Challis - 01 - Dragon Man (35 page)

Scobie Sutton said, All in good
time, Mrs Nunn.

He was tired and dirty. Hed been
scratched by blackberry canes at the edge of the reserve where theyd captured
Hartnett. He wanted to go home. For days, it seemed, he hadnt seen his
daughter, or not awake, anyway.

Challis had briefed him. Hed
listened to the taped interview with Danny Holsinger. He was ready.

Mr Jolic, you are still under
caution.

Sure.

I want to inform you that one of
your accomplices has given you up.

Doesnt surprise me.

Boyd, shut up, Marion Nunn said.

No,
you
shut up.

Sutton went on wearily, You and
Danny Holsinger

Danny Holsinger. Habitual thief and
liar. My client

Mrs Nunn, please, just let me finish.

Yeah, let the man finish.

Dont you care what happens to you?

Shut up. You bore me.

Sutton decided to sit back and
watch. He turned to Marion Nunn, who felt his gaze and said, Id like a moment
alone with my client.

Certainly.

Yeah, well, I dont want a moment
alone with
her,
Jolic said.

Boyd, Im warning you, dont let
your tongue get you into trouble.

Sutton swung his gaze on to Jolic.
Jolic looked less tough and arrogant, suddenly. He seemed to struggle to ask, Mr
Sutton, youd say I was pretty normal, wouldnt you?

Depends how you measure it, Boyd,
but sure, Id say so.

Not sick or twisted?

Sutton shook his head emphatically. Nup.

Stop this! Just stop it! Marion
Nunn said. Constable Sutton, Im asking you now, terminate this interview.

But Mr Jolics got things to say,
Sutton said.

If I give you certain information,
itll look good in the eyes of the DPP, right? Jolic asked.

A very good chance.

Okay. Here goes. I done the ag
burg. I burnt the fucking four-wheel drive. I killed the woman. Only you got to
understandI was aggravated. She shouldnt of

Boyd, shut up.

Boyd Jolic jerked his thumb. This
cow here? She gives me house plans, photos, whatever, and I pull jobs for her.
We split it fifty-fifty.

Interesting.

Listen, goggle-eyes, dont go
taking his word against mine.

Sutton stared at her.

Shes got this empty house, Mr
Sutton, Jolic said. All the stuffs still there probably. He paused. She
shouldnt of said I was sick.

* * * *

In
you go.

Youre not going to rough me up,
Sergeant?

Im in a good mood, van Alphen
said, gently pushing Marion Nunn into the cell.

* * * *

The
next morning, Challis said, Scobie, youre coming with me.

They drove through the town, which
now seemed less edgy, more benign and trusting, as though everyone had heard
the news overnight and gone back to being themselves. Or is it me? Challis
thought. Do I read things as they are, or as I feel? But there were more people
about. More of them looked cheery in the face of the early sun.

They found Lance Ledwich in his
sitting room, watching morning television, women in leotards flexing on grass,
the Sydney Opera House sailing behind them. Challis could smell eucalyptus
vapour and there was a hot lemon drink on the floor. He tossed the videotape
that had so offended Megan Stokes on to the coffee table.

Know what this is, Lance?

Some of the life seemed to go out of
Ledwich. Never seen it before.

Funny, it was found in your
four-wheel drive.

Dont know nothing about it.

Scobie, search the kitchen, see if
you can find the keys to Mr Ledwichs garage.

Ledwich sank in his chair. A minute
later, Sutton returned, holding a bunch of keys.

Stay with him, Challis said. I
wont be long.

One wall of the garage was lined
with metal shelves. Challis counted a dozen professional-grade video
reproduction units. There was also a colour photocopier and a stack of garish
sleeves ready to be slipped into empty cassette cases. On the bench nearby was
a padded postbag with US postage on it, containing the master videotape. Was
the brother-in-law on a buying trip in Thailand? Was the sister involved, too?
Did they have many under-the-counter customers for their videos? Did they charge
much? Enough for Ledwich to afford a Pajero, Challis decidedthe Pajero also
part of the mans image, the cool operator.

He looked at his watch. Noon. He was
giving himself the rest of the day off. Let someone else interview Rhys
Hartnett. He wasnt interested in what made Hartnett tick.

* * * *

The
shift in the atmosphere had been clear to Pam the moment she stepped into the
station at the start of her shift. Challis had made an arrest. Destrys
daughter was safe. The whole station seemed happier.

She was paired with John Tankard for
the day. She drove. Their first job was to investigate reports of theft from
two panel vans belonging to surfers at Myers Point. She found that her heart
and stomach were doing funny things. She wondered if shed see Ginger. Just
knowing he was nearby was setting her off.

John Tankard had the
Age
in
his lap. Charges reinstated. Thats what I like to hear. Whaddya reckon,
Murph?

Blood oath, she said, sticking her
lower jaw out, deepening her voice, grabbing the wheel as if she were going
into battle.

He flushed. Arent you a
sweetheart.

* * * *

On
the other side of the Peninsula, Challis was shaping a new airframe strut. He
lost himself in the crisp bite of the wood plane, Lucky Oceans on Radio
National and a letter that had come from an old man in Darwin:

With reference to your request for
information regarding A33-8. This was an air force serial number, applied to
nonmilitary Dragons that were impressed into service with the RAAF during the
war. I had the pleasure of flying A33-8 in early 1942, just before the fall of
Java. I was stationed in Broome, and made a dozen trips in her, ferrying Dutch
refugees to Port Hedland. I do know that your aeroplane started life working
for the Vacuum Oil Company, flying geologists about the north-west, but what
became of her after the war, I really couldnt say. If its not too much
trouble, perhaps you could send me a snap of her.

On the five oclock news there was a
report of human remains found caught in bullrushes at the bend of a creek on
the other side of the Peninsula. Challis swept his wood shavings into a bin,
bundled his overalls into the Triumph and drove home over the bone-jarring back
roads. He walked inside, his footsteps booming in the hollows of the house. The
red light was flashing on his answering machine. Three calls. He pressed the
play button. ID confirmed on the body in the creek; then his wife; and before
the third caller spoke, he discovered, with a tiny shift in his equilibrium,
that he was waiting for a low, slow-burning voice.