by Garry Disher
There was always plenty of movement in a pulled-over vehicle. It was as if the occupants were in a dark street, fucking in the back seat, but when it was a pull-over you could be sure they were getting rid of evidence, tucking joints, speed or ecstasy under the seat cushions. Or pulling out a weapon. John Tankard always had butterflies in his stomach, waiting for that to happen. Thats why you approached from the rear, your hand on the butt of your .38. You didnt want to see a back window winding down. You didnt want a door opening. You didnt want a driver getting out.
And then, at about 1 amthe Showgrounds, the video joint and the restaurants long since closed, little kids and their mums and dads tucked up in their beds, High Street deserted, just an occasional bleary car making its way homewardsJohn Tankard took a last call from the dispatcher: unknown suspects had been seen climbing over a back fence, not on Seaview Park estate itself but one of the leafy crescents across the road from the estate, there where the outskirts of Waterloo faced farmland, there where no streetlights burned. Rain clouds had built up, shredding the moon; shards of glass glittered in the roadside grasses; the wind came in low from the distant mudflats. A road junction, broad, dark, and empty but for a black WRX idling on the verge, brake lights hard and red in the night. Tank could see the little Subaru throbbing. It was a popular car with your boy racers and drug dealers. He pulled in hard behind it, called in the plate number, and got out. He could smell the sea, and the Subarus exhaust. Suddenly the driver cut the engine and now Tank heard the moaning empty wind, a ticking engine block, the faint static of the radio in the van far behind him as he approached the car, static speaking no doubt of crimes and misery in far-off corners of the lonely stretches of the night.
He reached the rear passenger door, leaned forward and tapped on the drivers window, straightened again. The window whined down a crack. Your licence and registration papers, please, sir, said Tank.
Why?
A hoons voice, pumped up, sour and uncooperative. Why? repeated Tank. He could think of a million reasons why. Because youre out here in the middle of nowhere. Because youre a young dickhead yet you can afford this car. Because Pam Murphy gets to be a detective and Im stuck driving a stinking divvy van. Because causing people grief is about the only thing that makes me feel better. He didnt hear the other car until it was too late.
The tyres alerted him, gently crunching the gravel at the side of the road. He swung around: a silver Mercedes, not new, running only on sidelights, came purring in from the intersecting road. Lowered, alloy wheels, smoky glass all around. It stopped and waited, and then Tank wasnt surprised when all of the doors opened. He began to back away from the Subaru. He backed right up to the divvy van and sped away from there, trying to swallow. Sometimes there was weird shit going on at night and he was better off out of it.
The dispatchers voice cut in then. The registered owner of the Subaru is a Trent Jarrett of Seaview Park estate.
Tell me something I dont know, muttered Tank.
And the guy driving the Merc had been the killer, Nick Jarrett.
John Tankard went home and didnt sleep.
* * * *
13
One thousand kilometres northwest of Waterloo, Hal Challis had spent a long Saturday caring for his father. He felt inadequate to the task. At the same time, he couldnt concentrate fully. Being home again had put him into a dreamlike state, brought on by old familiar objectslike his mothers jacket.
It was heavy cotton, faded navy, with a cracked leather collar, still hanging on a peg by the back door, and, in his minds eye, Challis could see his mother on one of her solitary rambles. Hed quite forgotten that she liked to do that, yet she had always done it, right through his childhood and adolescence. Hed taken it for granted back then. It had simply been his mother out walking. Now he wondered if it had signified more than that. Shed been a big-city girl. Had she been lonely out here? Had she yearned for more? People had always said that Challis resembled herolive colouring, dark hair, narrow facebut had they also meant character? His mother tended to be silent, watchful and withholding. Shed tolerated Gavin for Megs sake. Shed adored Eve. She hadnt judged or prodded Challis. Shed stood up to the old mans nonsense. The coat brought a lump to his throat.
To throw off the dreaminess, he began to make notes about his brother-in-law. Gavin Hurst had suffered extreme mood swings in the months leading up to his disappearance. Hed become paranoid, argumentative, suspicious and belligerent. RSPCA regional headquarters had received dozens of complaints. Then his car had been found abandoned in dry country several kilometres east of the Bluff. Suicide, that was the general verdict, but, four months later, Meg had begun to receive unusual mail. National Geographic arrived, followed by an invoice for the subscription. She complained, and was faxed the subscription form, filled out in her name. An Internet service provider sent her a free modem, part of the two-year package deal shed signed for. She received catalogues, mail-order goods, book club samples, and applications for life insurance policies naming her husband as beneficiary. Challis had to ask himself: Was Meg capable of setting something like this upmaybe with the old mans help? Or had Gavin staged his disappearance, then begun to taunt her out of malice?
He was relieved when Meg arrived, as arranged, to cook dinner. You dont have to do this, you know, he told her.
She was already clattering about in the kitchen. I know.
Eve couldnt come?
Give the girl a break. Its Saturday night. Shes going out with some of her friends.
Challis helped. Soon a stir-fry of onions, garlic, ginger, soy sauce and strips of chicken was hissing and crackling in a wok. I didnt know Mum had a wok.
There are a lot of things you didnt know about Mum.
Ouch.
Meg looked mortified and touched his forearm. I didnt mean to sound so harsh.
Probably deserved, Challis said. Meg had carried the burden of the last couple of years. Shed been closer to their parents in all respects, yet the family dynamics had always demonstrated, very faintly, the sense that he was the favoured one, the first-born.
Challis glanced guiltily through the archway at his father, who was slumbering in one of the sitting room armchairs. Hed rarely given much thought to the South Australian compartment of his life: his mother, when she was alive, his father, Meg and Eve, their individual heartaches and vulnerabilities. Partly distance, and partly that he was a bad son? Certainly self-absorption wasnt a factor, for he rarely considered his own heartaches and vulnerabilities but lived inside the crimes and criminals he dealt with. Now, here, he had things to face up to.
I didnt tell you why I came through Adelaide.
Meg was busy at the wok, but cast him an inquiring glance.
Do you remember Max Andrewartha?
The sergeant here when you were a probationer?
Yes. Well, hes head of the missing persons unit now.
Oh, Hal.
I read their file on Gavin.
Meg seemed distressed. Why would you do that?
Could he tell her that a sense of responsibility was growing inside him, threatening to swamp him?
Hal?
Sorry, miles away.
Forget about Gavin. Thats what Im trying to do.
The case is still open. Nothing can change that.
Meg breathed out exasperatedly. Did you learn anything new?
No. I thought Id ask around while Im here.
Please dont.
Low key, sis, low key.
She gave him a shove. Out of the kitchen. Youre in my way.
Challis went through to his father, woke him gently, and read to him from Mr Midshipman Hornblower. When Meg called, Its on the table, he helped the old man through to the dining room. Three plates steamed on the table, one of them minuscule and plain, chicken without soy sauce, cut into tiny pieces, adorned with a spoonful of rice and what looked like overcooked carrots and peas. Dads dodgy digestion, Challis thought.
Wine, I think, he said, and went to his b
edroom, returning with a bottle hed packed before leaving Waterloo.
You read my mind, son.
Dad, warned Meg.
The old man ignored her, waggling his glass at Challis, who poured a tiny measure.
Jesus Christ, son. A bit more wrist action.
You shouldnt have alcohol, Dad, Meg said, tucking a napkin into the old mans collar.
Too late.
Challis said Cheers and they toasted each other and began to eat and talk, their conversation punctuated by peaceful silences. Early evening, the sun settling, darkening the room but not removing its essential warmth. Now and then the old man tore a knuckle of bread from the white slice on his side plate and masticated slowly. The wine, and the presence of his children, rallied him in contestable ways. Challis found it exhausting, and was relieved when his father fell asleep.
Meg smiled. The light was soft all around them and encouraged release and harmony. They murmured into the night, sipping the wine. Meg examined the bottle. This is good. Elan. Never heard of it.
A small winery just up the road from where I live, Challis said.
I guess it doesnt really matter if Dad has a glass now and then. You know...
Yep.
Their father continued to sleep, diminished by age and illness.
What are Eves friends like?
Nice.
This led by degrees to a discussion of their own late teens: the heartaches, rituals, mating and courting indiscretions, and, above all, the waiting.
Weeks would go by and nobody would ask me out.
Challis laughed. Weeks would go by when I didnt have the nerve to ask anyone out.
Meg said slyly, Except Lisa Acres. You didnt have to wait long for her.
Challis shifted ruefully in his chair. No one did.
He was being unfair. Lisa AcresAcres because the first thing she asked you was how many acres you ownedhadnt really been free with her affections. But she was the daughter of the local publican and had ambitions to settle down with a rich man. Challis hadnt been rich, so she must have seen something else in him. It had been heady fun while it lasted and had broken his heart.
Do you ever see her? he asked.
Oh, shes around. Still stunning to look at, in a brittle kind of way. The husbands an alcoholic. She virtually runs the place. Theyd go bankrupt if it wasnt for her.
Shed married a man named Rex Joyce, who came from old money in the district. Rex had been sent away to boarding school, Prince Alfred College in Adelaide, at the age of five. Hed suddenly reappeared one day, in a red Jaguar given to him by his father when he turned eighteen. Rex, that car, and the acres that came with them, had offered Lisa more than Challis ever could.
Any kids?
Meg shook her head. Some unkind people say she didnt want to ruin her figure, others that shes been too busy keeping the property intact. A lot of farms have gone under in the past few years.
Meg toyed with her knife, turning it to catch the light. Are you seeing anyone, Hal?
Was he? At once he was visualising Ellen Destry, the way her fair hair would swing as she walked, her intensity when she was working, her sly humour, above all her beauty. She wasnt straightforwardly beautiful. You had to know her for a while to see it. Shed once said her looks were average, girl next door, but they were more complicated and alluring than that.
He wanted her, but was he seeing her? Not really.
Meg sighed. Nor am I. She paused. The kids go out as groups of friends these days, rather than as couples, like we did. Its healthier, I think.
Do you think Eves, you know...
Meg cocked her head. Sexually active? I dont know about active. Weve talked about it. Shes not a virgin. She knows she can have a boy stay overnight if she really cares about him and hes nice to her.
Not like our day.
Meg shook her head vehemently. God, no.
They glanced at their father again; how terrifying hed seemed when they were young. Hed wanted Challis to go out into the world rather than marry a local girlwhich hed said would lead to stunted opportunities, bawling babies and debt. On the other hand, he hadnt wanted Meg to leave, or get an education, but marry locally and raise a family. Shed mostly obliged, marrying Gavin Hurst and producing a daughter with him.
Challis brooded down the years. He remembered the country-dances of his youth, often in far-flung town halls or football clubrooms. It hadnt been unusual for him to drive his fathers Falcon station wagon two hundred kilometres on a Saturday night, Lisa Acres at his elbow, her hand on his thigh. Hed take her home, pull into the shadows behind her fathers pub, but not get further than that before the light went on above the back door and shed say in a rush, Dads awake, Id better go in. It went beyond birth control: it was desire control.
He could see now that it wouldnt have worked with her anyway. He had a history of choosing the wrong woman. In fact, Angie, the woman hed married, had conspired with her lovera police colleague of Challissto murder him. Shed gone to jail for that. Shed killed herself there.
As if reading his mind, Meg said, We both made mistakes, didnt we?
They glanced at their father again, wondering if he was to blame, not wanting to believe that they might shoulder some of it, or that many marriages simply ran their course and ended.
Gavin has stopped messing with your head? Challis asked.
Meg nodded. Nothing in the past couple of years.
Where do you think he is?
She shrugged. Sydney?
Why would he want to hurt you like that?
It was a rhetorical question. Meg shrugged again, then leaned forward, dropping her voice. You wont tell Dad about the letters?
He shook his head. Hed promised years ago that he wouldnt. Their father being such a difficult person, one simply knew not to tell him everything. But now Challis was curious about Megs motives. Is there a reason why you told Mum but not him?
You know what hes like. He wanted me to stick around and marry and have kids, but didnt want me to marry Gavin. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to believe Gavin had committed suicide. Confirmed what he thought of Gavin. But if hed known Gavin was still alive, and taunting me, Id never have heard the end of it.
Challis gave a hollow laugh of recognition. They were silent for a while. Meg said, Rob Minchin is still sweet on me, you know.
Rob Minchin was the local doctor, and one of Challiss boyhood friends. And?
And nothing. He calls in to check on Dad, and thats about it.
I remember he was pretty jealous of Gavin.
Rob in the grip of passion, said Meg, shaking her head.
They stared at the tabletop, too settled to move. Their father snored gently. Soon they would put him to bed, Meg would go home, and Challis would toss sleeplessly on his childhood mattress.
* * * *
14
Bucketing rains came through overnight, preceded by thunder and lightning that seemed to mutter around the fringes of the horizon, then approach and encircle the house where Ellen Destry slept, and retreat again. Dawn broke still and balmy, the skies clear, as though nothing had happened. Spring in southeastern Australia, Ellen thought, glancing out of Challiss bedroom window. The bedside clock was flashing, indicating that the power had gone off during the night. She glanced at her watch6 amand went around the house, resetting the digital clocks on the microwave, the oven, the DVD player. Then, pulling on a tracksuit and old pair of Reeboks, she set out for her morning walk.
And immediately returned. Rainwater had come storming down the dirt road and roadside ditches outside Challiss front gate, carrying pine needles, bark, gravel and sand, which had formed a plug in the concrete stormwater pipe that ran under his gateway. The ditch had overflowed, scoring a ragged channel across the entrance. She should do something about it before the channel got too deep.
Hal had told her the grass would need mowing regularly. He hadnt told her what a storm could do.
In his garden shed she found a fork, a five-metre len
gth of stiff, black poly agricultural pipe, and a long-handled shovel. She hoisted them over one shoulder and returned to the front gate. There were signs of the overnight storm all about her: twigs, branches, ribbons of bark and birds nests littered the road; water-laden foliage bent to the ground; the air seemed to zing with promise.
