by Garry Disher
Actually, there was one thing he could do. Hed been restoring an old aeroplane before things had got so complicated in his life. It was gathering dust in a hangar on the little regional airport near Waterloo, and he knew, as one did know these things, that his not completing the restoration was symptomatic of a malaise, of a life that marked time, that waited when it should act. Hed feel better about himself if he went on-line and searched for missing partsinstrument-panel switches, for example.
The doorbell chimed, the sound bringing back vivid memories of his childhood, when friends had visited this house. The feeling strengthened as Challis made his way along the passageway to the front door, past his mothers framed tapestries of English rural scenes, thatched cottages and haystacks, past the upended shell casing from the Second World War, now crammed with walking sticks and umbrellas.
And continued when he saw Rob Minchin on the doorstep.
Hal, old son.
Rob.
They shook hands, then embraced awkwardly. Hows my patient?
Cranky.
Unchanged, in other words.
Like Challis, Minchin had gone away, trained, and returned to the town. Unlike Challis, hed stayed. He was the only doctor in the district, run ragged by surgery consultations, hospital rounds and house calls. He travelled huge distances, attending home births on remote farms, talking through the anxieties of lonely widows, taking the temperatures of sick children, pronouncing death when stockmen ran their mustering bikes into gullies and broke their necks. He was also the on-call pathologist for the region.
And Challiss one-time friend. Time and distance had weakened the friendship, and fine distinctions in ambition and personality had become marked disparities, but, still, history always counts for something, and Challis and Minchin grinned at each other now.
Wish the circumstances were better, the doctor said.
Shorter than Challis, Minchin had grown solid over the years. He was fair-skinned and had always looked a little pink from sunburn or embarrassment. His hair was straight, reddish, limp and needed cutting. Hed been married, but his wife had run away with his partner in the little practice hed inherited from his father.
Its a waiting game, Challis murmured.
They went into the sitting room, where the old man was slumped in his chair. Minchin hurried to his side, but then a ripping snore stopped him.
Challis laughed. Kept me awake last night.
Minchin nodded. Might as well let him sleep. Im just checking in. No scares?
He meant the series of minor strokes. Everyone was waiting for the big one. No, said Challis. Offer you a drink?
Better make it coffee.
If you can call it that, Challis said, leading the way to the kitchen.
When it was poured, Minchin asked, Hows Meg holding up?
The guys still in love with her, Challis thought. He saw how he could use that. Not too bad, given all shes had to deal with in the past few years.
Yes.
Gavin running out on her like that.
Yeah, said Minchin flatly.
Rob, said Challis after a considering pause, without breaching patient confidentiality, what sort of state was he in before he disappeared?
You asked me that at the time.
I didnt take it in.
Minchin leaned forward across the kitchen table, dropping his voice in case the old man was listening. Gavin was veering from one extreme to the other. I prescribed medication to level him out, but I dont know if he ever took it. He paused. He hit Meg a couple of times, you know.
Challis nodded sagely, but he hadnt known. Just then, Minchin slapped at his solid thigh, leaned to one side and fetched a mobile phone from his side pocket. Minchin. Yep. Yep. Oh, Christ, be right there.
He pocketed his phone again and looked at Challis. Do you know Ted Anderson?
No.
Wife died of cancer five years ago, leaving him with a baby to bring up. Hes gone off the Pass.
Gone off the Pass. Everyone knew what that meant. Killed?
Minchin nodded. The kids okay, but trapped in the car.
Youd better go, Rob.
Tell your old man Ill look in again when I can.
Will do.
Small-town tragedies, Challis thought, watching Minchin drive away. Next week it might be an ambulance officer coming upon his own wife in a burning car. Last year five teenagers had been killed when they failed to beat a train over a level crossing. When he was growing up, a bride-to-be from the next town was killed on her way to her wedding. As a young constable in Mawsons Bluff, hed attended when a jack-knifing semi-trailer had wiped out a family of five. There was never an end to it.
He was drawn back into the house by the ringing of the phone. Hal?
Ells, he said.
And she told him about Katie Blasko.
* * * *
21
The atmosphere crackled on Tuesday morning, affecting everyone in the Waterloo police station, uniformed officers, detectives and civilian staff alike. It was most evident at the briefing, the mood heightened and expectant as Ellen began to talk. Ellen herself was fierce, dynamic, showing sorrow, disgust and anger. Those seated close to her saw that her eyes were damp as she described the house, the room, the small, abused body.
Then, unwinding, she got down to business. As you can see, there are fewer of us today.
She didnt need to explain why. Word always got around the station quickly. Now that Katie Blasko had been found alive, Superintendent McQuarrie wanted those uniformed constables who had been on the search detail back on regular duties, and was allowing Ellen only a small team to investigate the abduction. Van Alphen and Kellock were not obliged to attend, but had offered their services, arguing that they knew the case and could allocate uniformed assistance from time to time.
Lets start with the house, she said. Our man was taking a chance, using the shires emergency housing.
She looked around the room, inviting reasons for that. It was van Alphen who answered. Those houses are sometimes empty for days, weeks, he said. People move on without informing their social workers, parole officers or the shire.
Youre saying that many people could have known about that particular house, and that it would be empty for a while?
Yes.
Scobie supplied another detail. I spoke to the shire housing officer. Theres been a sudden increase in demand. The order to clean De Soto Lane came in yesterday morning. Clearly our man wasnt expecting that.
John Tankard stirred as if making a vital point. Meaning he could come back.
Kellock smiled at him without much humour. Unlikely. Have you seen the publicity? But Im sure we can roster you to watch the place.
Senior Sergeant, Tankard muttered, going red.
What scenario are we looking at here? demanded Ellen. They keep her prisoner for a few days, dress her up in school uniforms, frilly underwear, nighties, film each other having sex with her, then let her go?
Or kill and dump her, Scobie said.
Ellen made a brief, bitter gesture. Meanwhile the neighbours cant tell us a thing.
Shed examined the house last night and again early that morning. It was well chosen, for there were no neighbours to speak of. The builder erecting the market gardeners new house had recently gone bankrupt and so no one had been working at the site. The few workers employed in the timber yard and the market garden had seen nothing, owing to trees, shrubbery and high fences. The elderly couple living in the little house opposite were used to seeing cars come and go at 24 De Soto Lane, and had paid no attention to recent activities there. So long as they arent noisy and arent going to murder us in our beds, we leave them be, the old woman had told Ellen.
But didnt they think about what they were seeing? Scobie Sutton demanded now. Didnt they hear anything?
Because of his height, he sometimes sprawled like an arrangement of twigs, but this morning he sat stiffly upright, as if too distressed to concentrate. Ellen didnt want that. Scobie,
take Constable Tankard and question everyone again. Are there surveillance cameras on the timber yard or the packing shed? Did the mailman deliver to the house late last week and again yesterday? Track down anyone who bought timber or fruit and vegetables in De Soto Lane over the past several daysgo back prior to the day Katie was abducted. Did the old couple have visitors during the past few days? All right?
Scobie stared at the coffee rings on the incident room table. He gave a shuddering sigh.
Scobie!
He blinked and jerked. Yep. Sure.
Ellen saw Kellock and van Alphen watching her appraisingly, the former built like a wrestler, the latter slender and hawkish and surprisingly like Hal Challis. Then van Alphen dropped his scrutiny, the narrow planes of his face relaxing into a slight, commiserative smile. Forensics, Ellen?
She shook her head bleakly. Not as much as Id hoped for. Weve got a handful of prints and partials, but most of those will match people who have recently lived in the house, some of whom will be in the system for a range of unrelated offencesmothers jailed for dealing, kids for burglary, etcetera, etcetera. But all will have to be eliminated, which will take time. On the other hand, the cleaners do a pretty good job between tenants, and the last tenant, a battered wife, says she cleaned pretty thoroughly after herself, so we might pick up fresh prints.
Only if our guy didnt wear gloves, Kellock said.
True.
Van Alphen was watching her again but not seeing her. What is it, Van?
He might have got careless.
How?
When hes finished with her, is he going to kill her? Take her somewhere and release her? Either way, hes not going to leave her in the house, is he?
Ellen nodded. Youre right. He knew the house would be vacant. He knew he had a few days. Whether he released her alive, or killed and dumped her, he would clean up after himself, with the obvious benefit of the cleaners coming along afterwards and accounting for anything he overlooked. It means he knew about the house and the emergency housing scheme. It was bad luck for him that the cleaners came along sooner than expected.
Yes.
An insider, someone who works for the shire or social services, Ellen said. Scobie, can you look into that?
Yes.
Thank you. Now, forensics. We have a blanket, towels, a mattress, a chain and manacle, a range of clothing. And dog hairs.
Dog hairs, Kellock said, throwing down his pen. Could have come from anywhere. She patted a dog on the way home from school. A friend took a dog to school. The neighbours have a dog. Maybe its cross contamination: the cleaners carried dog hair in on their clothing or shoes. Can we get DNA? Do we have a dog to match it to? Dog hairs, he said in disgust.
Look, Ellen said, I know were all frustrated by this case. But we dont have much to go on, and the dog hairs were found at the scene and have to be accounted for.
I heard there was blood, Sarge, John Tankard said.
Yes, but it might all be from the child.
Of course, they were hoping otherwise. They were hoping their abductor had been scratched by Katie, or suffered a nosebleed. If his DNA was in Crimtrac, the national database of DNA, fingerprints, palm prints and paedophiles, then they could make an arrest and move on. In the best-case scenario, Crimtrac would give them a specific name, face and record, but Crimtrac was also proving itself helpful in solving cold cases, where identities were unknown, for most crims were repeat offenders, and most graduated from low-level to serious crimes. They cut themselves on glass pulling a modest burglary, and years later found themselves arrested for leaving DNA at a rape or murder scene. And Crimtrac was national, which helped in a country where the population was highly mobile. Twenty per cent of fingerprint inquiries lodged through Crimtrac led police to crimes committed hundreds, even thousands of kilometres away.
Semen? said Scobie. A good churchgoing man, it was a word he tiptoed around.
The techs ran a black light over the whole house but didnt find any.
He used a condom.
Or washed everything. Bathed the girl afterwards, van Alphen said. Ask her, Ellen.
Ellen winced. She was not looking forward to that.
* * * *
22
Katie Blasko had been taken to the Childrens Hospital in the city. Ellen waited through the long morning. When the call came to say that Katie was well enough to be interviewed, Ellen was in the CIU tearoom, rinsing her coffee mug and trying to think of ways to further deface the sign that read: Dont expect someone else to wash up after youyoure not at home now. She shook the water off her hands, flipped open her mobile phone. Scobie, weve got the okay. Meet you downstairs in five.
She encountered Kees van Alphen on the stairs. Take me with you, he said.
Ellen shook her head. I need your eyes on the records, Van. Sorry.
He scowled, stalked away, unaware of Ellens real reason for not wanting him with her when she interviewed Katie Blasko. Van Alphen was a prohibitive-looking man, and long estranged from his wife and teenage daughter: quite simply, Ellen felt that he would frighten the child.
She drove. Scobie Sutton could be an appalling passenger, given to outlining the daily inanities of his home life, but an even worse driver: slow, talkative and easily distracted. She was prepared to ask him to shut up if he got started, but he rode in silence that afternoon. Hes still shocked, she thought. Hes conflating Katie Blasko and his daughter.
She headed along the old Peninsula highway to Frankston, where the road widened, three lanes in and out, a ribbon of black bisecting hectares of low brick houses with tiled roofs. Frankston is Australia, she thought, with its modest, usually disappointed expectations and achievements, its anxieties and conservatism. We admire rapist footballers, own plasma TVs we cant afford, grow obese and vote to keep out strangers. Our fifteen-year-olds get poor educations and move on to senseless crimes, addiction, jail time or death behind the wheel of a stolen car, and if they make it past fifteen they cant find work. A great, banal sameness defines us, making us mostly soporific but nasty if cornered. Were vicious with paedophiles, probably because we produce them. Ellen felt sick and sour and an atmosphere built up in the car, as if they both felt it.
She made an effort. Its a pity Pam Murphy cant be assigned to this. Good experience for her.
Scobie stirred in the passenger seat. He wore old-fashioned aftershave, stale and dense in the confines of the CIU car. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he struggled to cross his long legs under the glove box.
Yes.
Ellen sighed and drove on, through the endless suburbs, and then finally along the river, the glassy office buildings of the city centre now clearly visible. The traffic raced and darted, unnerving her. She edged across to the outer lane, took the exit that would lead her to the hospital.
* * * *
They were shown to a suite intended to comfort children whenever the authorities were obliged to step in with questions, intervention orders or counselling. The surfaces were soft, the colours cheery, the light muted. There was a TV set, a sound system, plenty of books and toys. Donna Blasko was seated on a sofa, cuddling Katie. A paediatric nurse, smiling, bouncy, like a big sister, sat in the corner. Scobie joined the nurse, leaving the interview to Ellen.
The first thing Ellen did was separate mother and daughter. Donna, she murmured, Id like you to sit with the others. That way Katie can concentrate for me, but know that youre still in the room.
Looking doubtful, Donna complied. Katie immediately reached out, alarmed, but Donna reassured her, saying, Its all right, sweetheart, Im right here.
Out of Katies direct line of sight, fortunately. Ellen smiled encouragingly at both of them. Katie swallowed, fighting down her panic, lost in a vast stretch of flowery upholstery. Donna said from her chair next to Scobie, If Katie cant hack it, Im terminating. Terminating.
Of course, said Ellen gently.
Sweetie, the police just need to ask you some questions, okay?
Okay.
Ellen smiled at Katie. My name is Ellen. That kind man is Scobie. Hes got a daughter your age. And you know what? Yesterday she pretended to be you. We dressed her up like you, put her on a bike like yours, and she rode home from your school for us, to help jog peoples memories.
Katie, mouth open, in awe as she grasped the significance of the police effort and her notoriety, risked a meek smile at Scobie. Scobie returned it, a huge, transfiguring smile, one of great sweetness. Katie relaxed further and turned her attention back to Ellen.
We want to catch the man who hurt you.
