Chain of Evidence

by Garry Disher

Nixon.

  And?

  Another silence, the quality of it making Challis apprehensive. He asked me a lot of questions about the case, but he mainly seemed interested in you, and in me.

  You? You werent here when it happened.

  I know that. But they see us as mates.

  Challis said flatly, They want you to steer clear of me for the time being.

  Thats about it. Sorry.

  Well, given that Im family, I am a suspect.

  Hed been one thousand kilometres away at the time, investigating the murder of a man found in the sand dunes near a lonely Peninsula beach.

  Family first, Andrewartha said.

  Family First is a fundamentalist Christian political party, Max.

  I rest my case.

  Challis smiled slightly, enjoying the sunshine. I was going to ask a favour.

  Im fresh out of favours, Hal, said Andrewartha warningly.

  Have you got someone I can call in the forensic lab, thats all.

  Sorry, pal.

  As if to mark the end of something, a querulous voice called to Challis then, and he returned to the dark rooms of his fathers house.

  * * * *

  39

  Ellen Destrys Saturday had started with a one-hour walk, the morning air almost sickeningly scented from the springtime blossom and grasses, with the result that she returned with red-rimmed nostrils and itchy eyes. A shower cooled her hot face, and she ate breakfast outside, in the low sun. No sign of the ducks, but the open slope of land beyond Challiss boundary fence was dotted with ibis and a couple of herons. She barely registered them. She and Scobie Sutton would begin shadowing Peter Duyker today. Van Alphen and Tankard were owed time off, and didnt intend to start helping until Monday.

  She cleared away her cup and bowl, and drove to Duykers house. She soon established that he was there, but he didnt stir until mid morning, when he drove to the netball courts in Mornington and watched girls playing netball. Scobie relieved her at 2 pm, thirty minutes later than hed said hed be. She relieved him at 6 pm, by which time Duyker had returned home. She watched until midnight; Duyker went out once, walking to his local pub and staying until 11 pm. She followed him home and saw his light go off at 11.45.

  Scobie had first watch on Sunday. She relieved him at 1.30, when he reported that Duyker had gone out once, late morning, to buy bread, milk and the Sunday newspapers. She waited until 3 pm before Duyker appeared. She tailed him to a couple of popular beaches, where he watched children dig sandcastles and play with kites. He went home at 6 pm. Scobie rang her three hours later to say that Duyker was apparently watching television. She told him to wrap it up for the day.

  * * * *

  She had extra hands to help her from Monday, and a long week unfolded. At the beginning and end of every day, she held a briefing, always starting with the words, So, whats our guy been up to?

  Variations on his weekend movements, apparently, and sufficient to arouse their suspicions. Ellen herself reported that she had seen him cruise slowly past a school playground one lunchtime and again at going-home time. At morning recess the next day hed returned to the school and parked next to the fence line, where an old woman wheeling a shopping cart had stopped to watch the children at play, together with two much younger women, the kind of idle, anxious mothers who live through their children and haunt their childrens schools.

  Duyker actually joined them, she reported. Youd think that would have made them suspicious, but he seemed to be sharing a joke with them.

  Later in the week John Tankard reported that Duyker had spent the whole lunch hour watching from his van. Finally a teacher came out of the gate and tapped on his window.

  What did he do?

  Talked to her, then drove off. I asked her what hed said. Apparently Duyker had a newspaper propped on his steering wheel and was eating a sandwich. Said he was a tradesman on his lunch break. She wasnt suspicious.

  Scobie Sutton tailed Duyker on Wednesday night. At Thursday mornings briefing he reported that Duyker had watched netball training.

  Netball again?

  Scobie looked sick at heart. Kids Ross age.

  And after netball?

  He went straight home.

  Youre sure?

  I removed a globe from his rear lights so I wouldnt lose him in the dark.

  Scobie, put it back again.

  Its just a globe.

  I dont want some gung-ho traffic cop pulling him over and spooking him. Put it back.

  Scobie sighed. Fair enough.

  * * * *

  Ellen witnessed the next incident. At 3.45 on Thursday afternoon she tailed Duyker to a dusty lot opposite a small church hall on the outskirts of Penzance Beach. Several cars were waiting, some of the occupants leaning against their doors, talking to each other. A few minutes after 4 pm a succession of school buses pulled in, discharging kids from a range of far-flung secondary schools. One by one the waiting parents drove away until only Duykers van was left, parked among trees and almost invisible. She couldnt see Duyker.

  Alarmed, she got out, peeked in his window, looked around wildly. A sealed bicycle path wound through a scattering of nearby pine trees. On the other side of the pines it veered past a set of rusty swings and seesaws and around the perimeter of the football ground and tennis courts. There were houses after that, backing on to open farmland. It was a desolate stretch of land, choked with chest-high grass, blackberry canes and shadowy hollows. A solitary figure was walking along the bicycle path, almost one hundred metres ahead of Ellen, who recognised the uniform of Woodside, a well-heeled private school on the other side of the Peninsula. The girl wore the skirt very short, her long legs shapely but lazy under it, as she scuffed along the path. Suddenly the girl stiffened, stood stock-still in the centre of the path as Ellen hurried up behind her. Duyker was in a little clearing, barely visible in the transfiguring light. What a clich, was Ellens first thought, for he wore a long coat. He was hunched a little, his hands busy, but Ellen could only speculate, for the girl was obscuring her view.

  Suddenly Duyker crashed away through the trees and the girl laughed raucously at his back and tossed a stone after him. Loser!

  Excuse me! yelled Ellen, out of breath.

  What?

  It was Holly Stillwell. Ellens daughter had gone to school with Hollys older sister. Didnt recognise you, Holly.

  Hi, Mrs Destry.

  Did that man.. .was that man...

  Creep! said Holly, laughing.

  Did he expose himself to you?

  Gross! said Holly, still laughing. Pathetic!

  Ill walk you home, Ellen said.

  Thats okay, Mrs Destry. No need, Im all right.

  No, I insist.

  They walked. Hows Larrayne? I havent seen her for like ages, Holly said.

  Shes fine. Got exams soon. Look, Holly, I need you to give me a statement.

  Holly still thought it was a huge joke. Forget it, she said, as if Ellen had offered to do her a favour. Ive seen worse. Hes just a pathetic little man.

  Still, it was indecent exposure and its illegal.

  Yeah, but all he did was wave his stupid willie at me. Its not the first time thats happened. I mean, its gross, but no big deal. No big deal, get it?

  The girl was irrepressible. I get it, Ellen said. But if its happened to you before, was it that man?

  Never seen him before, said Holly.

  * * * *

  Ellen left it at that. Duyker would be on his guard nowin fact, Scobie Sutton saw Duyker dump half-a-dozen pornographic magazines that night.

  And then, at Fridays evening briefing, Ellen presented her little team with a more pressing development.

  Owing to Vans work, trawling through the files, she said, nodding her head at van Alphen, who replied with the briefest of expressionless smiles, we have a very instructive cold case. She indicated an array of crime scene photographs, tapping them with her forefinger. Serena Hanlon, eight years old, raped and strangled in 1996. Her b
ody was found here, in Ferny Creek. She tapped a wall map that showed the city of Melbourne and the ranges to its east. Her schoolbag was later found here, several kilometres away. She indicated the town of Sherbrooke.

  Duyker? said Scobie.

  Ellen leaned both hands on the back of her chair, inclining her body tensely over the head of the table. In 1996 Duyker was living near Ferny Creek. He was working near Sherbrooke.

  Was he questioned?

  Ellen looked to van Alphen, who said, No. He should have been a person of interest because hed been questioned over an indecent behaviour incident in Sherbrooke a year earlier, but his name wasnt passed on to detectives investigating the murder.

  They all shook their heads. I know, I know, Ellen said. One thousand suspects were eliminated in that case, two and a half thousand homes searched, one thousand cars searched, and Duyker wasnt on the list.

  They were quiet, thinking that Katie Blasko had been lucky, and wondering how many other Serena Hanlons were out there, rotting in the ground.

  He has a record for sexually deviant behaviour, Ellen said. We ourselves have witnessed instances of it. What we dont have is hard evidence that he also abducts and rapes, let alone kills, little girls. Mounting suspicion, yes. Evidence, no. Meanwhile the super, in his infinite wisdom, has cut down on our resources.

  She noticed, and ignored, the way that Kellockthe supers friendwas watching her, giving her a sardonic smile, as if she were being unprofessional. Kel? she queried.

  He shrugged. You could get Duyker for flashing that schoolkid.

  And see it thrown out because she wont press charges? No thanks.

  You were there, Ellen.

  I didnt actually see his penis, said Ellen, unable to hide her distaste for the word in this context.

  Come on, Sarge, just say you did see it, and arrest him, said John Tankard.

  Thank you, constable, for encouraging me to pervert the course of justice.

  Tankard flushed and muttered.

  Ellen was angry now. You guys just dont get it, do you? Lets say I do arrest him. He gets bail because some magistrate decides its trivial, and immediately absconds after destroying incriminating evidence. Or, if he sticks around and it goes to court a year from now, its my word against his because the girl wont press charges. Or if he is convicted he gets a rap over the knuckles or a short custodial. I dont want him to go down for a bullshit charge. I want him to go down for a very long time on charges of abducting and raping Katie Blasko and, if were lucky or he confesses, abducting, raping and murdering Serena Hanlon and God knows who else. Understood?

  Sarge, they said, looking away awkwardly.

  Ive got his DNA, said Scobie shyly.

  Ellen paused, her mouth open. She closed it. Someone else said, How?

  The porn magazines.

  Hed wanked over them?

  Yes, Scobie said. He looked around the room. Probably inadmissible in court, but at least we can compare it to the samples found at the Katie Blasko scene and the murder of this other girl.

  Ellen smiled. True. Good work.

  It was a nail in the coffin. Thats how most cases were built, a nail at a time. Even so, too much was resting on DNA matches and Ellen wanted more and better evidence than that. Go home, she said. Ive arranged half-day shifts for each of you over the weekend, and well begin in earnest again on Monday.

  * * * *

  Meanwhile Pam Murphy had come to the end of her second week of intensive study, this time at the police complex in the city. She had another week to go. Her parents had urged her to stay with them, for they lived only fifteen minutes by tram from police HQ, but they were old and frail, and she knew shed get caught up in their lives, spend all of her free time shopping, cooking, cleaning, ironing and taking them to the doctor. Theyd want to domesticate her. It was okay for her brothers to have professional lives but shed always had the niggling feeling that her parents had assumed shed get married and have kids.

  And so shed been commuting to the city from her home in Penzance Beach: thirty minutes by car up the Peninsula to the end-of-the-line station in Frankston, then one hour by train into the centre of the cityone hour of madly finishing essays or catching up on her seminar reading. Yeah, she felt guilty because she could have been helping her parents, and was tired from all of that travelling, but she was very glad to sleep in her own bed at night.

  Like herlike almost everyone who worked at the Waterloo police stationKees van Alphen didnt live in the town. He lived in Somerville, a town some distance away, in a 1970s brick house that was much the same as the others in his cul-de-sac between the shops and the railway line. On her way home that Friday evening, Pam went by, checking his driveway. Good, his little white Golf was parked there.

  Thought youd like to read this, Sarge, she said, moments later, thrusting a manila folder at him.

  Her essay on questioning techniques and strategies, back promptly from her tutor, marked A+. She could have e-mailed it to van Alphen, but wanted him to see the original, with the annotations, the ticks, the big red A+.

  Van Alphen looked edgy. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, his feet bare. It was odd to see him in casual clothes instead of his uniform, which always looked crisp and clean. His hair was damp; he smelt of shampoo and talc. Hed come home from work, showered and changed. Was he going out later? Did he have a woman with him? Pam realised that she knew nothing about his personal life and half hoped hed ask her to dinner or a movie. She was attracted to him, only just realising it, her mind running with the thought. He reminded her of Inspector Challis, the same leanness, olive skin and air of stillness and prohibition. But in Challis the stillness and prohibition spelt shyness, a sensitivity that she didnt necessarily want. In van Alphen there was coiled anger, and the air of a man who took shortcuts to get results, and she found that attractive right now. Hed always been kind to her.

  He didnt invite her in, and suddenly, she just knew, he wasnt alone. The confirmation came immediately, a voice calling, Hey, you got any vodka?

  A young guy, blue jeans, tight black T-shirt and vivid white trainers. Fifteen? Sixteen? Trying to pass as twenty, and almost succeeding, owing to the knowingness and deadness in his eyes. How was van Alphen going to explain this? Pam, meet my nephew? Pam waited, hoping that her face wasnt betraying her.

  Pam, this is Billy. Billy, Pam.

  Hi, Pam said.

  The Billy guy smiled prettily and did a little exaggerated quiver and pout behind van Alphens back, enjoying himself.

  Anyway, Id better go, Pam said.

  Ill enjoy reading this, van Alphen said, gesturing with her essay.

  Billy cooed See ya! at her departing back.

  * * * *

  40

  It had been a long week for Hal Challis, too. First there were the mundane tasks associated with arranging his brother-in-laws funeral. Until the state lab released the body, the family couldnt even nominate a date, and had to be content with sounding out a firm of undertakers and the local Uniting Church minister.

  Then there was the old mans health. On Monday morning Challis found his father twitching on the sunroom floor, eyes badly frightened, the left side of his face and body entirely slack. He rang for an ambulance, and then for Rob Minchin, and finally for Meg.

  The doctor beat the ambulance by a couple of minutes. He bent over Challiss father, his fingers nimble. I dont think its a stroke, but well take him in for observation.

  Later, in the hospital, Meg and Challis were obliged to wait. They were finally shown to their fathers bedside that afternoon. He looked weak, diminished, but gave them his old mulish, critical, combative glare. Stop fussing. Rob said I can go home in a couple of days.

  But Dad

  He lifted his frail hand but there was no frailty in it for Challis and Meg, who saw only his old sternness and lack of compromise.

  On Wednesday, the old man back in his sunroom chair, Challis finally heard from Freya Berg, the Victorian pathologist, who gave him the name of her South A
ustralian counterpart. Hes a by-the-book kind of guy, Hal. Dont expect much joy. But I did get a bit of information out of him. The techs didnt find any prints or useful traces anywhere: the garbage bag, the body or the grave.

  Ballistics?

  Inconclusive. A couple of fragments, consistent with a projectile, but it must have been powerful, went straight through the skull.

  Thanks. Ill give him a call.

  But the South Australian pathologist refused to answer questions or speculate. I have released the body for burial. Kindly speak to the police if you want answers.