Chain of Evidence

by Garry Disher

  Challis called the Homicide Squads office at police headquarters in Adelaide. Nixon returned his call that afternoonfrom Mawsons Bluff. Weve just taken your mate into custody.

  For a wild moment, Challis thought he meant Rob Minchin. My mate?

  One Patrick Finucane.

  Challis was silent. He said, How solid is your case?

  Probably less solid than if you hadnt been sniffing around. Sir.

  Challiss final calls of the day were to the undertaker and the Uniting Church minister. After some to and fro, they settled on Saturday morning for the funeral.

  Ellen called him on Friday night. Sorry its been a few days, Hal.

  She explained that shed been working a lot of unpaid overtime, following one of her suspects. But thats not all.

  She told him about Serena Hanlon. He listened to her voice, far away, and sitting in one of his armchairs. He was listening to the meaning of her words, and listening for a sense of her face and body and personality. But the name Serena Hanlon seeped through. Ferny Creek? Ten or so years ago? I worked that case. It was huge at the time.

  We think Duyker did it.

  He was in the area?

  Yes.

  They talked on, a kind of closeness building, and an antidote to the bad shadows of the night. She told him that McQuarrie had been ranting and raving to her about an Evening Update story which had linked the Katie Blasko abduction with the Ferny Creek case.

  He doesnt strike me as an Evening Update kind of guy. Challis said.

  Oh, sure. Big Brother, Australian Idol.

  At one with the common people?

  Of course.

  Couple of jars in the pub after work?

  Ellen snorted, as if registering the image of Superintendent McQuarrie in a crowd of beer drinkers. Thanks, Hal, youre a tonic

  He smiled at that.

  But you do have a leak to the media, Ells.

  I know I do. What about you? Found your killer yet?

  The locals think they have. They arrested a guy I went to school with, Paddy Finucane.

  And...?

  I dont think he did it.

  * * * *

  Saturday morning was like all of the other mornings that spring: mild to hot, a little dusty, the gum trees still and apt to creak as the temperature rose, the galahs and cockatoos wheeling and screeching. But the church was cool, dimly lit, with comforting gleams from the gold crosses and the stained glass. Challis was surprised to see that the pews were full, then realised that it wasnt Gavin that people had come for necessarily but sympathy for the family, dismay at the kind of death suffered by Gavin, and a break from the long, monochrome days out here at the edge of the rain shadow.

  That impression was reinforced at the graveside. Everyone was aware that Gavin had been found there; the freshly turned earth was suggestive of his original resting place, not his final one.

  And while the minister said his final words and the coffin was lowered into the ground, Challis for a short time did what a good detective will do. He was standing with Eve, Meg and his father on one side of the grave, and from this position had a commanding view of the other mourners, who had spread out on the opposite side. His gaze roamed among their faces, which were serious, curious, blank, dutiful. Only two faces gave away more than that: Paddy Finucanes wife, who stood at the margins of the mourners, and the RSPCA boss, Sadler. Mrs Finucane caught Challiss eye, flushed sadly and when he looked again later, shed disappeared, but Sadler was staring intently at Meg and Eve, almost as if he wanted to rush to their aid. Then he grew aware of Challis and the expression vanished. Challis didnt see him again.

  The little family was obliged to linger. Lisa Joyce was one of the last to approach them. She wore a sombre dress and shoes, her hair in a French bun, her face almost devoid of makeup, and to Challis looked the more beautiful for it. She clasped Megs hands, then Eves, and finally Challiss. Im so sorry.

  She was frankly sad, all of her sensuality muted, and continued to grasp him, her slender fingers fierce. She was full of unexpressed emotions. He found himself searching her face, almost as if twenty years hadnt passed and he was young again, wanting to know who she really was.

  Then she released him, stepped away and crossed the parched dirt reluctantly to the black Range Rover, where Rex Joyce waited. Joyce looked clean and crisp in a white shirt and dark suit, only his eyes giving his privations away.

  Challis felt exhausted suddenly. A week had passed, marked by tedium, frustration and banality, but overlying all of it, for Challis, was a sense of being watched and judged and found wanting.

  * * * *

  41

  On the following Monday morning, Sasha was out and about, lunging and veering after fugitive odours, nostrils to the ground, sometimes pausing to dribble on a post to mark her passage along the side streets of this part of Waterloo. Shed slipped her lead the moment her owner had left for work that morning, then squeezed through the gap where the drunken gate failed to seal the picket fence around 57 Warrawee Drive. The neighbours all knew her; one would feed her some kitchen scraps and return her to number 57 eventually. There was almost no traffic along these little streets, so no one was particularly concerned for her welfare. Besides, she had good road sense, for a dog.

  What neither the neighbours nor the owner knew was that she sometimes ventured several blocks away before returning to Warrawee Drive, and so she had a second encounter with Katie Blasko, who was being walked to school by her mother. This was a big day for Katie. Shed not been at school for the past fortnight, but both she, and Donna, knew that couldnt last. Donna was walking her. There had been a time when Katie rode her bike to school, alone, but not any more. They were both too fearful for that, and both had endured two weeks of whispering, pointing and appalled fascination. And Donna had been feeling an obscure kind of shame, these past few days. Nothing would have happened to Katie if she hadnt hired that photographer, or if shed been a better mother instead of giving all of her attention to Justin and not enough to Katie. Then again, Katie could be a real little brat sometimes.

  But not just at the moment.

  They were a block from the school, Donna unfurling her umbrella against a spring shower, when Sasha bounded up to them, eyes bright, hindquarters in a frenzy. Sasha! cried Katie, kneeling to hug the dog.

  Youll get wet, said Donna automatically. Dogs dismayed her. She was a cat person. Cats minded the rain.

  This is Sasha! said Katie, still joyful.

  Donna frowned. It was great to see Katie so animated, but what was the story with this dog? Sasha?

  She was in the van with me, and at the house, Katie said. Days had gone by and this was her first unconscious reference to that terrible time.

  Donnas wits were about her. She went cold and still. Are you sure?

  Katie flipped around the registration and ID tags on Sashas collar. See? Sasha Lowan, 57 Warrawee Drive, Waterloo. I remember now. And she knows me, dont you, Sash? Oh, youre a good girl, youre such a good girl.

  Dimly Donna remembered the police asking about a dog, dog hairs discovered on Katies clothing and in that horrible house. So horrible in Donnas imagination that shed vowed never again to drive anywhere near the place.

  She stood there in the gathering rain and got out her mobile phone. She had Sergeant Destry on speed dial.

  * * * *

  Ellen was in mid-briefing when the call came. She listened intently, then directed a slow-burning smile around the room. Weve found the dog.

  She sent John Tankard to bring in the dog, and Scobie to contact the owner, then packed up and returned to her office.

  She was immersed in paperwork when Scobie reported back. Spoke to the owner, he said, standing in her doorway.

  Is he known to us?

  No. And he has an alibi. Hes one of the opticians in High Street. Bemused to think his dog might help us.

  Then there was a commotion downstairs and Ellen found John Tankard there, surrounded by uniforms and civilian clerks o
ohing and aahing over the dog. Kellock was in the middle of it, clearly irritable. This is a police station, not a bloody lost dogs home.

  Do you bite? said Ellen to the dog.

  Tankard, a little smitten, said, Not a harmful bone in her, Sarge.

  Ellen drove Sasha up to the ForenZics lab herself, a slow journey, owing to scudding rain. To her irritation, Riggs was on duty. She was beginning to think of him as her bete noire. He was a spike-haired young guy, with pierced eyebrows, earrings and a studded belt looped through black jeans. Lab-cool, as though hed modelled himself on a character in a US forensic policing show. He looked askance at Sasha. This is still a grey area. We might not be able to get DNA from the hairs found at the house. We can maybe testify that the hairs are similar, but a good lawyer will laugh that out of court.

  Ellen shrugged. She was tired of Riggs. Meanwhile, police work often boiled down to maybe and might. She watched him examine Sasha, who stood trembling, eyes rolled mournfully at Ellen, as though terrified that a vet with a big needle or greased finger was examining her. Shhh, she whispered, fondling Sashas silky ears.

  Youre in my way, said Riggs crossly. He elbowed Ellen aside and bent his head to Sashas neck. Well, hello.

  What?

  Looks like dry blood on the collar.

  Ellen peered. Sashas?

  Theres no injury here. He glanced quickly over the dog. Nor elsewhere. She might have been in a fight. Or its her owners blood.

  Or a strangers.

  Well test it, said Riggs. Test to see if its animal blood, then extract DNA and compare it to database samples.

  And that will take how long?

  Riggs sniffed. As long as it takes.

  However, said Ellen, wanting to put the guy in his place, the sample might prove to come from a ninety-year-old grandmother who died in a house fire three years ago.

  Riggs went tight and red. Weve put new procedures in place, he said.

  * * * *

  Ellen returned to the Peninsula, Sasha asleep on the back seat, snoring a little. She went straight to van Alphens office, but the sergeant was out of the station, so she sought Kellock, who refused to let her have a couple of uniforms.

  But I need to know if anyone witnessed the dogs movements.

  The dogs movements? For Gods sake, Ells.

  Its crucial, Ellen said stubbornly. There was blood on the collar.

  Kellock gazed at her for a long moment. She couldnt tell what he was thinking, or if indeed he was thinking. Eventually the words rumbled from his broad chest: Sorry, cant spare the troops.

  Ellen scowled. Its as if all the urgencys gone now that Katies been found.

  Kellock shrugged massively. He was busy with files and barely glanced at her. Have you seen the roads? Theyre wet and slippery. Weve had a spate of accidentsone of them caused by a Jarrett kid, incidentally, all of twelve years old, driving a stolen car.

  Ellen didnt doubt him, but she sensed that hed lost interest in the Katie Blasko case. Meanwhile, where was van Alphen?

  And so she took Scobie Sutton with her. Scobie got behind the wheel before she could. His usual bad driving was exacerbated by the heavy rain, which Ellen knew was stirring the patina of grease and oil into a dangerous slick on the road surfaces. She grabbed the dashboard as he rounded a corner and braked mid-way down Warrawee Drive, his hands clutching the wheel inexpertly as he checked house numbers.

  Two blocks from Katie Blaskos, he said. What do you think happened? Sasha wanders off, finds herself on Trevally Street, sees Duykers van with the door open, and somehow or other climbs aboard without being noticed.

  Makes sense, Ellen said, gingerly letting go the dashboard.

  But how did Sasha find her way home again? How long was she missing?

  Ellens head snapped forward as Scobie reversed. Obviously Duyker brought her back here, she gasped.

  Scobie braked again. Hed rape and maybe kill a child, but be kind to a dog?

  Yes.

  Scobie considered that, full of doubt. But why not let the dog out somewhere else? Why risk bringing it back?

  People would wonder. Theyd take her to the pound, the RSPCA, a vet, the police. That would generate a record. But if Sasha is found or released a block or two from home, no ones going to wonder about it.

  You could be right.

  And so they began doorknocking. At 5.15 they got lucky.

  Sasha? I know Sasha. She was with the little Blasko girl, the one who was abducted.

  Ellen went cold. She regarded the speaker, an elderly woman, intently. How do you know that, Mrs Cooper? That detail has never been made public

  I heard the childs mother talking about it in the shop this afternoon.

  Curse the woman, Ellen thought. We need to know Sashas movements at the time of the abduction.

  Mrs Coopers eyes twinkled. You make Sasha sound as if shes a suspect.

  Ellen gave her a lop-sided grin. My report-writing language infects my regular speech sometimes.

  Mrs Cooper smiled. I was an English teacher, she said cryptically. Now, lets see. I feed Sasha sometimes. Bacon rind. Its too tough for my teeth.

  Yes.

  So I probably saw her that day, but I cant be sure. Ask me something that happened forty years ago and Ill remember every detail.

  Ellen said carefully, Did Sasha have a history of jumping into peoples cars?

  Oh, yes, indeed she did! Sometimes shed appear just as I was about to drive to the shops. Shed leap in and immediately go to sleep in the back. I always leave the window part-way down for her, whilst shopping. If its too hot, I make her get out of the car.

  To halt the flood, Ellen said, How did other people hereabouts treat her?

  Mrs Cooper smiled at the hereabouts. We all know her. Most try to discourage her. I suppose I should, too.

  What if someone didnt realise that shed jumped in?

  Then theyd drive all over the Peninsula with her, maybe even to Queensland with the holiday luggage.

  But people know where she lives. Theyd bring her back eventually.

  Of course.

  Scobie spoke for the first time. Can you recall any instances of people letting Sasha out of their cars?

  Recently?

  Yes.

  There was a white car, said Mrs Cooper after some thought. I think it was white. I think it was recently.

  Could it have been a van?

  You know, it was a van. I saw Sasha jump out.

  Did you see or know the driver?

  Oh, I wasnt looking at the driver, Mrs Cooper said.

  * * * *

  Van Alphen reappeared for the evening briefing, offering an explanation but no apology. Ive been running down some leads, he said, his voice and body giving nothing away.

  It was contemptuous, and pissed Ellen off. Im trying to coordinate an inquiry here, Van, and youre supposed to remain in the station and trawl through records.

  Van Alphen shrugged.

  Ellen sighed. It was fruitless. She changed the subject, told them more about the dog. I just got a call from the lab: the blood on Sashas collar is human, not animal. It will be some time before we have the DNA result.

  Human? said Kellock sharply. He threw down his pen. Even if it is, theres no way of determining how it got there. Meanwhile the procedures of that lab dont exactly inspire confidence.

  Back to time-honoured methods, eh, Kel? Ellen said.

  Kellock looked fed up. Always been good enough for me. He pushed back his chair, gathered his files. Have to go. Im giving a talk at a retirement home this evening.

  Ellen was reminded again that a police station had a community role, a welfare role. Officers like Kellock went to schools, hospitals and other institutions, giving talks and assistance. It was something she hadnt done for many years and she felt chastened.

  Thanks, Kel.

  Kellock left and the briefing continued. Everyone was tired, dispirited, and finally Ellen dismissed them. But as they filed out, van Alphen took Ellen aside. He looke
d sly and satisfied. You need a decent witness, Ellen.

  Ellen didnt bother to reply. She was pissed off with him.

  Well, he murmured, Ive found you one.

  Who? she demanded. What kind of witness? Witness to what?

  Keep your voice down, he said hoarsely. A street kid called Billy DaCosta.