Challis - 01 - Dragon Man (18 page)

* * * *

Eleven

hallis
woke at six on Christmas morning and desolation flooded him. He hadnt expected
to feel this way. Hed thought he was above all that. He remembered what hed
read somewhereif youre depressed, go for a long walkand swung immediately
out of bed and hunted for his Nike gardening shoes, a T-shirt and an old pair
of shorts.

He walked for an hour. As the bad
feeling lifted, he found himself listening to the birds. He could swear he was
hearing bellbirds, the first in his five years on the Peninsula. The world was
still and silent, and he was alone and light-footed in it, this morning. He
took deep breaths. Yellow-breasted robins watched him and a thrush sang high in
the canopy of branches above his head. There were creatures scratching in the
bracken. Only a plastic shopping bag caught in a blackberry cane spoiled the
morning for himthat, and the realisation that hed been depressed but wasnt
now, yet might be again as the day developed.

At nine-thirty he left the house.
Ellen Destry and her husband and daughter lived in a cedar house on stilts in
an airless pocket between ti-trees and a small, humped hill at Penzance Beach.
The house looked likeand had been, before the Destrys bought itsomeones
holiday house. And nothing not even the new shrubs and herbs and fruit trees,
or the fresh paint job and the hanging plantswould alter that. Three cars in
the driveway, three out on the street. Challis groaned. He wasnt ready for a
crowd. He mostly preferred solitariness yet worked in an occupation that
demanded permanent sociality.

Alan Destry came to the door. Hal.
Come in, come in, Merry Christmas.

Ellens husband wore an air of
grievance. He was a constable, attached to the Traffic Division in the Outer
Eastern zone, married to a fast-tracking CIB detective. Thats how Ellen had
explained it to Challis once, at the pub, when she wanted to stay and drink and
not go home. Merry Christmas yourself, Challis said, offering his hand.

At that moment a light plane passed
overhead, following the shoreline. Distracted, Challis looked up. Twin-engined
Cessna. He didnt recognise it.

Some people have their feet on the
ground, Alan Destry said.

It was a clumsy insult, delivered
with a grin of Christmas cheer. Challis wanted to say that some people had all
the luck, but let it go. People underestimated him, he knew that, and didnt
care. They thought that a policeman who liked to restore old aeroplanes and had
a wife whod tried to have him shot was a man who would allow things to happen
to him. A man destined to remain stuck where he was in the force, detective
inspector, no higher.

He proffered a terracotta pot
wrapped in green and red Christmas paper. There was a clump of lobelia spilling
over the edges. Good of you, Destry said, looking about for a flat surface
and deciding on the verandah floor, beside the door.

They went through to the sitting
room. The windows were open, admitting gusts of warm, dusty air. It was an
oppressive room. No wonder Ellen intended to have air-conditioning installed.
She wasnt in the room. Nor was Scobie Sutton. But the other CIB officers were,
and a couple of Alan Destrys colleagues, together with spouses and children.
The Destrys daughter, Larrayne, scowled in a corner, trying to ward off the
imploring fingers of a small boy.

Ellen not here?

Ah, mate, a sudden death. A kid.

Challis felt sick. To lose a child
on Christmas Day.

He forced down a glass of beer and
absently palmed toffee nuts into his mouth from a bowl on the television set.
There were cards on the sideboard and on a loop of string across the far wall.
Mistletoe. Parcels heaped at the foot of a tired, tinselly pine-tree branch
that was shedding needles. As he watched, a bauble fell to the carpet. The
small boy rushed to it, kicked it in his haste, and Challis saw it smash
against the skirting board.

The Destrys daughter looked so
miserable and put-upon that Challis crossed the room to her, greeting people as
he went. Larrayne saw him coming. She stared fixedly at the floor, as if to
hide or appear too negligible to be bothered with. She wore a short denim
skirt, a Savage Garden T-shirt and sandals. Shed painted her nails. Her legs,
knees together and inclined to one side, seemed too long for her slight frame.
Wings of hair furled down about her young round face. She was fifteen but
looked at once ten and twenty.

Hello, Larrayne.

She was low in an uncomfortable chair
and Challis towered above her. She was forced to stretch her neck to see his
face, and that strangled her voice. Hello. She said it quickly and looked
away again.

Challis crouched beside her. Merry
Christmas.

She muttered a reply, leaning her
knees away from him.

Its a pity your poor mum had to go
out on a call.

Larrayne shrugged, then said, Me
and Dad had to do everything, as per usual. She invites people over, then goes
out, leaving us to do everything.

Challis knee-creaked until he was standing
again. He couldnt be bothered with the Destrys daughter. He wandered across
to the main window.

When Alan Destry came by with a bowl
of nuts, Challis said, Did Scobie go with Ellie?

Yep.

Do we know what happened?

Cot death.

A cot death. Challis wondered how
secure he really was in life. His eyes pricked. He felt very alone again, and
welcomed the despatchers call when it came.

* * * *

Twelve

hey
were country people: decent, bewildered, fearing the worst. Theyd been
expecting Trina to arrive some time on Christmas Eve. Its a long drive from
Frankston to Shepparton, so, although theyd been worried when their daughter
hadnt arrived, theyd told themselves to expect her after theyd gone to bed,
or Christmas morning at the latest, though theyd have been cross with her if
she
had
left it that late. Shed always been a bit wilful and
inconsiderate. Not malicious, mind you, just always went her own way. But when
she hadnt arrived by ten oclock, theyd phoned. No answer. Then, remembering
that two girls had been abducted and murdered, theyd phoned the police in
Frankston, who sent a divisional van to their daughters address.

Trina Unger lived in a small,
worn-looking home unit. The doors were locked, the blinds drawn. The police had
broken in eventually, but the place was empty. Trina Ungers bed was unmade. A
half-packed weekender bag sat on the end of the bed. The other bedroom had been
hastily tidied. There was a flatmate, according to the Ungers. They didnt know
where she was. At her parents for Christmas?as Trina should have been.

Then at lunchtime Trina Ungers car
was found on a lonely stretch of the Old Peninsula Highway, just ten kilometres
from Frankston. All of the windows had been smashed in.

Now it was three in the afternoon.
The parents had arrived from Shepparton, and Challis and Sutton were
interviewing them in their daughters sitting room. The walls were close and
faintly grubby, the ceiling too low, and the overstuffed, mismatched op-shop
armchairs crowded the small, tufted orange carpet. The place smelt damp,
despite the heat of summer.

The second bedroom? Challis said.

That would be Dens, Mrs Unger
said. Denise.

Do you know where we can contact
her?

Afraid not.

Challis nodded to Sutton, who stood
and made for the bedroom. All of the detective constables movements were slow
and automatic, his bony face drawn, his eyes ready to brim, as though he could
not get the image of the cot-death baby out of his head.

Challis turned to the Ungers again. We
found your daughters car.

Kurt Unger was sitting upright, his
fists bunched neatly on his large knees. The words wouldnt come clearly, so he
coughed and tried again. Yes.

On the Old Peninsula Highway,
Challis continued. Thats in the opposite direction from Shepparton. And shed
started packing, but hadnt finished. Have you any idea where she might have
been going?

None, Freda Unger said.

Does she have a boyfriend? Could he
have called her?

Freda Unger made a wide gesture with
both arms. Who knows? We never met any, if she did have boyfriends. But she
was young still.

Twenty?

Twenty-one in March.

Kurt Unger coughed. He said, I
overheard a policeman say the windows were broken on her car.

Challis cursed under his breath. Yes.

She locked her doors but he broke
her windows with a rock and dragged her out, Kurt Unger said fixedly. Nothing
moved, only his bottom jaw.

His wife crumpled. Oh, Kurt, dont.

We dont know what happened,
Challis said. My feeling is, its not related to her disappearance. All of the
windows were smashed, suggesting vandals, and the radio had been ripped out and
the boot forced open. Someone saw her car there and decided on the spur of the
moment to break in.

But what was she doing there?

Its possible your daughters
flatmate will know, Challis said. Were tracking her down now.

As he spoke, Scobie Sutton entered,
holding an envelope in his long fingers. The flap was open; there was a letter
inside. Its from this Denise characters mother, he said. Theres a return
address on the back, somewhere in East Bentleigh. Do you know where the phone
is, Mrs Unger?

The kitchen.

Right.

Excuse me, Challis said, and he
joined Sutton in the kitchen nook. Scobie, he muttered, if the girls there,
ask her what Trinas car was doing on the highway.

Sutton looked as though hed just
remembered his manners. He held out the handset. You want to make the call,
boss?

No, I didnt mean that. Ask her the
obvious questions, Trinas movements over the past couple of days, any
boyfriend, was she aware Trina was missing, that kind of thing, but we must
know about the car.

Challis returned to the sitting
room. The parents were whispering to each other. Reluctant to intrude, he
crossed the room to the front door, stepped outside, and wandered across to the
police car that had been parked in the driveway for most of the morning. A
uniformed constable sat in the drivers seat with the door open, eating a
sandwich. She swallowed hurriedly. Do you need me inside again, sir?

Not just yet. Theyre holding up
for the moment.

Sir, we just got word a walkman and
a sweatband have been found near the car.

How near?

A few hundred metres away.

Jogging, Challis thought. Thats
what she was doing there. But when? Yesterday? The day before? Why hadnt the
flatmate noticed her missing?

Sutton joined him. He tried for some
humour. Denise has been hitting the Christmas champagne pretty hard. Hard to
get any sense out of her. But she said Trina Unger likes to go jogging on the
highway. Used to jog around the park, but got scared off by a flasher a few
months ago, and now jogs on the highway because its quiet.

What time of day?

Early morning. Daybreak.

Never in the evening?

Not according to Denise.

When did she last see Trina?

Friday night. On Saturday she went
to stay with her parents in East Bentleigh to help her mother get ready for
Christmas. She noticed that Trina hadnt come back from her run, but didnt
think any more about it.

Boyfriend?

She didnt know of one.

Challis stared unseeingly over the
rooftops. Young men and women left home to lead their separate, secret lives,
and some of them didnt make it. Scobie, go home, spend some time with your
wife and kid. Ill see you tomorrow.

* * * *

Thirteen

n
Boxing Day the
Age
and the
Herald Sun
carried stories about the
missing girl. At 8 a.m., Tessa Kane came to the station and told Challis that
she was bringing out an issue between Christmas and the New Year after all. We
received another letter. It was hand-delivered to the box we have next to the
main entrance.

Challis spread it out inside its
clear plastic slip case and read:
Like you, my eyes are everywhere. But mine
know what to look for. Do yours?

Fancies himself, Challis said. Well,
thats true to form. He sighed. Youve taken a copy?

Yes.

Ill send this to the lab.

We go to press tomorrow night.

Tess, youre inflaming the
situation.

Try and stop me, Hal. Ive had
legal advice.

Thats not the point, Challis
said. Youre scaring people, and in danger of attracting crackpots, not to
mention copycats.

That doesnt negate the fact that
theres been two murders and a possible third.