Challis - 04 - Chain of Evidence (36 page)

They didnt have the bike, though. It
will be at the bottom of the bay, Ellen had said last night. We might prove
he had a bike on board, but not that he had Katie Blaskos bike.

Now Scobie heard her ask Duyker to
account for his movements on the afternoon Katie Blasko was abducted.

Duyker shrugged. Out and about,
probably. He shifted in his seat, fishing for his wallet. It was a fat wallet,
the leather worn, the cotton stitches unravelling. And full of business cards,
receipts and paper scraps. Scobie and Ellen watched as he leafed through it
all, wetting his index finger laboriously, loving every minute of it. Here we
are, he said eventually.

He slid a cash register receipt
across the table. Ellen poked it into position with her fingernail. Scobie
peered at it with her. At 4 pm on the day Katie Blasko was abducted, Peter
Duyker had been buying a photography magazine in a city newsagency,
one-and-a-half hours away by car or van. My filing system, he said
apologetically, leaves a lot to be desired.

* * * *

45

Then
Duykers lawyer arrived and advised Duyker to say nothing more. Nothing more?
echoed Duyker. I havent said anything to begin with.

How long will you be holding my
client, Sergeant Destry, assuming you dont charge and remand him?

The full twenty-four hours.

Is that necessary?

Its necessary, said Ellen flatly.

The door closed on Duyker and the
lawyer. In the corridor outside the interview room, Scobie began to apologise. Im
sorry, Ellen. I wasnt thinking.

No, you werent, were you? We still
dont know if the DNA found on Duykers skin magswhich might belong to someone
else, incidentallycan be matched to the DNA found in De Soto Lane, or to the
degraded DNA found on Serena Hanlon.

I thought Id throw a scare into
him.

Well you didnt, Ellen said.

Perhaps she was being unfair. The
truth was, she was finding it hard to get Hal Challis out of her head this
morning. Hed phoned her with the news about his father, and she could still
hear the desolation in his voice, the particular timbre of his grief and
sadness. A hint of longing and loneliness, too? She thought so. She wanted to
be with him, but could hardly do that, for hed be too distracted, she didnt
know his family, and she had important investigations to run. And so he resided
in her mind.

She made for her office. Maybe DNA
evidence would help solve this case, but the lab was dragging its heels, and
who knew what appalling errors of procedure it was making. She cast back in her
mind, Duyker sitting comfortably across from her in the interview room. No bite
marks on his fingers or forearms. Maybe Sasha had bitten him on the leg.

She was leafing desultorily through
paperwork in her in-tray when the lab called. That paint chip, one of the
techniciansnot Riggs said.

Yes?

We traced it to a line of childrens
bicycles manufactured by Malvern Star between 2003 and 2005.

Yes! said Ellen.

We aim to please.

Ellen pressed the disconnect button
of her desk phone and sat like that for a while. She should have made a more
concerted effort, sooner, to find the bike. Everything that had happened,
especially finding Katie alive, had blinded her to obvious matters. She
released the button and called the media office, arranging for a wide
circulation of descriptions and photographs of the bike. She was in a kind of
trance now. She was stepping inside Duykers skin, not Duyker the
paedophileshe knew that side of himbut Duyker with an unwanted childs bike
on his hands.

This Duyker would have left the
bike, helmet and schoolbag in his van after taking Katie Blasko to the empty
house, but he wouldnt have wanted to keep them for long. There were remote
places he could dump everything, but what if he were seen by someone. Also, a
newish bicycle found in the middle of nowhere is going to raise questions,
especially if the police have been saying theyre looking for one just like it
(here Ellen squirmed in her seat). Dumping the stuff at sea would require a
boat. No, she could see Duyker leaving the bike in a public place, where
children playedthe sort of community where claiming an abandoned bike as your
own was not a matter of dishonesty but of keeping your trap shut and thanking
your lucky stars. The helmet and schoolbag he could have dumped anywhere.

Her only hope now was a firm ID from
van Alphens street kid, Billy DaCosta. She went downstairs. Van Alphen was not
in his office, or Kellocks. According to the front desk, he hadnt checked in
yet. She made for the sergeants lounge. Kellock was there, flipping through a
newspaper, turning the pages in typical style, as if to tear them out. He
looked up at her with barely controlled patience. Kel, she murmured, turning
to go out.

Sergeant Destry, Kellock roared.

She turned back.

What is it?

Im looking for Van.

Maybe I can help you.

She tried not to show her
frustration. I need a statement from his witness. I need to take it myself,
face to face. I cant take Vans word for it that this kid of his can identify
Clode and Duyker.

Kid?

A street kid called Billy DaCosta.
Van Alphen found him and was supposed to be bringing him in this morning.

Kellock tossed the newspaper aside
and lumbered across the room to her. He spoke, a gust of coffee breath: Look,
Vans one of the good guys, but this shooting board investigation of the
Jarrett shooting has got him worried.
Im
worried. He could lose the
plot, crack under the pressure. Go easy on him. Give him time.

Hes running around finding
witnesses and collecting evidence, said Ellen exasperatedly. If its useful,
great. But I cant afford to waste time on red herrings, or
fail
to act
because he cries wolf once too often.

Leave it to me.

He could run into some nasty
people, doing what hes doing.

I know that.

Ellen cocked her head. Unless hes
protecting them.

She hadnt meant to say it. You
always divided the officers you worked with into those who made you
uncomfortable and those who didnt. You did it every time you were posted to a
new station or squad. It didnt mean the men or women who made you feel
uncomfortable were dishonest in the strictly legal sense, or unlikely to watch
your back in a tricky situation, but you knew to be wary of them. You didnt
offer them anything of yourself. Kees van Alphen had always made Ellen feel
uncomfortable. Hal Challis had always said, Be careful of that guy.

Now Kellock had his head on one
side. Ill pretend I didnt hear that.

Ellen blushed and to defuse the
moment said, Its all a bit too murky for me, Kel, this case.

Leave it to me. Ill track him down
and reel him in.

Thanks.

She returned to her office and found
Duykers lawyer waiting in the corridor. Sam Lock was short, damply overweight
in a heavy suit, the knot of his yellow tie a fat delta under his soft chins.
In all other respects he was hard and sharp. A quick word, Ellen?

She led him into her office. He
looked around it amusedly. Hal Challiss office, if Im not mistaken. How is
the good inspector?

Get on with it, Sam.

I want you to let my client go.
Fraud charges? A few hundred dollars here and there? Resides locally?

Resides all over Australia, Sam. Sure,
he owns a place in Safety Beach, but he likes to travel, stay a while, rip off
star-struck mothers of young childrenamongst other things more seriousand
move on again.

Lock examined his fingernails. Like
all lawyers, he was full of little diversions that masked or delayed his real
intent. Police officers did it, too. Ellen waited.

You think he abducted Katie Blasko?

Ellen gazed at him, wondering how
much to reveal. Sam Lock would battle furiously on behalf of a client but he
also had small children, two boys and a girl. He had something to do with it,
even if not directly. He was there in that house with her. We also suspect him
of the rape and murder of a child back in 1995, and are currently matching his
movements nationwide with unsolved rapes and abductions of young girls.

He said you have DNA.

Yes, Ellen said neutrally.

But is it his? You dont have
strong enough grounds to compel a sample from him, and his DNA is not on file
anywhere. I wouldnt get your hopes up even if you had a sample, and matched
it, because your forensic science lab is prone to stuffups. Witness the Neville
Clode debacle.

Ellen watched him carefully. Who
told you about that?

Lock shrugged.

You do know that Clodes late wife
was Duykers sister?

That was mentioned.

Doesnt it bother you? Sure, the
lab has admitted instances of cross contamination, but what if there wasnt any
contamination in
this
instance?

It all goes to reasonable doubt,
Ellen. Youll need something stronger if youre going to charge my client with
Blasko. Meanwhile hes going to walk on that chickenshit charge you brought him
in on.

Meanwhile you keep your children
where you can see them, Ellen snapped.

Locks eyes flared, then he was
impassive again, and Ellen watched him walk away. Moments later, her mobile
rang, Kellock asking her to meet him on the Seaview Park estate.

* * * *

46

Ellen
stared at the body. The blood, bone chips and brain matter had slid down the
wall here and there, and were beginning to dry. A couple of flies had got into
the house. The left side of van Alphens skull had taken the brunt of the shot:
massive damage that still left enough of the face intact to confirm identity.
Scobie Sutton was sketching the scene in his notebook. Like Ellen, and the
crime scene technicians, he wore disposable overshoes.

Ill leave you to it, said
Kellock, grim-faced in the doorway.

They were friends, thought Ellen,
and now he was to inform the super.

Who found him?

I did. Went looking for him, as I
said I would, and recognised his car.

What do you suppose he was doing
here?

Kellock shrugged. Doing his own
thing.

Doing his own thing, and look where
it got him. Do we know who lives here?

I looked through the bills,
Kellock said, indicating a shallow fruit bowl piled with papers, unopened
envelopes, spare keys, a hair tie and a half packet of potato chips sealed with
a clothes peg. Every house in the land has a receptacle like that, Ellen
thought.

And?

Rosemary McIntyre.

Ellen cast back in her mind. The
name doesnt mean anything. Does it mean anything to you?

No. I called it in and they ran it
through the computer. Solicitation, twelve years ago.

Where is she?

Your guess is as good as mine.

When Kellock had left, Ellen looked
for a calendar or diary but found nothing. Then the pathologist arrived and she
watched him examine the body. She realised that her mouth was dry and she wasnt
feeling her customary remoteness. She was well aware that the job had
desensitised her. That was necessary. She was quite able to attend an autopsy
and cold-bloodedly note the angle of a knife wound or gunshot, knowing that
that information might catch a suspect out in a lie (He tripped and fell on my
knife), but right now her eyes were pricking with tears. Van Alphen was a
fellow police officer. She blinked and looked keenly at Scobie Sutton. Your
first dead copper? she murmured.

Yes.

Upsetting.

I regret every violent death,
Ellen.

Sometimes he could sound like a
churchman or a politician. Come off it, Scobe.

He was a nasty piece of work.

He didnt always follow
regulations, Ellen conceded.

He and Kellock shot Nick Jarrett in
cold blood, Scobie said, and more or less warned me not to investigate too
hard.

Ellen blinked. There were spots of
colour on her colleagues gaunt cheeks, his stick-like figure inclined toward
her, draped in his habitual dark, outmoded suit. She backed up a step. The
technicians and the pathologist were looking on interestedly but hadnt heard
the outburst.

All right, settle down, she
murmured. Theres an estranged wife and daughter, I believe?

Scobie wiped his mouth. I sent
someone to inform them.

Thank you.

They stood for a while, watching the
pathologist, who finally released the body. The local funeral director took
charge then, overseeing as the body was loaded onto a gurney and taken out to a
waiting hearse for transfer to the morgue. The pathologist sighed and pulled
off his latex gloves with a couple of snaps.

Time of death, doc? Ellen asked.

Time of death. Its always time of
death with you people.