up, pointed silently at a stand of nearby poplars, on the paddock side of the railing fence. Skeletal now, but only weeks earlier theyd been losing their leaves.

  Challis nodded. Now the technician was digging down to consolidated soil, ready to begin the process of sifting the loosened material. Challis touched Ellens forearm. Youve combed the area around the grave?

  Of course.

  He neednt have asked. Thanks.

  Ellen nodded.

  The clothing hasnt rotted, Freya said, no root growth through the rib cage or pelvis, nothing interesting in fact, just a young man interred in a shallow gravesometime in the past month or six weeks, would be my guess.

  Youre not paid to guess, Doc, Ellen said, attempting humour.

  Until I get him into the lab, I am, said Freya said. She was peering at the body, a vaguely human shape covered in damp soil and leaf mould. I cant see any insect activity, so he was probably buried soon after he died. And no signs that the foxes had got to him. They would have, eventually.

  How did he die?

  Its possible he was shot in the chest, Freya replied, glancing down at the body. Theres a hole in his upper clothing and what appears to be blood. If so, theres no exit wound, but I cant at this stage confirm that it was a gunshot or that it killed him.

  She turned to Challis. Release the body. Ill do the autopsy tomorrow. She glanced at Ellen. Who will attend for the police?

  I will, he said.

  And the dead girl?

  Scobie Sutton opened his mouth to speak, but Challis stopped him. No sense in tying two of us up, Scobie.

  Sutton nodded, relieved. I have to inform her mother anyway, he said, trudging away from them to the collection of private and official vehicles parked at the side of the road.

  I havent searched his pockets for ID, Freya said, as she backed away, peeling off her gloves.

  Ill do that now, Ellen said.

  She crouched over the body, feeling the pockets, examining the hands and wrists for rings or a watch. Nothing, she said eventually, but then stood, a strange excitement in her body. Except for one thing.

  Except for the missing finger, Freya wryly.

  Challis tingled. He felt alive suddenly, and leaned over to look. The ring finger of the right hand. Foxes, Doc?

  Freya Berg shook her head. The finger was torn off some time ago. Years rather than weeks or months.

  * * * *

  59

  On Monday Challis drove to the city, reaching the Institute by one oclock. A chilly wind was blowing in off the bay, and he felt it accompany him into the Institute s viewing room, a small, glassed-in space that overlooked a huge laboratory. It was an eight-bay lab, and handled all types of reportable deaths: suicides, accidents, drug overdoses, and murders. Natural light flooded down from windows high above the dissecting tables, giving a false impression of warmth.

  Freya and the Institute technicians worked in blue hospital pyjamas, green surgical gowns, and white rubber boots and disposable aprons. They worked cheerfully and efficiently. They were jokers, like cops and ambulance officers, but the humour was less black and self-protectiveprobably because theyre around bodies every day, Challis thought, bodies in all kinds of extremes. Not even homicide cops were faced with that. He watched as the clothing was removed from the Myers Reserve corpse, vegetable matter sponged away from the body, the scalp peeled back to admit access to the bone saw, and the chest cavity cut open in a Y incision. Organs were removed and weighed; the clothing was searched; a molecular biologist took DNA samples; a toxicologist endeavoured to find useable liver tissue, eye fluid, and bile, blood and urine samples. Finally a dental record was made as a potential aid to identifying the dead man, before the body cavity was packed and the various incisions deftly sealed with sturdy thread and a curved needle.

  There were still forms to fill in, and Freya took Challis into her office, where she spoke as she ticked, scribbled and signed. Hed sat with her like this many times before. Its not that he thought her job macab
re, her pleasant, cool professionalism jarring, but he was nevertheless always pleased to note the little vanities in her life, such as her dangly earrings and beautiful Mont Blanc fountain pen.

  You can still get ink for that?