Chain of Evidence ic-4

by Garry Disher

  47

  Leaving Scobie to finish up, Ellen drove to van Alphen’s 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. ‘I’m a colleague of Sergeant van Alphen’s.’

  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 end-reminding her of Larrayne, taking over Challis’s 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 they’d been driven out because he lived like this.

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

  ‘Er, Billy. Billy DaCosta.’

  Either he’s 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 Alphen’s witness? You were abused by certain men when you were younger, and have been able to identify them from photographs?’

  ‘Er, yep.’

  ‘I’ll 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 Alphen’s not here.’

  Ellen cocked an eye. Van Alphen was always called Van, or Sarge. Then, taking in Billy’s curly hair and delicate features, she wondered if they’d been lovers. Did that account for van Alphen’s 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 Alphen’s 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 weren’t worried when he didn’t 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, we’d been expecting him to bring you in to make a statement this morning,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we can do that now. It’s all right, he’s a colleague.’

  Billy looked hunted. ‘I’ll 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 didn’t like: drawers open, cupboards ajar, papers spilled here and there. Had Billy been searching through Van’s 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 guy’s 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. ‘I’ll 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.’

  ‘Let’s 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 wasn’t 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.’

  ‘Rosie’s a cousin.’

  ‘Quite a clan,’ Scobie said.

  Jarrett ignored him.

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

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘But you’d know her general habits,’ Scobie asserted. ‘After all, you’re cousins and you live on the estate.’

  ‘It’s a big estate,’ Jarrett said, addressing Ellen.

  It is, she thought, and getting bigger. She cleared her throat. ‘You’d 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. What’s this about?’

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

  ‘Like I said, haven’t 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. ‘There’s 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 don’t believe me.’

  Ellen felt an unaccountable sadness. ‘Fitting?’

  ‘She’s epileptic. It’s 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, it’s you again. Witnesses? Other than Alysha? I didn’t know I’d be needing witnesses, but there will be plenty at the hospital. We were there until long after midnight.’

  ‘We’ll 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. ‘It’s only me.’

  ‘Mum, I’m trying to study.’

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

  ‘Well, Mum, I haven’t searched through all of the cupboards and drawers yet.’

  Ellen had sometimes longed to search Challis’s house. She wondered if she’d 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? Ellen’s mind flashed down this unwelcome and irrelevant path.

  ‘Mum!’ shouted Larrayne. ‘Is there anything else?’

  Ellen jumped. ‘Sorry, no, see you later. Don’t wait up.’

  She went back to the interview room, where Scobie turned on the tape again, and sh
e said at once, ‘Sergeant van Alphen was shot dead in your cousin’s 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, Laurie-or order it done?’

  Laurie Jarrett swallowed, the only sign, and said levelly, ‘I won’t say I’m sorry he’s 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.

  ‘I’ll 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 don’t know nothing about that.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Alysha.’

  ‘What about her?’ Ellen said, sounding harsher than she’d intended.

  ‘There are things she’s not telling me.’

  ‘All kids do that.’

  ‘Do you think she needs to see someone?’

  ‘You mean a therapist? It couldn’t hurt. Do you have a family doctor who can refer you?’

  Laurie Jarrett shrugged.

  Ellen said, ‘In the meantime, maybe it’s how you’ve been trying to get her to talk that’s holding her back.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She needs to know she’s loved and wanted.’

  ‘She is,’ said Jarrett emphatically.

  ‘At the same time, she needs to know she’s not being accused of anything. That she didn’t do anything bad, or wrong. That you don’t think she’s a bad person. That none of it’s her fault.’

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

  Ellen thought about that. ‘No. Just a few more questions-when 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, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Van-Sergeant van Alphen-was murdered last night.’

  Billy opened and closed his mouth, then screwed up his face in emotion. Exactly what emotion, Ellen couldn’t say, but he did sigh and flop into one of the floral-print armchairs. ‘Thank Christ for that.’

  Ellen froze. She knew something bad was coming. ‘Billy?’

  Billy got to his feet again and rummaged in the refrigerator. He took out and replaced one drink can after another, finally settling on a Coke.

  ‘Did you have something to do with his death, Billy?’ Ellen said, watching him closely. ‘Is that why you’re relieved?’

  ‘Me? Nah.’

  ‘Then why aren’t you more surprised or upset?’

  ‘I was scared of the prick,’ Billy said. ‘We all were.’

  Ellen swallowed, then sat down opposite him. ‘Go on.’

  ‘He told me what to say. Coached me in how to answer questions. I never seen those guys in the photos before, but he told me I had to say they abused me.’

  48

  Time passed bewilderingly for Hal Challis. On Tuesday morning he contacted the funeral director and the Uniting Church minister again, telling them he had some repeat business for them, the joke falling flat. They settled on Saturday. After that he was rarely away from the phone, or the front door, as people from the town and the district dropped in or telephoned with their condolences.

  Even McQuarrie called from Victoria. ‘Very sorry for your loss, inspector.’

  Ellen must have told him. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Take as long as you like, but things are in a turmoil here, and we can’t afford to have you running an independent inquiry in South Australia, now can we, Hal?’

  Nixon and Stormare told their boss, Challis thought, who then made a few phone calls. Perhaps the super fears I’ll be even more uncontrollable now that my father’s dead. At another time he might have used that to annoy McQuarrie in subtle ways, but he was too tired. ‘No, sir.’

  The day dragged on. Needing badly to fill time, he began to bundle together his father’s clothing for the local op-shop, but it was far too soon, and he lost heart. He went through his father’s desk, paid some bills. That’s when he found the will. The old man had no shares and only a few thousand dollars in the bank. He’d left his house to his children and his car to Eve.

  At 3.30, Challis parked the old station wagon in the street outside Meg’s house. He checked in with her, then returned to the car, tied a purple ribbon around it, and waited on the verandah for Eve to come home from school. She appeared at 3.45, shuffling, head down, all of her striding, knockabout humour gone. She spotted the car, and froze. Challis called out to her.

  She turned, shaded her eyes as he crossed the lawn toward her. ‘Uncle Hal.’

  He kissed her. ‘As you can see, I come bearing gifts.’

  Her eyes filled with tears. She tried to hide it by turning wry and scoffing. ‘You expect me to drive that? I’ll lose all street cred.’

  Challis drew himself up. ‘I’d be proud to be seen in this car.’

  Eve was sniffing, blinking her eyes, trying to smile. ‘Mum said you lost your virginity in it.’

  Challis’s jaw dropped comically. Suddenly Eve was wailing, crumpling. Challis held her tight for a while. ‘Hush,’ he murmured.

  ‘I know he could be mean to you and Mum, but he was great to me.’

  ‘I know.’

  They stood like that. Eve sighed raggedly. ‘The Murray Challis memorial station wagon.’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’

  They went inside. Meg was on the sofa, making a list of hymns for the funeral. ‘How about “Abide With Me”?’ she said.

  They both shuddered. ‘No thanks.’

  They discussed the will. ‘I don’t want the house,’ Challis said. ‘You can have my share. Maybe you can live there.’

  Mother and daughter were seated together on the sofa. They turned to each other in silent communication and then kissed. It was as if they had settled all doubts, and Challis, on the edges of their lives here, realised that they were going to be all right. They faced him resolutely. Meg smiled and said, ‘We’re happy here.’

  ‘Then we’ll sell the house and you can have my share.’

  ‘No, Hal. Equal shares.’

  ‘I had a word with the real estate agent. It’s worth about $175,000, but he said potential buyers are thin on the ground. People are leaving the district, not flocking into it.’

  ‘We might have better luck finding tenants,’ Meg said. ‘The married housing on the sheep stations around here is pretty basic.’

  Challis remembered Meg’s words when Lisa Joyce came to see him late afternoon. He ushered her through to the kitchen, saying, ‘You and Rex don’t want to buy this place for your stud manager, do you?’

  Lisa gazed around her. He began to see how shabby everything was. ‘Not right now, Hal,’ she said, smiling kindly as though he’d made a brave joke. ‘I was really sorry to hear about your dad. He was a lovely guy.’

  Challis doubted that Lisa had spent more than five minutes with Murray Challis in her life, but he appreciated the compliment. ‘Thanks.’

  She said, with a hint of stronger feelings, ‘I suppose you’ll go back to Victoria pretty soon.’

  How to answer that? He was feeling the little disturbances he’d always felt when he was around her. ‘There’s a lot to do,’ he said lamely.

  Her fingers lingered on his wrist as she went out. It was affection, commiseration and the gesture of a woman who had an unconscious excess of sexual energy.<
br />
  He was bucked up to hear Ellen Destry’s voice that evening, the kindness and affection flowing from her, but shocked to hear that Kees van Alphen had been shot dead. ‘I should come back,’ he said.

  ‘You can’t, Hal. Bury your father.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘You’re better off out of it. It’s become a feeding frenzy for the media. McQuarrie keeps popping up in front of the cameras. And any minute now, we’re going to have a team from Melbourne down here, crawling all over us. Stay away, Hal-not that I don’t wish you were here.’

  ‘I wish I was there, too.’

  The pause was awkward. It rang with implications.

  49

  On Wednesday morning Pete Duyker was released on police bail. Ellen had charged him with fraud, knowing nothing else would stick. She didn’t like it, and, with Scobie Sutton, stood outside the police station, watching Sam Lock usher Duyker into his car. Lock gave them a complicated smile. Complicated, Ellen thought, because the lawyer side of him had not seen more serious charges laid against his client, and the father-of-young-children side of him was afraid that he was aiding a paedophile.

  Meanwhile, van Alphen’s will-o-the-wisp evidence had been thoroughly discredited. She sighed and turned away, overwhelmed. She wanted to find van Alphen’s killer, she wanted to put Duyker away, and she wanted to console Hal Chains.

  Scobie Sutton was saying something, one hand shading his eyes against the sun. Masses of rain yesterday, masses of sunshine today. She forced herself to concentrate, and heard him say, ‘Everything’s clean, including his computer.’

  ‘Maybe he wasn’t involved in the abduction,’ Ellen replied, ‘or someone else borrowed his van, but I bet he was at the house, I bet he made videos or took photos.’

  Scobie nodded. They stood there glumly, the spring air mild and scented, imagining how the case would have played out if Katie hadn’t been found but killed by Duyker and her body disposed of.

  ‘Back to work,’ Ellen said, and they re-entered the station. ‘Talk to the vice squad and missing persons. We might be able to match faces in recent kiddie porn with those of children who have gone missing or been abducted or found murdered in recent years. We might also find visual clues that help identify the men involved, men like Clode and Duyker.’