Chain of Evidence

by Garry Disher

  Ill leave you to it, said Kellock, grim-faced in the doorway.

  They were friends, thought Ellen, and now he was to inform the super.

  Who found him?

  I did. Went looking for him, as I said I would, and recognised his car.

  What do you suppose he was doing here?

  Kellock shrugged. Doing his own thing.

  Doing his own thing, and look where it got him. Do we know who lives here?

  I looked through the bills, Kellock said, indicating a shallow fruit bowl piled with papers, unopened envelopes, spare keys, a hair tie and a half packet of potato chips sealed with a clothes peg. Every house in the land has a receptacle like that, Ellen thought.

  And?

  Rosemary McIntyre.

  Ellen cast back in her mind. The name doesnt mean anything. Does it mean anything to you?

  No. I called it in and they ran it through the computer. Solicitation, twelve years ago.

  Where is she?

  Your guess is as good as mine.

  When Kellock had left, Ellen looked for a calendar or diary but found nothing. Then the pathologist arrived and she watched him examine the body. She realised that her mouth was dry and she wasnt feeling her customary remoteness. She was well aware that the job had desensitised her. That was necessary. She was quite able to attend an autopsy and cold-bloodedly note the angle of a knife wound or gunshot, knowing that that information might catch a suspect out in a lie (He tripped and fell on my knife), but right now her eyes were pricking with tears. Van Alphen was a fellow police officer. She blinked and looked keenly at Scobie Sutton. Your first dead copper? she murmured.

  Yes.

  Upsetting.

  I regret every violent death, Ellen.

  Sometimes he could sound like a churchman or a politician. Come off it, Scobe.

  He was a nasty piece of work.

  He didnt always follow regulations, Ellen conceded.

  He and Kellock shot Nick Jarrett in cold blood, Scobie said, and more or less warned me not to investigate too hard.

  Ellen blinked. There were spots of colour on her colleagues gaunt cheeks, his stick-like figure inclined toward her, draped in his habitual dark, outmoded suit. She backed up a step. The technicians and the pathologist were looking on interestedly but hadnt heard the outburst.

  All right, settle down, she murmured. Theres an estranged wife and daughter, I believe?

  Scobie wiped his mouth. I sent someone to inform them.

  Thank you.

  They stood for a while, watching the pathologist, who finally released the body. The local funeral director took charge then, overseeing as the body was loaded onto a gurney and taken out to a waiting hearse for transfer to the morgue. The pathologist sighed and pulled off his latex gloves with a couple of snaps.

  Time of death, doc? Ellen asked.

  Time of death. Its always time of death with you people.

  Well?

  Last night. Late evening. I cant be more specific than that.

  Thanks, Ellen said. She paused, then muttered to Scobie, I want you to bring Laurie Jarrett in for questioning. Meanwhile Ill see if I can find Vans witness.

  If he exists, said Scobie heatedly. Van Alphen was probably trying to divert attention away from the Jarrett shooting. Trying to make himself look good.

  Even so.

  Ill come with you.

  Ellen cocked her head. Was he hoping to find a diary or journal in which van Alphen described the true circumstances of the Jarrett shooting? Before she could reply, a voice called from the front of the house, a womans cigarettes-and-whisky voice, full of outrage. What are you lot doin here? I live here, you bastard, take your hands off me.

  They heard her pounding through the house. She burst in on them, shouting, You got a warrant?

  Then she spotted the gore, and went white, rocking on her feet. Ellen guided her back to the sitting room at the front of the house. The newcomer was about forty, dressed in high heels, a black, short-sleeved beaded top, a knee-length tan skirt and dark stockings. Thick, dirty-blonde hair. Plenty of gold on her slim fingers. Slim legs and ankles, Ellen noticed, but a bit heftier around the bum and chest. A good-looking woman, a woman who liked the nightlife.

  Rosemary McIntyre?

  Who wants to know? Was someone hurt? Whats going on?

  Ellen introduced herself and then Scobie. First, can you tell us where you were last night?

  Not so belligerent now, Rosemary McIntyre gazed about her sitting room, which was dominated by a home entertainment unit, huge white leather armchairs facing it. There were a couple of pewter photo frames and very little else. Out, she said.

  Where?

  I work up in the city.

  Where?

  Rosemary McIntyre folded her arms stubbornly. Siren Call.

  The brothel?

  Legal brothel.

  Im not making judgements. Were you there all evening?

  Since six yesterday afternoon. Im exhausted, and come home to this.

  Ellen didnt doubt that her alibi would check out. Does the name Sergeant van Alphen mean anything to you?

  Course it does.

  Ellen regarded her for a moment. Thats his blood on your floor and wall.

  Rosemary McIntyre screwed up her face tightly, then relaxed it, breathed out, looking bewildered. Dont know anything about that. I mean, what was he doing here?

  Well, youre the one who says his name means something to you.

  Well, duh.

  Explain, please. Are you having a relationship with Sergeant van Alphen?

  The woman flushed angrily. Are you having a go at me? Are you? Fucking bitch.

  No, I am not having a go at you. Im trying to piece together what happened here.

  Van Alphen, said Rosemary McIntyre heavily, is one of the bastards that shot Nick.

  You knew Nick Jarrett?

  Hes my second cousin, said Rosemary McIntyre, as if Ellen and the whole world should have known that.

  * * * *

  47

  Leaving Scobie to finish up, Ellen drove to van Alphens house. The kid who opened the door looked about eighteen but he could have been as young as thirteen. Dark clothes, untidy, a little grubby-looking. Music was blaring behind him, and she had to lip read him say, Yeah?

  My name is Sergeant Destry, from the Waterloo police station, she said. Im a colleague of Sergeant van Alphens.

  His face was blank for quite a while and then it screwed up and she saw him cup one ear and shout, What?

  She repeated her name. A light seemed to go on in his head and he held up a finger and ducked through an archway into the sitting room. He turned the music down. Then, as though having second thoughts, he turned it off. By then Ellen was in the room with him, a room that gave her an insight into an arid life. Van Alphen owned few books or CDs. Some four-wheel-drive and camping magazines, TV Week and the Bulletin on a cheap plywood coffee table. The TV set was small, a portable tucked away in a corner. Through a further archway was a dining-room table, manila folders and a computer heaped at one endreminding her of Larrayne, taking over Challiss table. But with Larrayne it was temporary; Ellen guessed that van Alphen had lived like this since his wife and daughter had left him.

  Or maybe theyd been driven out because he lived like this.

  She turned to the kid. May I have your name?

  Er, Billy. Billy DaCosta.

  Either hes nervous about giving his name to a police officer or he uses a false name, Ellen thought. She had to be sure who he was. Billy. Are you Sergeant van Alphens witness? You were abused by certain men when you were younger, and have been able to identify them from photographs?

  Er, yep.

  Ill have to ask you to come to the station with me, Billy. We need a formal statement and you may be asked to attend identity parades.

  She had her doubts about the latter, thinking that a defence lawyer could claim the identification had been tainted because Billy had already been shown photographs,
by a man now dead, and not in a formal context.

  Er, Mr Alphens not here.

  Ellen cocked an eye. Van Alphen was always called Van, or Sarge. Then, taking in Billys curly hair and delicate features, she wondered if theyd been lovers. Did that account for van Alphens secretiveness and evasions? Was that why his marriage had failed? How old was Billy? If he was underage, that would help to account for van Alphens recent behaviour. What, finally, would it do to Billy to learn that van Alphen had been shot dead?

  Do you know where he is?

  He got a phone call, said Billy, not looking at her and apparently concentrating furiously. Last night. He went out straight after.

  Last night. You werent worried when he didnt come back?

  Nup.

  She needed to get the kid into safe custody. She needed the controllable environment of the police station in which to break the news to him. If she told him here and now, he might bolt.

  Well, wed been expecting him to bring you in to make a statement this morning, she said. Perhaps we can do that now. Its all right, hes a colleague.

  Billy looked hunted. Ill get my things.

  Ellen knew enough to follow him. He went to the main bedroom. All of the intermediate doors were open. There were signs she didnt like: drawers open, cupboards ajar, papers spilled here and there. Had Billy been searching through Vans things? Was he the kind of young male prostitute who liked to set up house with an older man, then do a midnight flit with the guys valuables?

  This way, Billy, she said, taking him to her car.

  They drove in silence to the station, where she set him up in the artificial comfort of the Victim Suite, with its DVD player, armchairs and fridge stocked with soft drinks and chocolate bars. Ill be in to see you shortly, okay?

  Sure, said Billy, putting his feet up. Spotless new trainers, Ellen noticed, at odds with the grimy black jeans.

  She encountered Scobie Sutton in the corridor. Did you bring in Laurie Jarrett?

  Yes.

  Lets go.

  Jarrett was in one of the interview rooms, arms folded, at peace with the world. Ellen was faintly alarmed to realise that she could smell him. It wasnt unpleasant. His eyes were clear, his manner taut but not threatening, the narrow planes of his neat head inclined toward her half mockingly. Ellen.

  Mr Jarrett.

  Good to see you again.

  Cut the crap, Laurie. Tell us about Rosie McIntyre.

  Rosies a cousin.

  Quite a clan, Scobie said.

  Jarrett ignored him.

  Are you close, said Ellen, you and your cousin?

  Not really.

  But youd know her general habits, Scobie asserted. After all, youre cousins and you live on the estate.

  Its a big estate, Jarrett said, addressing Ellen.

  It is, she thought, and getting bigger. She cleared her throat. Youd know that Rosie works in Siren Call, up in the city. Know she puts in long hours there.

  Is that a question?

  Did you call her in the past day or two? Landline or mobile? Or go around to see her?

  She looked after Alysha a couple of weeks ago. That was the last time I saw her. Whats this about?

  Did she tell you her work schedule this week, specifically yesterday?

  Like I said, havent seen her for a couple of weeks. She in trouble? She hurt?

  Scobie said, Where were you last night, Laurie?

  Jarrett turned at last to Scobie and snarled, Mr Jarrett to you, arsehole.

  Scobie flushed. Theres no need for that.

  With you, Jarrett said, there is.

  Ellen privately agreed. Please answer the question.

  He smiled. You can call me Laurie. To answer your question, I was at home with Alysha until about ten. Then she started fitting and I took her to the hospital. Check it out, if you dont believe me.

  Ellen felt an unaccountable sadness. Fitting?

  Shes epileptic. Its manageable, except last night it was worse than usual.

  Is she okay?

  He cocked his neat head at her. I think you genuinely care. Yes, thank you for asking.

  Witnesses? demanded Scobie Sutton.

  Oh, its you again. Witnesses? Other than Alysha? I didnt know Id be needing witnesses, but there will be plenty at the hospital. We were there until long after midnight.

  Well be checking it out, Scobie said.

  Go your hardest.

  Ellen thought of the girl with a pang. She thought of Larrayne then, and had an overwhelming urge to phone her, to see that she was all right. She gave in to it. Excuse me, she said.

  Scobie, startled, stopped the tape. Ellen slipped out into the corridor and flipped open her mobile phone. Its only me.

  Mum, Im trying to study.

  There had never been anything so welcome as her daughters brattiness just then. Everything okay? Know where everything is?

  Well, Mum, I havent searched through all of the cupboards and drawers yet.

  Ellen had sometimes longed to search Challiss house. She wondered if shed find letters or diaries that would help to explain who he was. His wife, jailed for trying to have him shot, had stayed in touch until she committed suicide. She used to phone him from prison. Had she also written? Would he have kept her letters? Ellens mind flashed down this unwelcome and irrelevant path.

  Mum! shouted Larrayne. Is there anything else?

  Ellen jumped. Sorry, no, see you later. Dont wait up.

  She went back to the interview room, where Scobie turned on the tape again, and she said at once, Sergeant van Alphen was shot dead in your cousins house last night. We believe he was lured there by a phone call. You have made several threats to kill him. Did you kill him, Laurieor order it done?

  Laurie Jarrett swallowed, the only sign, and said levelly, I wont say Im sorry hes dead, but I swear to you that I did not kill the prick.

  Then he asked for a lawyer.

  Scobie tried to be matey. Lawyer? They just charge the earth and complicate matters.

  Jarrett stared at Ellen, jerked his head at Scobie Sutton. Get him out of here.

  Ellen stared back consideringly. All right, but the tape keeps rolling.

  Fair enough.

  Ellen! Scobie said.

  Ill be fine. You can listen in.

  He went out grumbling. Ellen said, What do you want to say, Laurie?

  Nothing about van Alphen. Like I said, I dont know nothing about that.

  Okay, she said slowly.

  Alysha.

  What about her? Ellen said, sounding harsher than shed intended.

  There are things shes not telling me.

  All kids do that.

  Do you think she needs to see someone?

  You mean a therapist? It couldnt hurt. Do you have a family doctor who can refer you?

  Laurie Jarrett shrugged.

  Ellen said, In the meantime, maybe its how youve been trying to get her to talk thats holding her back.

  What do you mean?

  She needs to know shes loved and wanted.

  She is, said Jarrett emphatically.

  At the same time, she needs to know shes not being accused of anything. That she didnt do anything bad, or wrong. That you dont think shes a bad person. That none of its her fault.

  Jarrett stared unseeingly at the wall. He blinked. Am I under arrest?

  Ellen thought about that. No. Just a few more questionswhen your lawyer arrives, okay?

  Sure.

  * * * *

  After the interview, Ellen returned to the Victim Suite, catching Billy slipping the DVD of King Kong down his jeans.

  Billy.

  You got me, Billy said. He put up his wrists to be manacled.

  Billy, Im afraid Ive got some bad news.

  What?

  VanSergeant van Alphenwas murdered last night.