Challis - 03 - Snapshot (15 page)

He flushed, scowled and looked away
impotently, then swung his head back to her. Do you want to know how
my
day
has been?

Why dont you tell me, she said in
an uninflected voice.

While you and lover boy have been
swanning around the Peninsula, mixing with the rich and powerful,
I
have
been measuring skid marks and collecting chips of glass and paint at accident
sites. Ive been sloshing around in blood and motor oil, getting my hands
dirty. Welcome to the real world, Ellen.

This was another old refrain, life
as a competition. She didnt buy into it but packed the dishwasher and settled
herself in front of the TV, feeling small and alone. Alan joined her. At once
she returned to the kitchen and phoned Larrayne, who was distracted and
uncommunicative. The conversation faltered and then Alan was there, tapping his
watch face to tell her this was becoming a costly phone call. Have to go,
sweetie, she said. Want to speak to Dad?

It was a small victory and she
relished it. Alan took the phone from her and talked for a few strangled
minutes, clearly counting the mounting dollars and cents. Eventually he hung up
and said ferociously, Why do women say in thirty minutes what can be said in
five?

Shes our
daughter,
for Gods
sake, Ellen said.

She dodged around him and returned
to the sitting room, where The 7.30 Report was discussing legal definitions
of the provocation defence in cases of domestic assault and homicide. Poor
bastard, said Alan feelingly of one of the studio guests, a league footballer
and notorious wife-basher.

What would you know, muttered
Ellen, aware that she sounded about fifteen.

Alan shrugged, strange, conflicting
expressions passing across his face, as though he wanted to strike her and felt
he had the right, as though he was scared to think he couldnt control himself,
and as though he had access to secret knowledge and courses of action. Fed up,
and not trusting herself, Ellen walked to the kitchen pantry and dug out the
jar of chocolate biscuits, eating one standing up at the sink and staring out
at the night.

Dont I get one? her husband said.

Wordlessly she nudged the jar
towards him.

Cat got your tongue?

Ellen was saved by the wall phone
above the bench. Hal! she said, her eyes hard on her husband now.

Challis explained, in his mild,
pleasant rasp, that his car was stuffed and asked if she could give him a lift
to work in the morning.

A lift? Sure, Hal, pick you up at
eight, she said, her voice animated for her husbands sake and her own.

* * * *

21

At
six-thirty the next morning, Challis walked along the dirt roads near his home,
lubricating his stiff joints. He passed an orchard, a berry farm and a
plaything vineyard owned by a Melbourne stockbroker. Challis was the odd one
out. He had a salary and did nothing with his two hectares but watch the grass
grow and turn the fruit from his old plum trees into jam every summer.

Another sea fret this morning, and
apparently nothing and no one about, only the blasts of the foghorns, carried
mournfully to him from the Bay, reminding him that he was not alone in the
world. He increased his pace, his body responding, until he came to a bend in
the road and face to face with a kangaroo, as surprised to see it as it was to
see him. They faced one another for a taut moment; it was a big roo, at least
two metres high, and probably from the small mob rumoured to live in uncleared
land near the old reservoir. Then the animal turned powerfully, leapt a fence
and was swallowed by the fog.

Challis went on, his heart
hammering, to the top of the hill, passing the farm where, as always, four
outraged dogs followed him along the fence line. There was no relief from the
fog. He turned around and went back down the hill again, while the foghorns
called and condensation splashed fatly on the fallen leaves around him. He
thought about the child, Georgia, running from the killers, hiding, then
emerging again to call for help on her dead mothers mobile phone, pressing
000, her tongue tip showing in the corner of her mouth. Hed listened to the
tape yesterday: a precise little voice, very clear about her name and the name
of the street, Lofty Ridge Road, and the street number, and assuring the
operator that yes, her mother had been shot dead.

He wondered about the gun. Were the
killers local? Had the shooter obtained the gun locally?

And who was their anonymous caller?
Someone associated with Christina Traynor? Janine?

Finally, someone would have to
interview Mrs Super some time today.

He stopped at his mailbox, retrieved
the Age
and a litre of milk, and walked up his driveway, avoiding the
boggy lawn. At the back door he removed his boots and went inside to shower,
dress and make coffee and toast.

He breakfasted where a patch of
sunlight slanted across his kitchen table, flicking through the
Age,
which
carried the news of Janine McQuarries murder on the front page, together with a
couple of sidebars, one on himself and the other on the anonymous caller. Hed
finished and was rinsing his cup and plate when he heard a vehicle and peered
out of his kitchen window, which looked onto the gravelled turnaround where
visiting cars parked. Ellen Destry. She was early.

She knocked on his back door and he
stood aside to let her in. Youve got pittosporum outside your front gate,
she announced. And blackberries.

Have I?

You need Pam Murphy. She belongs to
a crowd called the Bushrats, who go around clearing weeds on public land.

Ellen was cheerful but bore the
chilly air with her, leaving behind cool, damp eddies as she passed him.

Coffee?

Thanks. I love your coffee. Sorry Im
early.

Youre early because you hope Ill
offer coffee.

Nothing wrong with your deductive
instincts.

She strolled ahead of him to the
kitchen, unbuttoning her jacket, and that single action, and her easy
familiarity with him in his house, rattled Challis. Again he wanted to touch
her. What was wrong with him?

It was scarcely easier in the
kitchen. She hung her jacket on the back of his usual chair and sat, relaxed
and confident, asking, with a kind of bright-eyed gaze, Can you froth the
milk?

Sure.

Challis busied himself with cleaning
out the espresso pot and filling it with water and fresh coffee grounds. Something
to eat?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw
her pat her trim stomach. She looked sharp and fresh: tailored pants, a
long-sleeved top, wings of fair, staticky hair swinging about her shoulders. Better
not.

I have croissants in the freezer.

Oh, God.

He laughed, microwaved a frozen
croissant, and placed it before her on a plate, together with a pot of his own
plum jam. She reached out a hand challengingly.

Go ahead, he said. Give yourself
a sugar hit.

I think I will.

She tore the croissant into pieces,
spread jam and began to eat, her tongue darting after crumbs. Then she froze: a
car had pulled up in his driveway. She glanced tensely at the window. Expecting
visitors?

At that moment, he guessed exactly
what was uppermost in her mind: she was fearful that her husband had followed
her. It didnt matter that her presence here was warranted. Alan Destry was the
type of man to harbour suspicions and act on them. Challis touched her wrist
briefly, got up and went to the window. He didnt know the car. Meanwhile,
whoever had been driving it knocked on his front door. Probably Bible bashers,
he murmured. As he left the room he heard her get to her feet and move across
to the kitchen window.

He opened the front door to two men,
who were interchangeable in their plain grey suits and cropped hair, but one
man was thin, the other bulky. Both looked as if theyd been up for hours. They
flashed Federal Police ID and one of them said Christina Traynor while the
other watched him.

Federal?
thought Challis. Have I got myself
into a jurisdictional tussle? More and more did he feel that he was living
through the clichs of TV cop shows. We could have done this in my office, he
said mildly.

No we couldnt, said the thin man.

Challis shrugged. Whats your
interest in Christina Traynor?

Wrong question, said the thin one.
Whats
yours?

Lets do this inside, Challis
said, and he took them through to his kitchen. Ellen sprang to her feet and
watched guardedly.

The men stopped, glanced inquiringly
at Challis, who thought that he might as well make everything clear. This is
Sergeant Ellen Destry, from Waterloo. My car has broken down and shes giving
me a lift to work. In fact, we should probably leave now.

No chance, said the thin man.

Challis gave him an empty smile. Then
may I offer coffee? Proper coffee, not instant.

We didnt know youd have company.

If this is about Christina Traynor,
Challis said emphatically, then Sergeant Destry stays. Shes part of the
investigation and knows as much as I do. So, coffee?

They shrugged, waited stonily while
he brewed the coffee. Grab a seat, he said, keeping it light.

The bulky man sat; the thin man didnt
but started the pissing competition immediately. He crossed the room and
pointed to a photograph that Challis had tacked to the corkboard on his kitchen
wall. Dragon Rapide, he said. Youve been restoring one just like it in a
hangar at the local airfield for the past five years.

So youve done your homework,
Challis thought. Youve read my file and talked to people and know me inside
and out. I, on the other hand, dont know a thing about you, which puts me at a
disadvantage. He sat at the table and waited.

Eventually the thin man sat and
said, You accessed the national computer yesterday afternoon at five
thirty-five.

Yes, about then.

Ill ask again: whats your
interest in Christina Traynor?

Challis gazed at the man. Clearly by
keying in Christina Traynors name hed raised a red flag in the federal
system. He wondered idly why they hadnt expunged Traynors name completely but
let mugs like him get as far as the screen that read Access Denied, and then
thought it was precisely so that they could catch people like him. Christina
Traynor was apparently need-to-know, and he didnt need to know.

He sipped his coffee. They sipped
theirs, and the bulky man nodded approvingly and said, Good brew.

Inspector, prompted the other man.

Ellen acted then, pushing Challiss
copy of
the Age
across the table towards them. Did you know we had a
murder here yesterday?

There was no response. A rural
address, Challis said, the houses a few hundred metres apart. The owner, an
elderly woman called Joy Humphreys, was in hospital at the time. The victim is
much younger, and apparently has no connection to the house or Mrs Humphreys.
We dont know what she was doing there. But several weeks ago, Mrs Humphreys
had a houseguest for three weeks, her goddaughter, Christina Traynor.

Were wondering if she was the
intended victim, Ellen said, cutting in seamlessly.

It seemed like a long shot,
Challis said, but obviously now were not so sure.

They often did this when
interrogating suspects, set up a smooth rhythm, a double act, but the two men
waited expressionlessly, so he went on. Mrs Humphreys was tired and in a lot
of pain yesterday. Weve yet to interview her properly. But she did say that
Christina stayed for three weeks in April and then flew to London. Thats all
we know at this stage. Naturally I had to run her name through the system.
Access denied. Who is she? Has she done a runner?

They ignored both questions. The
thin man said, What do the neighbours say? Any strangers or strange cars
lurking about?

Nothing, so far, Ellen said. Weve
put in a request for Mrs Humphreyss phone records.

Well also need to see those, the
bulky man said.

The thin one said, Do you trust
your officers, Inspector?

Ellen bristled. Challis gestured
irritably. Why dont you tell us whats going on.

They seemed to be gauging how much
to reveal, or how far he and Ellen could be trusted, or how bent they might be.
He was sick of the bullshit, and reached for his phone. Im going to call my
superintendent. The woman shot dead in Mrs Humphreyss driveway is his
daughter-in-law.

He saw the surprise in their faces.
Maybe they werent locals but had flown in from Sydney or Canberra last night.
He dialled. McQuarrie was abrupt. Yes?

Sir, Ive got two federal police
officers with me. I trod on some toes when I ran Christina Traynors name
through the system last night. Theyve yet to tell me what its about.

McQuarrie was jubilant. Dont you
see? he demanded. Janine was lost. Wrong person in the wrong place at the
wrong time.