Challis - 01 - Dragon Man (22 page)

No need to call me sir. Scobie
will do. Inspector Challis wants us to have a word with a man called Lance
Ledwich.

Why me, sir?

I watched you yesterday. Your
instincts told you there was something off about Vicki Mudge. Well, shes
Ledwichs sister, and had been looking after the Pajero for him.

Pam mused on that. Is Ledwich a
suspect in the highway killings?

He was, then he wasnt, and now he
is again.

How come?

One, hes on the sex offenders
list. Two, his alibis are weak. Three, thanks to our burglars we now know that
he owns a four-wheel driveor did, until they torched it for him.

Pity about that. Now you cant
check it for forensic evidence.

I told Challis you were on the
ball.

Pam rolled her jaw a little. Thank
you, sir.

Something wrong with your mouth?
Toothache? Take it from me, dont leave it and hope itll go away. See a
dentist straight away. I had a bad toothache once, I was in court all week,
couldnt do a thing about it except stuff myself with painkillers. When I was finally
called to give evidence, the defence walked all over me. Couldnt think
straight.

I got clipped by a surfboard, sir.

He stared at her. Youre kidding
me. You surf?

Learning to.

Huh.

They found Ledwich on a stepladder,
erecting a sensor light on the corner of his lockup garage. He climbed down,
wiping his hands on an oily rag. You cant be too careful.

Cant you? Pam said.

If she disliked the look of a man,
shed stare disbelievingly, to rattle him. She saw it work on Ledwich. There
was something oily about him.

We were wondering, Lance, Sutton
said, taking out his notebook, whether you wouldnt mind reconsidering one of
the answers you gave me the other day.

Which one?

The one that went: No, I dont own
another motor vehicle.

Ledwich flushed sullenly. My
sister. Stupid bitch.

Why should she get into trouble
over you, Lance?

Look, it was unregistered, Im not
allowed to drive for another twelve months, shes got a good garage, so I
thought, why not store it at her place.

Your heart must really be broken.

Why?

Your pride and joy, stolen and
trashed like that.

Oh, yeah, Ledwich said, as though
hed just remembered to grieve for it.

You dont
seem
too upset,
sir, Pam said.

Well, you know, insurancell cover
it.

Are you sure about that?

Ledwich faltered. Wont they?

Sutton said, Did you pay someone to
do it for you, Lance?

Do what?

Steal and burn your Pajero.

Christ no.

Its a fair assumption.

I dont follow.

Fibres from the dead girls inside
the Pajero, the police checking tyres, only a matter of time before you got
caught out. You mustve been panicking, needed to get rid of the evidence in a
hurry.

Youre clutching at straws, mate.

He was too cocky, as though some of
his cares had been laid to rest recently. Pam found the nerve to say, Lets
assume youre the victim here, Mr Ledwich. Was there anything in particular
about your Pajero that might explain why it was stolen, or anything that might
help us identify who took it? Accessories, CD player, items left inside it,
that kind of thing?

Ledwich wiped his palms again. No.
I got nothing to hide.

Now, that was an odd response. Pam
pushed it: No-one suggested you had, Mr Ledwich.

You lot are acting like youre more
interested in my car than who took it. I mean, Jesus.

* * * *

Hes
wound up, Pam said later.

Definitely hiding something.

They questioned the neighbours, then
drove to the scene of the aggravated burglary. The Fairmonttraced to an
elderly widower in Waterloohad been towed away. Fire and insurance
investigators were there, but not the owners, who were still resting in
hospital. Pam walked through the house while Sutton talked to one of the stable
hands. The damage was minimal, she realised, some scorching and a patina of
soot and smoke, so that, with imagination, she was able to picture the rooms as
theyd been before the fire. A vulgar hand had decorated the place. It was as
if she were looking at an interior design magazine in a doctors waiting room,
one fussy room blending into another, so that they seemed oddly familiar to
her.

* * * *

Ellen
got in late after a fruitless morning interviewing other names on the sex
offenders list. She was surprised to see Rhys Hartnetts Jeep at the courthouse,
and after locking her car, crossed the driveway to find him. He was unloading
wall vents. Hi, she said, startling him.

Hi.

Well have to stop meeting like
this.

He frowned and rolled his shoulders,
as though shed come too close and should back off.

You should give yourself some time
off, Rhys, she said.

He shrugged. If I dont get this
job done Ill miss out on other contracts.

Ellen realised that she hadnt
accounted for his finishing at the courthouse and going elsewhere. It would leave
a hole in her life. She hadnt discussed the matter further with Alan and
Larrayne, but she found herself saying, Speaking of which, Ive decided to
accept your quote.

He stopped what he was doing and
looked at her carefully. Thats okay with your husband?

Its my money.

Just out of interest, what did the
other companies quote?

She looked down briefly and toed the
gravel with her shoe. I didnt actually approach anyone else.

To set your mind at rest, he said,
the reason why Ive always got work is because I quote low.

I can give you a cash deposit, she
said. Would that help?

Help me with the tax man. He held
up both hands. Whoops, forget I said that.

We all have hassles with the tax
man, Rhys.

Yep. Look, a deposit wont be
necessary. Pay me at the end.

Ellen thought: What a stupid
conversation. He must think Im stupid. Its because we dont know each other.
We stand here out in the open when we should be in a quiet corner somewhere.

What do you say to lunch in the pub?
she said, careful to keep it light.

He looked at her for a long moment,
then glanced at the ground. Now?

Give me ten minutes.

See you then, he said.

* * * *

Pam
Murphy came back with Scobie Sutton to find John Tankard waiting for her in the
passenger seat of the divisional van.

Sucking up to CIB, Pammy?

She ignored him and drove the van to
the Sunday market in the car park opposite the Waterloo tennis courts. There
had never been reports of stolen goods on sale, but still the police were obliged
to make a walk-through of the market. Pam parked the van under a gum tree and
got out, leaving Tankard sprawled in the passenger seat. In the old days,
before the leaflet campaign, he would have been in the car park measuring
tyre-tread thicknesses, slapping roadworthy infringement notices on
windscreens, generally hassling the natives. Not now. Too much palpable hatred
in the air whenever he showed his face in public.

She saw Danny Holsinger and edged
toward him. Danny and his mother operated a stall every Sunday, selling
crocheted shawls and doilies, woven string holders for hanging plants, slip-on
covers for hot-water bottles, teapot cosies and other fussy pink things that
no-one had much use for, certainly not on a hot Sunday morning.

When the mother was out of earshot,
Pam said, Happy new year for tomorrow, Danny.

Surprised, he said, Yeah.

There was an ag burg near the
racecourse yesterday. Rather a nasty one. Whats the word?

Danny looked edgy. Then again, hed
always looked edgy around teachers, policemen, priests, anyone with any
authority over him. Im not into that.

I didnt say you were. Youre a
loner, Danny. But have you heard any whispers around the place? Were looking
for two men, one big, the other about your size. They stole a Pajero. Torched
it some time last night, over by the highway.

Wasnt me.

Danny, relax. Just keep your ear to
the ground, okay?

Then the mother returned with an
armful of fussy cot blankets from the boot of her car, so Pam wandered through
to the organic produce stall, thinking she might buy some tomatoes. Next to it
was a donut van. She stopped, bought a couple for John Tankard.

She returned to the divisional van,
winding her way among the remaining stalls. Where did they get their stuff, all
that junk, half of it old, half of it brand new and made of cheap metal and
plastic in China somewhere? Toys. Tools. Household gadgets. She couldnt see
anyone in Waterloo arranging a buying trip to China. So it had to be bankrupt
stock, sold at auction, except the handmade stuff, the jams and doilies and
coloured bead jewellery.

Tankard hadnt moved. Hungry?

He opened his eyes. Murph. Youre a
doll.

Pam belted herself in, started the
engine, eyeing him sadly. That is not a pleasant sight.

His mouth full, sugar on his chin,
he asked, Where to now?

That Pajero, Pam said.

What the fuck for? Leave it to CIB.

CIB think something smells wrong.

Big-deal detective, on the case.

Pam ignored him. Ginger had been so
sweet this morning. Hed taken her back to his house and gently massaged a strange,
foul-smelling cream into her jaw. Said it was pawpaw extract and would work
wonders. She was still waiting.

They rode in silence, until Tankard
stiffened like a hunting dog. Check that. Broken tail light.

That was pretty typical, Pam
thought. Lonely road, solitary, vulnerable motorist. Leave it, Tank.

Yeah, well, we all know about you,
soft on the locals.

Pam ignored him. Tankard went on: You
know what your problem is? Youre a snob.

First Im soft on the locals, now Im
a snob. Which is it?

Never see you down the pub. You dont
mix. What are ya?

Im not
you,
Tank, thats
all that matters. You want the world to be like you, and frankly that is a
terrible thought.

The Pajero site was easy to find, a
smallish patch of blackened grass and scorched trees and fence posts. A farmer
coming home from the pub after a cricket match late the previous night had seen
the blaze and put it out with the fire extinguisher he kept in his car.

There was a white sedan parked
nearby. A man in a short-sleeved shirt was taking photographs. Pam approached
him, saying, May I ask what youre doing, sir?

The man straightened. He was about
forty, calm and unhurried-looking. Insurance, he said.

Pam nodded, then looked at the burnt
grass. Wheres the vehicle?

Carted off to the police garage
about the man looked at his watch half an hour ago. Id given it the
once-over. Now Im checking the scene.

They stood together musingly.
Bracken, blackberry thickets, rye grass and gum trees hugged both sides of the
road, but here there was only an area of ash the size of a room, dotted with
lumps of molten glass and plastic, some remnants of the electrical circuitry
and four fine wire sculptures that were all that remained of the tyres.
Scattered around the perimeter were bottles, drink cans and cigarette packets,
as though whoever had torched the Pajero had stood there gloating.

We get a couple of these a month,
the insurance investigator said. Its become a copycat thing.

And a summer thing, Pam said.

Yeah, the general madness.

On an impulse, Pam collected the
newer-looking cans, bottles and cigarette packets, picking them up with the end
of her pen and stuffing them into a large plastic evidence sack. She paused.
Was that the guts of a car phone?

Youre fucking mad, John Tankard
said when Pam was behind the wheel again. You want to give yourself a rest or
youll get a promotion.

* * * *

Danny
discovered, as the day progressed, that his fingers were all thumbs. He dropped
coins, couldnt open paper bags, spilt the thermos coffee over one of his
mothers tea cosies, there on the trestle table, just as someone was about to
buy it.

What the hells got into you?

Sorry, Mum.

Look, take yourself off for a walk,
get out of me hair.

Sorry, Mum.

He took her advice and walked along
the bicycle path. The truth was, his nerves were shot to pieces. That stunt of
Jolics yesterday, bashing those people, then following that sheila in her
Mercedes just because she gave him the finger. The way he kept shouting, Ill
kill
the cunt, Ill
kill
the cunt, spit flying around inside the Pajero.
The way he just drove and drove after that, for hours, risking discovery but
not giving a damn, he was so worked up.