Challis - 04 - Chain of Evidence (40 page)

Managed to speak to AR. Hes
unwilling to make further statements to police. Had been shown porn videos and
magazines depicting him having sex with his abusers, feels deeply ashamed etc.

Asked ARs parents if they wish to
swear out a complaint against Snr Sgt Kellock. Declined. Asked AR to identify
abusers from a photo array. Declined, but gave me the name of another abused
youth, Billy DaCosta. Talked to a snitch who told me where to find DaC

Ellen felt cold all over and the
dark night pressed darker around the house on its quiet back road. If only van
Alphen had come to her instead of finding Billy DaCosta himself. But hed
always been a loner, despite his apparent matiness with Kellock and men like
Kellock. And if hed always considered Kellock a friend, hed want to make
pretty sure of his facts before accusing him. Perhaps he feared that Kellock
would withdraw his support over the Nick Jarrett shooting, even change his
story.

The fear corroded her. She called
Challis, and he answered immediately, sounding alert. Sorry to call you so
late.

Somethings wrong.

Weve got a rotten apple, she
said.

She told him all about it. What do
I do?

Make absolutely certain of
everything. Cover your back.
Watch
your back. Make multiple copies of
every report, file and conversation, and secure them in separate locations.
Trust no one. Ill be back as soon as I can.

* * * *

51

At
lunchtime on Monday, John Tankard stood in the canteen serving line, watching
but not registering the wisps of steam escaping from the stainless-steel trays
of Bolognese sauce, lasagne and Irish stew. He felt wretched: another weekend,
nightmares and depression, so bad that hed barely made it through. Hed
thought hed beaten the nightmares and depression. Clearly not. He could put it
down to the stress of the job, but knew better: he was bitter and sad because
hed lost his dream car.

Not lost, exactly. It was in a mates
lock-up garage, where it would never be found by the finance company.

He took his bowl of lasagne to a
corner table and picked at it. Someone cast a shadow over the table. Hello,
Tank.

Pam Murphy sat, beaming at him
across the greasy Formica. Im back, she said.

He noted sourly that she wasnt in
uniform. That made him feel worse. Detective duties, he said flatly.

Thats right.

Whats the Iron Lady got in store
for you?

Thats what he called Sergeant
Destry, whod always made him feel small, and more than once bawled him out
over trifling incidents.

Cut it out, Tank, Pam said, in a
tone that said grow up.

She looked good: leaner, more
assured, and ready for business. Somehow he knew shed blossom in CIU and he
hated her for it. He also wanted her more. He couldnt fight his body language:
his eyes flicked over her with pathetic desire and longing, as of a lover left
far behind, and she registered it, too, the bitch, unconsciously turning her
trunk away from him, crossing her legs and shielding her breasts. One body
reacting to another. He wished he wasnt so overweight.

He changed the subject. Shitty
thing, what happened to Van.

He saw her eyes fill with tears. Yes.

You going to the funeral tomorrow?

Of course. Arent you?

He shifted in his seat, then said,
his voice imploring: Have you, like, heard any whispers?

What about?

You know, that he was, you know...

He saw a flicker in her eyes. She
had
heard things, or had suspicions. I dont fucking believe it, myself, he
snarled.

She struggled to give him a bright,
releasing smile. Same here. Good to see you again, Tank. Must go.

Tank watched her leave the canteen,
watched Senior Sergeant Kellock hold the door for her, big grin and a welcome
back. Then Kellock was crossing the room toward him like a purposeful bear. Constable
Tankard.

Tank stood awkwardly. Sir.

Sit down, son, sit down.

Tank complied, Kellock sitting where
Murphy had sat. He wondered what Kellock wanted, and felt his legs turn to
jelly. They know Ive been selling information to the media, he thought. He
opened and closed his mouth a couple of times gaspingly.

John, said Kellock in a kind uncle
voice, you did the right thing last week, telling me that Sergeant van Alphen
had found a witness.

Sir, it just slipped out. I assumed
you knew, actually. I would never have

Of course I knew, son. Dont fret
it.

Thank you, sir.

Its important at the senior level
to keep abreast. Thats an important part of my job, John, making sure I keep
in the loop.

Sir.

So if you ever hear anything you
think I should know aboutlike Sergeant van Alphens secret witnesseven though
I already knew then you must tell me. Because sometimes the right hand doesnt
know what the left is doing.

Sir.

You did the right thing. Its not
your fault he was shot, remember that. The fucking Jarretts shot him.

Yeah, I know, said Tank. Sir.

There was a pause. Kellock said, Another
thing, JohnIve been looking through Sergeant van Alphens paperwork.

At once Tank knew what this was
about, but he said innocently, Sir?

Trouble over a certain car?

Tank blurted it out, the car, the
finance company coming after him for the money and wanting to repossess.

I mean, my cars on a black list,
sir. It cant be registered anywhere in Australia, so what good is it to the
finance company? I dont know why they want to repossess.

But you are refusing to give it to
them? They do have a legal right to it.

Tank swallowed, barely concealing
the shiftiness and desperation he was feeling. Actually, sir, he said, his
voice not quite making the grade, some bastard stole it.

Kellock put his huge head on one
side. Incredible.

Tank said nothing.

How did Sergeant van Alphen get
involved?

Sir, he went with me to the finance
company. You should have seen him, sir. He told them they had no legal
standing, they loaned me money on an illegal car. Failed to do due diligence.
Left themselves open to investigation for their part in a car re-birthing
racket. It was bloody magnificent, sir. He told them if they wanted their money
to go after the caryard proprietor. Unreal.

Kellock was spoiling his grim
exterior with a small smile. We lost a good man.

We did, sir, said Tank, welling
up, his throat thick with sudden grief.

But thats where it ends, as far as
the police are concerned, understood?

Sir. Tank also took that as an
obscure warning not to contact Evening Update ever again. Cross my heart,
sir.

You have dragged us into what is
essentially a personal matter. Use a lawyer next time.

Understood, sir.

Back to work, John. Bike patrol,
okay?

Aww, sir, Tank protested.

John.

Sir.

Tank went back to work. Bike patrol.
Another of Kellocks bullshit innovations, like that road safety campaign a few
months back, when he and Pam Murphy had driven around in a little sports car,
rewarding courteous drivers. Bike patrol entailed zipping around Waterloo on a
bicycle, an exercise aimed at keeping down bag snatching, car theft and theft
from parked carscrimes that had escalated in recent years, what with Waterloos
paradoxical growth in social distress
and
commercial activity. People
were getting poorer but Waterloo also had a new K-Mart now, plus a Coles, a
Ritchies and a Safeway, all with vast, choked car parks, a boon to thieving
kids from the Seaview estate.

Hed barely completed a circuit of
the foreshore reserve parking area when his mobile phone jangled. He
dismounted, answered the call. The well drying up? growled the producer of Evening
Update.

Tank said, the words simply popping
into his head and feeling right, I cant do this any more.

Oh, I
see.
A crisis of
conscience.

Tank hated the guys tone and
fluency. ItsIjust...

But the line had gone dead. Feeling
good, and bad, Tank pedalled across town to the Safeway supermarket, and five
minutes later he nicked fifteen-year-old Luke Jarrett. Lukes car of choice was
a 2004 Hyundai Accent, which was parked in a shadowy region between the side
doors of the supermarket and a couple of huge metal dump bins.

Is this your car?

Ow! Youre hurting me. Pig.

Luke Jarrett was dark, lithe,
darting. A kid whod seen everything in his short life. Tank didnt waste any
time. He took the kid deeper into the shadows, to where the garbage stank,
fluids stained the ground and papers blew about. He began systematically to
punch the boy: testicles, stomach and face. He knew how not to leave bruises.

You want to wake up to yourself,
mate. Had enough?

The kid didnt answer but was crying
softly, snot and saliva smearing his face.

Where were you intending to take
the car?

No reply. Tank beat him again.
Eventually the boy said, Korean Salvage.

Tank was astonished. The guy who ran
Korean Salvage was the father of one of Waterloos ace under-18 footballers. Get
your sorry arse off home, Luke, he said. Keep your trap shut and I wont
arrest you. That means you do not warn Korean Salvage.

He watched the kid run, doubled
over, in the general direction of High Street, then snapped on his bicycle
clips again and pedalled around to the industrial estate. He found Korean
Salvage, and there he talked long and hard to the proprietor, pointing out
various pros and cons, eventually coming to a mutually beneficial arrangement
with the guy. In return for rebirthing Tanks hitherto doomed Mazda, the proprietor
of Korean Salvage would not be reported to CIU for car theft and related
offences.

Tank finished patrolling at five
that afternoon, his bum sore from the saddle of the bike, his meaty legs
aching, and saw Pam Murphy return one of the unmarked CIU Falcons. Knocking
off work for the day?

She shook her head cheerfully. Ill
be on for hours, yet. A detectives work is never done.

She said it jokingly. At once Tank
thought of a way to wipe the joke off her face.

* * * *

52

Challis
was at RSPCA regional headquarters. Hed buried his father on Saturday; now it
was time to finish this last thing. Sadler was in his office and not pleased to
see him.

I hear they arrested Paddy
Finucane, he said bluntly.

Yes.

So why do you want to see me?

Challis checked the outer office. It
was almost 5 pm and they were alone.

What are you doing? demanded
Sadler. I think youd better leave.

Challis closed the office door
soundlessly and crossed the room, leaning both hands on Sadlers desk, towering
over the man. Where were you? he murmured.

What?

Gavin Hurst was a liability. Mood
swings. Antagonising people,
including
his work colleagues.

You cantI wasnt.. .Paddy
Finucane...

Paddy Finucane didnt kill him, no
matter what those hotshots from Adelaide think. I know it and you know it.

If the police think he did it, thats
good enough for me.

That anonymous call: you invented
it. There was no call.

No! Check with the receptionist.
She logged it. The police took a copy with them.

You got someone outside this office
to make the call.

I wasnt even here that day!

Exactly. You were in the Bluff,
shooting Gavin in the head.

No!

Sadler was looking wildly past
Challis, hoping for deliverance. The world outside was ticking over benignly,
slowed by the springtime sun. You cant do this.

Ill ask it again, where were you?

Down in Adelaide.

Can you prove it?

Yes! Dozens of witnesses. My
daughters nursing graduation.

You got someone to do your dirty
work for you, then.

No!

Challis was going through the
motions. Hed fantasised that Sadler was the killer, over the past few days,
but now, facing the man, no longer believed it. Gavins camera?

What about it?

When did you take those photos of
Paddys place?

The only time I was at his place
was days later, and I had my own camera.

Challis pulled a chair up to the
desk. He sat, and was less intimidating. When was Gavins camera passed back
to you?

Sadler, relieved but still jumpy and
indignant, said, Weeks later. They were going to give it to Meg, but all the
photos on it were work related, so it came to me.