Challis - 02 - Kittyhawk Down (25 page)

Challis waited, hating the sounds of the clocks, and five minutes later Jelbart came back with a slip of paper.

'Found it.'

'Great,' Challis said, feeling relief. He looked at the name that Jelbart had scrawled for him. 'I was sure this was a wild goose chase.'

Jelbart glided back into the shadows between his clocks and Challis left the shop, wondering why, if Trevor Hubble of St Kilda was the Flinders Floater, his name had never shown up on the missing persons sheet.

Dwayne Venn had scarcely been released on bail when he struck again. At least, Ellen Destry believed it was Venn. The MO was slightly different: last night, Friday, a forty-year-old married architect had been having sex with his eighteen-year-old receptionist in the back seat of his car at a secluded turnoff beside the Devil Bend reservoir when they'd been interrupted by a man wearing a hooded zip-up jacket, baseball boots and nothing else. He'd forced them to have oral sex with each other while he watched and jerked off into a condom, and then he'd robbed them and thrown away the keys to the architect's car.

Now Ellen had them in separate interview rooms at the station. It's Saturday, they complained, you have no right… But Ellen prevailed and learnt that, yes, they'd heard a vehicle drive away shortly afterwards, but didn't know what kind or where it had been parked. No, they hadn't heard it pull up— but they were in the throes, so why would they? Ellen thought.

No, no distinguishing marks. Just an impression of an ordinary male groin. Legs? Spindly, said the architect. Strong-looking, said his receptionist. Penis? The architect had scowled, the woman had blushed, both had shrugged.

'Well, sometimes they're tattooed or wearing a ring in the foreskin,' Ellen said, wanting obscurely to embarrass the happy couple.

Face?

It was too dark, they told her. The hood was too concealing.

Did he ejaculate?

Apparently.

Did he remove the condom?

With a tissue. Shoved it all into his pocket.

How had he threatened them?

Mainly his manner. Very scary.

Did he have a knife?

No. A metal bar, like a tyre lever.

Did he take any souvenirs from you?

Eh?

Items of clothing, clippings of hair, that kind of thing?

Only our money.

So the details were sufficiently different to suggest someone other than Venn. Still, his alibi had to be checked. Ellen sent the architect and his receptionist home and questioned each of the Tully sisters.

Lisa first.

'He was with you the whole time? You're sure about that?'

Lisa nodded. They were in one of the interview rooms along the corridor behind the staff canteen, Ellen asking the questions, Scobie watching Lisa Tully stony-faced.

Donna Tully was waiting two doors down, drinking stewed black tea, watched over by another CIB officer. Both sisters were adamant: Dwayne Venn had been at home with them last night.

Is he sleeping with both of them? Ellen wondered.

'What's your relationship with Dwayne?'

'Whaddaya mean?'

'Is he a friend? Boyfriend? Fiancé? Boarder?'

'He's me sister's boyfriend. Whaddaya take me for?'

'You're close to your sister?'

'She's me sister.'

'Would you lie for her?'

'Whaddaya mean?'

'If she asked you to lie to the police to help or protect her,' Ellen enunciated heavily, 'would you do it?' And if you say
Whaddaya mean
? to me again I'll tip you out of your chair.

'What kinda question's that?' Lisa demanded. 'Lay off, why doncha. I'm the victim here.'

That had been Lisa Tully's refrain for the past ten or eleven months:
I'm the victim here
. Well, she
is
a victim, Ellen thought. Her two-year-old daughter was missing, presumed dead. But that had happened last year and had nothing to do with Dwayne Venn's nocturnal activities in the lovers' lanes of the Peninsula.

'Lisa, are you trying to protect your sister? Maybe she was ordered by Dwayne to provide him with an alibi for last night, and she in turn asked you to confirm the alibi. It's not really a lie. You've just got your sister's best interests at heart.'

Lisa Tully frowned suspiciously across the chipped laminex of the table as though Ellen had laid out a slippery plan requiring a level of concentration that might easily defeat her.

'Dunno what you mean.'

'So Dwayne was with you both the whole night. He didn't slip out for a packet of smokes or a six-pack of beer? Didn't meet his mates in the pub for an hour or so?'

'He stayed home, I'm tellin' ya.'

'What did you all do?'

Shrug. 'Had Maccas for tea, watched TV for a while.'

'Did you go to sleep in front of the TV at any stage?'

'Nup.'

'What was on?'

'The footie show.'

'Who do you go for?'

'Collingwood.'

'So do I,' said Ellen warmly. 'Who was on the footie show last night?'

Shrug. 'Dunno. I was in the kitchen.'

'The kitchen? Doing what?'

'Brad come round to see us.'

'Brad Pike?'

Belligerent. 'So? He's allowed'a.'

'You two are friends again?'

Shrug.

'You no longer think he was responsible for your daughter's disappearance?'

Shrug.

'You were in the kitchen with Bradley Pike. Where were Donna and Dwayne?'

'I told ya. Lounge room. Watching TV.'

'Didn't you and Brad want to watch TV?'

Shrug. 'Brad and Dwayne, you know…'

'They don't get on?'

'I dunno.'

'How long were you in the kitchen with Brad?'

'A while. Dunno.'

'What were you doing?'

Lisa shifted in her seat and the fluorescent light was harsh on the unhealthy face, limp bleached hair and pierced neck— the piercing new, inflamed, leaking. Ellen guessed that Brad Pike had brought around a couple of sweetheart joints for them to smoke.

'Just talking,' Lisa said finally.

'What about?'

'Stuff.'

Why not investigate the disappearance of Jasmine Tully last year as well as the alibi of Dwayne Venn last night? Ellen thought, and so she said, 'Do you like Brad?'

Shrug.

'Did he leave before or after Dwayne?'

'Before.'

'So Dwayne
did
leave?'

'No, I mean, Dwayne was there the whole time. Brad was there only a while.'

'What time did Dwayne leave?'

Lisa Tully hardened and said, 'You can't get me to say he went out last night so don't even try.'

'What time did Brad leave?'

'I dunno. Nine? Ten? No later.'

The architect and his receptionist had been attacked at eleven pm, so Brad Pike would not be able to say whether or not Venn had gone out. Ellen would question him, but she knew a dead end when she saw one.

She fared no better with Donna Tully. The older sister was sharper than Lisa, tapping long scarlet talons on the table as she snapped off her denials and waited out each of Ellen's questions.

So, the police had Venn on the Easter attack but not the earlier ones and not last night's. And a different MO last night, but Ellen knew in her bones it had been Venn. She wished she also knew who'd given them the tip-off that had given them Venn in the first place.

Ellen tracked Pam Murphy down in the canteen and said, 'Quick word, finish your coffee.'

Five minutes later, Pam Murphy was sitting in the hard chair across from Ellen's desk in the cubicle on the first floor. Murphy returned her gaze steadily.

'We encourage our officers to find informants,' Ellen began.

Pam nodded warily.

'But there are guidelines.'

'I know that, Sarge.'

'We like them to be registered.'

'Yes, Sarge.'

'You handle your own informant so long as a senior officer is there as a kind of cut-off or backup or consultant.'

'Yes, Sarge.'

'Except when it's a one-off tip from someone who's not likely to be in a position to offer information on a regular basis.'

Pam went very still. 'Sarge, is this about Dwayne Venn?'

'It is.'

And then, without prompting or pressure, Pam Murphy said simply, 'It was Brad Pike who told me about Venn.'

'Bugger,' Ellen muttered.

Meaning, although Bradley Pike had provided information good enough to trap Venn on Easter Saturday, he was not reliable and in general had too much at stake when it came to Venn and Venn's relationship with the Tully sisters.

'Bugger.'

'Yes, Sarge,' Pam said, as though she was disappointed too.