Challis - 03 - Snapshot (19 page)

It will still be in the property
room, he said confidently. Ill see that its returned to you first thing
tomorrow. My apologies.

I hope that light fingers havent
been at work, Mr Challis.

Fuck you, thought Challis savagely.
He immediately made two phone calls. From the first he learned that Janines
car had been tested for prints but none were found to match those stored on the
national computer. Then he called a number at the regional headquarters in
Frankston, Superintendent McQuarrie answering on the first ring, saying
peevishly, I was just on my way to a meeting.

Sorry, sir, a quick question: when
you took Georgia home from the murder scene yesterday, did she have a mobile
phone with her?

Not that I recall.

According to your son, Janine had two
phones. We only recovered one.

Not to worry, McQuarrie said, Ive
seen her office, home and mobile phone records, and theres nothing on any of
them to arouse concern. Nothing dodgy, only business calls and calls to my sons
mobile and work numbers. Ill fax them through to you, if you dont have
themthough Id be disappointed if you dont by now, Hal, I must say. Obtaining
phone records is surely basic groundwork in a murder investigation.

In fact, Challis had requisitioned
Janines phone recordsexcept those for the second mobile phone, which he hadnt
known existed. He wanted to drive to Frankston immediately and slap his boss
about the face, demanding to know whether or not the man considered himself a
proper policeman, or even a policeman, or even a man of ordinary decency and
common sense.

He forced himself to calm down, but
his mind raced. McQuarrie must have gone swiftly to work in getting those phone
records, and as a superintendent he had considerably more juice than a humble
inspector. But what was he playing at? Was he trying to bury evidence that
might damage his sons good name, his own good name? What if hed discovered
that Janine had been phoning organised crime figures or toy-boys twenty times a
day? Would he have revealed
that
to the investigating officers?

Is he, thought Challis, our killer?

Sir, we need the second phone.

Why? Ive got a record of the calls
she made. All innocent.

I need to see the message bank,
Challis said patiently, the numbers listed in the memory, and the call list
for the most recent incoming, outgoing and missed calls.

Well,
I
havent got the damn
thing, McQuarrie said peevishly. Georgia didnt have it, Im sure of that.
Perhaps she gave it to Robert.

It was Robert who alerted me to the
fact of its existence, Challis said, trying to convey that he thought
McQuarrie should have done so, too.

Well there you are. It was
collected at the crime-scene and has either been misplaced or stolen since
then. Rosebud officers were the first to attend; have you tried them?

Fuck off, Challis thought. He
double-checked the record of calls made on Janine McQuarries car phonethere
were no calls to the police on the morning of her murder, and so Georgia must
have used a different phone. Then he spent a fruitless hour tracking down and
calling the Rosebud CIU and uniformed officers. They knew nothing of a mobile
phone being found with or near the body.

Finally he talked to Georgia.

I used Mums mobile, she told him.

Not the one she uses in her car?

Georgias voice went small, almost
scared. No, the one in her bag. Im not supposed to, but I grabbed it when the
man started chasing her. Sorry.

Nothing to be sorry for, said
Challis gently. Can you remember what you did with it afterwards?

There was a gasp and he pictured her
hand flying to her mouth. I left it on the ground!

Where?

In the trees where I hid!

Dont worry, well find it.

Challis thought about all of the
things that might have damaged the phone since the murder: rain, dew, the
chilly air, hungry rats, inquisitive magpies. Just then the fax machine
sounded: as promised, McQuarrie was sending through Janines phone records.
Challis snatched up the sheets, and there was Georgias call to 000. He noted
the number of the missing mobile phone, then drove to Mrs Humphreyss house in
the late afternoon gloom. The crime-scene crew had packed up and gone, and he
walked unimpeded down her driveway. After checking the signal strength of his
own phone, he dialled the number for Janines. A moment later, very faintly, he
heard it ring. A voice inviting him to leave a message cut in before he could
isolate the location.

He approached the stand of poplars,
which were leafless and choked by pittosporums. The latter would have promised
a reasonable degree of shelter to Georgia, he supposed. He pressed redial, and
this time found the phone, secure inside a small vinyl case deep in a tangle of
grass and fallen leaves. He opened the Velcro flap and let the phone slide into
his palm. It was a fancy, costly-looking thing; he couldnt figure out how to
work it.

He encountered Ellen Destry in the
station carpark, retrieving files from the back seat of the CIU Falcon. Our
esteemed leader returns, she said. She cocked her head at his loan car. Cool
wheels.

Its a heap of shit.

She laughed, then said with a slight
catch in her voice, So I guess you wont be needing a lift home tonight.

Challis gazed critically at the
rattletrap Toyota. Too soon to tell.

They went upstairs to CIU. You busy,
Ells?

You know Im busy. I think you
mean, drop everything at once and help me with something tedious.

No one likes a smart-arse. See if
you can figure out how to retrieve the numbers and messages stored in this
mobile.

Whose is it?

Janine McQuarries.

What makes you think Id be better
at it than you?

She was in a light, attractive mood.
You have a teenage daughter, he said, flourishing the mobile at her. I rest
my case.

No one likes a smart-arse, Ellen
said, taking the phone from him. She turned it over, pressed buttons, and gave
him a running commentary. Cutting edge. You can use this for calls, SMS,
e-mail, video, photography...

Challis watched her press more
buttons, watched her face change as she said, The secret life of Robert and
Janine McQuarrie.

Instead of showing him the tiny
screen, she attached the phone to the USB port of her computer, downloaded the
contents to her hard drive and made CD copies. Here, she said, handing him
one of the CDs.

What do you want me to do with it?

Youre such a dinosaur. Copy the
contents to your hard drive, then print it out.

She showed him how. What he saw put
Janines murder in an entirely new light: ten photographs, low-resolution shots
of men and women copulating, the women obscured, four of the men in sharp
enough detail to be identifiable. Two had flushed, straining, heavy-lidded
faces, one man was apparently emotionless, and the fourth was Robert McQuarrie,
showing his teeth in a kind of ecstatic snarl.

Oh boy, said Challis, shifting in
his seat. It was a powerful distraction, the snapshots, Ellens joshing
expertise and physical proximity.

We have to assume that Janine
downloaded these to her home or office computer, Ellen said, or e-mailed them
to herself.

Challis shrugged. The technology was
beside the point just now. He told her he was more interested in what had
driven Janine McQuarrie to take the photographs, what shed done with them, and
whether or not theyd contributed to her being murdered.

Ellen was with him every step of the
way. Blackmail?

Could be. He tapped the
photographs. But what are we looking at here?

Ellen snorted, naming and describing
a few body parts.

Very funny, he said, feigning
severity. In fact, the mood was electric and precarious.

She sobered and made an effort. Dim
lighting, she said.

Yes.

A suburban house.

So its not a photographic studio
or the set of a porn film?

She shook her head. Its someones
house, and theyre not making a film or posing for the camera.

Good. But is it a suburban house
that doubles as a brothel?

Weve both worked Vice in the past,
Hal. This is no brothel.

Why not? Challis demanded, wanting
Ellen to pin it down for him.

The body language, she said. These
people dont look like pros and their clients. They all seem a little
self-conscious. Look here in the background: people standing around watching,
and that looks like a bowl of condoms and that looks like a lubricant
dispenser. The pictures on the walls, the knick-knacks, the furniture, all
point to this being an ordinary house.

I agree.

Do you think the super knew Robert
and Janine were attending sex parties?

Challis shrugged. Could explain why
hes been obstructive and interventionist.

There was a pause. Hal, Ellen said
eventually, could you imagine being watched by a roomful of people while
having sex?

Challis couldnt imagine engaging in
any
kind of herd behaviour. No.

It doesnt turn you on?

No.

How about watching?

Unobserved?

No, watching in a roomful of
others.

No. Id still feel watched.

She seemed to sway towards him a
little. Thats pretty much how I feel about it, she said.

Then she destroyed the mood. You
know what we have to do, dont you?

He turned and looked at her. Talk
to Robert.

She shook her head determinedly. Talk
to Tessa Kane. And Im coming with you.

Thats not a good idea.

You dont trust her?

Challis didnt, not entirely. Robert
can tell us where this took place.

And Tessa Kane can tell us if its
the same party that she attended. Of course we dont show her anyones faces,
only photos that identify the location. If she does recognise the place, then
we start digging, making it clear to her that shell face obstruction charges
if she writes about the photos or tries to contact anyone.

You dont like her, do you?
Challis said.

Not much.

They stared at each other. If Im
there shes going to know its related to the McQuarrie investigation, Challis
said.

Then let me question her. Ill say
someone found a photo of themselves on the net and were investigating.

Challis sighed. Okay.

* * * *

28

I
didnt expect the big guns, Tessa Kane said, puzzled to see Ellen Destry
ushered into her office, late that Wednesday afternoon.

Meaning what? said Ellen curtly.

Hello, thought Tessa, the claws are
out. Shed often wondered if the other woman had been jealous of her
relationship with Hal Challis or troubled for professional reasons. Plenty of
cops disliked and distrusted the media. It would be fun to let Destry stew a
little, she thought, and said, Say hello to Hal for me, wont you.

Its possible weve got our wires
crossed, Ms Kane, Destry said coldly.

Keeping her manner blithe, Tessa
gestured for the other woman to sit, then returned to her swivel chair and
swivelled in it, smiling across her overcrowded desk. I assume youre here
about my tyres?

Your tyres.

Someone slashed them this
afternoon.

Destry cocked her head alertly.
Tessa, irritated to be on the receiving end of a CIU interrogation, with its
evasions and games, snarled, Cut the crap, sergeant. Whats this about?

Ellen Destry leaned forward, looking
pleased with herself. It could very well be about your slashed tyres.

Tessa said nothing.

Been up to something, have we? the
Destry woman continued. Stepping on toes?

You tell me.

I understand youve had hate mail,
anonymous phone calls, a rock through your window, and now this. Maybe you
offended one of your swingers.

Tessa went very still, her mind
racing, her skin tingling. Her article on the sex-party scene had been heavy on
atmosphere, mood and human interest, without in any way describing people or
place. No one reading it could possibly have identified himselfor herself. She
waited. Destry would show her hand soon.

And she did, fanning half a dozen
grainy photo enlargements across her desk. Do you recognise anything?

Tessa looked. The quality was poor:
dim lighting, amorphous shapes, no faces. No.

Look at the background, Destry
snapped. Furniture, light fittings, curtains, bedspreads, paintings on the
walls. She paused. Or maybe you recognise the odd hairy backside or sagging
tit.

Tessa knew where this was going. The
photographs had been taken at a sex party. Shed recently written an article
about a sex party. Ergo, there was a connection between the two.