Challis - 04 - Chain of Evidence (31 page)

Paddy spat on the ground. I tell
ya, Hal, the bugger was never here.

Challis had gone to high school with
Paddy and other Finucanes. Paddy and his siblings and cousins liked to steal
from lockers, sell exam questions, run sweeps for the Melbourne Cup horse
races, and taunt the young teachers. It was mostly good-natured. They were also
excellent athletes, although lazy. Their fathers and uncles all had convictions
for drunkenness or receiving stolen goods and were often away for short
stretches.

None of that had mattered at the
time. But then Challis had gone away to the police academy, returning to the
Bluff as a uniformed constable, young, pimply and barely shaving. Within days
hed found himself obliged to arrest the very same Finucanes hed gone to
school with. They wouldnt struggle, argue or appeal to his better naturethey
knew theyd been caught fair and squarebut they would look at him in a certain
way, partly mocking, partly disappointed. It was as if theythe whole district,
in factthought hed let the side down. Soon Challis was turning a blind eye.
His sergeant, Max Andrewartha, told him to rethink his options. Youre too
soft, he said. Pretty soon, Challis had resigned and moved to Victoria, where
no one knew him. He joined the Victoria Police, eventually becoming a
detective, and now was an inspector, living near the sea, not right out here in
the never-never. He lived in a landscape where the rain fell and all was green.

But back here in the Bluff he was
still the guy whod gone to school with some of the locals and been a failed
town policeman many years ago. He was called Hal. He wasnt some stranger.

Hal? Paddy said, breaking into his
reverie.

Challis blinked. Paddys face was
seamed from years in the sun. He was slight, wiry, canny. He was a
clean-looking man in filthy work clothes. Challis had no doubt that the clothes
were laundered repeatedly by Paddys poor, timid wife, but the oil, grease and
paint were permanently melded to the cotton weave.

Paddy, I wont bullshit you, theyre
sniffing around Meg.

Paddy nodded. The divorce thing.

Challis blinked. He shouldnt have
been surprised. The Finucanes knew everything about everybody. Meg thought
that Gavin had run off on her.

Again Paddy nodded. Them letters
she got.

She told the police that Gavin had
made plenty of enemies those last few months.

Enemies like me, you mean? Mate, he
was a prick from the moment he come into the district. Paddy swept one scrawny
arm over the infinite earth. No people skills, thats for fucking sure. He
grinned.

Challis grinned back. Gavin had
always seemed an up-tight, lay-down-the-law type to him, too, on the few
occasions theyd met over the years, usually at Christmas time. No one in the
family had quite known what Meg had seen in him, but shed seemed happy enough
with the guy.

Tell me about some of the run-ins
you had with him.

Paddy cocked his head. You sound
like them Homicide blokes, you know that?

Well, Paddy, thats my job, too.

But not here it isnt.

True.

Mate, you know me; you know where I
come from. We cut corners, you know that, but were not mean or vicious.

Challis said, with mock solemnity, I
have it on very good authority that you rubbed sawdust in his face.

Paddy roared, then wiped his twinkling
eyes, quite worn out. That I did, that I did. The cant reckoned sawdust wasnt
a fit bed for dogs; it was smelly and bred fleas and disease. I picked up a
handful and said, go on, smell it. Well, he didnt, of course, so I rubbed it
in his face and shoved it down his neck. A mistake, yeah, I can see that, but
it felt fucking good at the time.

What else?

The usual. Was I washing the shit
out of the pig runs regular? Why was I keeping the sheep in an unsheltered
paddock? Was I keeping water up to them? Stuff like that.

People reported you? Your
neighbours?

Maybe, I dont know. All I know is,
the prick liked to turn up unannounced and walk around like Lord Muck with his
clipboard.

Challis pictured it and grinned at
Paddy. Paddy scuffed the dirt with the toe of his boot.

Whens the funeral?

Monday.

Paddy nodded, looked off into the
distance. Im no killer, Hal.

Challis didnt think he was. But if
Gavin hadnt been at Paddys the day he disappeared, who had taken the
photographs? Who had made the anonymous report?

Sadler came to see you a few days
later?

Yep. Told me your brother-in-law
left him a shitload of work to follow up on. I gotta say, he was a more
reasonable bloke to deal with.

He didnt find anything wrong here?

Nope.

Did he take photographs of your
animals?

Nope.

Could
he
have, when you were out?

Paddy shrugged but could see where
Challis was going with this. You think Sadler killed him? Who knows? Old Gav
must have been a bastard to work with. Complaints flowing in left, right and
centre.

With a half smile, Challis said
nothing.

When them Adelaide blokes finished
with me yesterday, I got the feeling they were going to see Sadler.

Challis said nothing.

They didnt believe me when I said
Gavin Hurst wasnt here.

Didnt they?

Paddy Finucane said, Fuck off, Hal.
Look, you going to help us out?

What can I do, Paddy?

Talk to the bastards.

Challis guessed that Sadler would
have shown the photographs from Gavins digital camera to Nixon and Stormare,
meaning the Adelaide detectives would have even less reason to believe Paddys
story. With a series of minor gestures that might have meant anything at all,
he left Paddys farm and drove home to see to his fathers needs, the shadows
disappearing from the dusty paddocks and the sun high overhead.

* * * *

That
afternoon, as his father slept, Challis sat in the backyard sun with the
Saturday papers, his address book and mobile phone. Hed taken the house phone
off the hook, and made it clear to the reporters who knocked on the door from
time to time that he had nothing to say. But they knew he was a detective
inspector from Victoria. There seemed to be a story in that.

He finished the
Advertiser
and
the
Australian
and then called Max Andrewartha. I suppose youve heard?

Mate, its the story of the weekor
the day, at least.

Theres nothing in that file, is
there? said Challis, knowing his voice carried frustration and anxiety. Nothing
I missed? Nothing we missed?

Andrewartha was silent for a moment.
Mate, I should tell you a guy from Homicide called me yesterday afternoon.

Nixon? Stormare?

Nixon.

And?

Another silence, the quality of it
making Challis apprehensive. He asked me a lot of questions about the case,
but he mainly seemed interested in you, and in me.

You? You werent here when it
happened.

I know that. But they see us as
mates.

Challis said flatly, They want you
to steer clear of me for the time being.

Thats about it. Sorry.

Well, given that Im family, I am a
suspect.

Hed been one thousand kilometres
away at the time, investigating the murder of a man found in the sand dunes
near a lonely Peninsula beach.

Family first, Andrewartha said.

Family First is a fundamentalist
Christian political party, Max.

I rest my case.

Challis smiled slightly, enjoying
the sunshine. I was going to ask a favour.

Im fresh out of favours, Hal,
said Andrewartha warningly.

Have you got someone I can call in
the forensic lab, thats all.

Sorry, pal.

As if to mark the end of something,
a querulous voice called to Challis then, and he returned to the dark rooms of
his fathers house.

* * * *

39

Ellen
Destrys Saturday had started with a one-hour walk, the morning air almost
sickeningly scented from the springtime blossom and grasses, with the result
that she returned with red-rimmed nostrils and itchy eyes. A shower cooled her
hot face, and she ate breakfast outside, in the low sun. No sign of the ducks,
but the open slope of land beyond Challiss boundary fence was dotted with ibis
and a couple of herons. She barely registered them. She and Scobie Sutton would
begin shadowing Peter Duyker today. Van Alphen and Tankard were owed time off,
and didnt intend to start helping until Monday.

She cleared away her cup and bowl,
and drove to Duykers house. She soon established that he was there, but he
didnt stir until mid morning, when he drove to the netball courts in
Mornington and watched girls playing netball. Scobie relieved her at 2 pm,
thirty minutes later than hed said hed be. She relieved him at 6 pm, by which
time Duyker had returned home. She watched until midnight; Duyker went out
once, walking to his local pub and staying until 11 pm. She followed him home
and saw his light go off at 11.45.

Scobie had first watch on Sunday.
She relieved him at 1.30, when he reported that Duyker had gone out once, late
morning, to buy bread, milk and the Sunday newspapers. She waited until 3 pm
before Duyker appeared. She tailed him to a couple of popular beaches, where he
watched children dig sandcastles and play with kites. He went home at 6 pm.
Scobie rang her three hours later to say that Duyker was apparently watching
television. She told him to wrap it up for the day.

* * * *

She
had extra hands to help her from Monday, and a long week unfolded. At the
beginning and end of every day, she held a briefing, always starting with the
words, So, whats our guy been up to?

Variations on his weekend movements,
apparently, and sufficient to arouse their suspicions. Ellen herself reported
that she had seen him cruise slowly past a school playground one lunchtime and
again at going-home time. At morning recess the next day hed returned to the
school and parked next to the fence line, where an old woman wheeling a
shopping cart had stopped to watch the children at play, together with two much
younger women, the kind of idle, anxious mothers who live through their
children and haunt their childrens schools.

Duyker
actually joined
them,
she reported. Youd think that would have made them suspicious, but he seemed
to be sharing a joke with them.

Later in the week John Tankard
reported that Duyker had spent the whole lunch hour watching from his van. Finally
a teacher came out of the gate and tapped on his window.

What did he do?

Talked to her, then drove off. I
asked her what hed said. Apparently Duyker had a newspaper propped on his
steering wheel and was eating a sandwich. Said he was a tradesman on his lunch
break. She wasnt suspicious.

Scobie Sutton tailed Duyker on
Wednesday night. At Thursday mornings briefing he reported that Duyker had
watched netball training.

Netball again?

Scobie looked sick at heart. Kids
Ross age.

And after netball?

He went straight home.

Youre sure?

I removed a globe from his rear
lights so I wouldnt lose him in the dark.

Scobie, put it back again.

Its just a globe.

I dont want some gung-ho traffic
cop pulling him over and spooking him. Put it back.

Scobie sighed. Fair enough.

* * * *

Ellen
witnessed the next incident. At 3.45 on Thursday afternoon she tailed Duyker to
a dusty lot opposite a small church hall on the outskirts of Penzance Beach.
Several cars were waiting, some of the occupants leaning against their doors,
talking to each other. A few minutes after 4 pm a succession of school buses
pulled in, discharging kids from a range of far-flung secondary schools. One by
one the waiting parents drove away until only Duykers van was left, parked
among trees and almost invisible. She couldnt see Duyker.

Alarmed, she got out, peeked in his
window, looked around wildly. A sealed bicycle path wound through a scattering
of nearby pine trees. On the other side of the pines it veered past a set of
rusty swings and seesaws and around the perimeter of the football ground and
tennis courts. There were houses after that, backing on to open farmland. It
was a desolate stretch of land, choked with chest-high grass, blackberry canes
and shadowy hollows. A solitary figure was walking along the bicycle path,
almost one hundred metres ahead of Ellen, who recognised the uniform of
Woodside, a well-heeled private school on the other side of the Peninsula. The
girl wore the skirt very short, her long legs shapely but lazy under it, as she
scuffed along the path. Suddenly the girl stiffened, stood stock-still in the
centre of the path as Ellen hurried up behind her. Duyker was in a little
clearing, barely visible in the transfiguring light. What a clich, was Ellens
first thought, for he wore a long coat. He was hunched a little, his hands
busy, but Ellen could only speculate, for the girl was obscuring her view.