Challis - 03 - Snapshot (30 page)

A fair question. After all, theyd
found everyone else whod had cause to drive past Mrs Humphreyss house on the
morning of the murder: neighbours, the guy who delivered the
Age
and the
Herald Sun,
a woman distributing leaflets for her yoga and massage
clinic, a farrier, United Energy and Telstra linesmen, various tradesmen,
delivery drivers, a vanload of Cambodian peoplewearing conical straw hatswhod
been hired to prune the vines at a nearby winery. Even other taxi drivers.

But not Joseph Ovens.

He took someone to the airport last
Tuesday, Challis said, and just kept heading north, fishing gear in the boot
of his car. Didnt listen to the news all week, didnt read the papers. Came
back yesterday, learnt about the murder, and realised what hed seen.

He explained about Joe Ovenss visit
to the
Progress.
And the editor contacted me, he added.

The editor,
he said, to emphasise that his
relationship with Tessa Kane was formal now, and had been for some time.
Nevertheless, Ellen was gazing at him with an unreadable but complicated
expression, and he felt himself colour a little. She looked tired, edgy,
faintly crumpled in her slim-line jacket and trousers, her hair a little
untamed. He searched for another reassurance, but she cut in, some of her old
sharpness returning. How does this help us if his memories are hazy?

We use a hypnotist, Challis said.

They all gave him pie-in-the-sky
looks. Youre joking, right?

No.

For when?

Monday morning was the earliest it
could be arranged.

Ellen cocked her head. That will
blow the budget. How did you get the super to agree to it?

Challis gave her a wintry smile. I
havent told him yet.

Ellen watched him. Let me guess:
Tessa Kaneor rather, her newspaperis paying.

Correct, said Challis a little
heatedly, but before you all start scoffing, I want to point out that weve
found a hypnotist who has worked successfully with the police before, and Ms
Kane has agreed not to publish any details that might compromise the
investigation. But she does get exclusive rights to a story in Tuesdays
edition about a witness coming forward and undergoing hypnosis.

Ellen gave him a mutinous scowl.
Meanwhile Scobie Sutton was shifting in his seat, as if trying to find room for
his long, restless legs, but Challis read the discomfort as psychological. He
felt fed up with both of them.

Boss, Scobie said, what if that
puts the taxi drivers life in danger?

Ms Kane wont name him, or what he
does for a living.

No offence, but I think we have to
think twice about what we reveal to the press from now on, Scobie said,
folding his arms with an air of finality. Thats what I think.

Ellen? Challis said.

Ellen had been watching them with a
cold smile. Is Ms Kane going to be sitting in?

They dont trust her, Challis
thought. They think shell publish everything that Joe Ovens reveals under
hypnosis and the police can go jump in the lake.

They think Im still involved with
her.

He said tensely, Ms Kane has a
right to sit in. Shes paying for it, and has given me assurances.

Ellen shrugged. Suit yourself. See
you on Monday.

Challis clenched, wanting to have it
out with the pair of them, but told himself to count to ten, and barely
acknowledged them as they made their way out of the incident room.

* * * *

The
funeral was at eleven. Scobie Sutton took fifty photographs with CIUs digital
camera, then returned to the station and logged them in. Finally, tired of
working on the McQuarrie murder, he went in search of Natalie Cobb.

Andrew Asche? he said, outside a
flat in Salmon Street.

Er, yep. said, the kid in the
doorway.

You dont sound too sure.

Im Andy Asche, the kid said.

Scobie did what he always did, tried
to read the body language, tried to pick up early-warning signals that Andy
Asche was lying or feeling guilty. Ellen had the gift, Challis had it, but
somehow it had passed by Scobie. He got his results from doggedness and the
rulebook. Still, he suspected that he could train himself if he kept trying.

All he got was a neatly-put-together
young guy who was understandably nervous about finding a policeman on his
doorstep. That could be said of ninety-nine point nine per cent of the
population, guilty and innocent alike. Its when you met an individual who wasnt
that you took a step back, got out your gun, and called for backup.

Natalie Cobb, Scobie said.

A flicker in the kids eyes. What
about her?

Youre her boyfriend?

A non-committal shrug. Not really.
We used to hang out a bit. Whats she done?

I dont know that shes done
anything, Scobie said. It was chilly out here on the porch. Can we go inside?

Asche thought about it, then gave
in. If you like.

Scobie followed him through to a
sitting room in which everything was mismatched and second hand. Photographs of
flash cars on the wall.

You like cars.

Andy shrugged. Yeah.

And a computer buff, I see.

The kid really looked nervous now.
Hes been looking at porn, Scobie decided. There were sheets of screwed up
printer paper in a cane wastepaper basket under a table against one wall, an
impressive-looking computer on top of the table. A different sort of copper
would tighten the screws about now, just for the hell of itsearch what was on
the computer, go through drawers and the waste paper.

Andy Asche said, Has Nat been hurt
or something?

I dont know. Has she?

Im asking you, Asche said,
getting some of his nerve back.

And fair enough, too, Scobie
thought. Im no good at rattling cages. Her mother hasnt see her since
Thursday.

Thursday, the kid said flatly.

Correct. Have you seen her since
then?

Were not that close.

But have you seen her?

No.

Youre sure?

Yes.

When did you see her last?

Scobie watched Asche carefully. He
was a good-looking kid; fit, neat, an earring, thats all. Was he going to lie?

Havent seen her for a couple of
weeks.

Yes, he was going to lie.

So that wasnt you who picked
Natalie up outside the Frankston Magistrates Court on Tuesday?

Slowly dawning comprehension. Oh,
yeah, thats right, I forgot.

Where did you take her that day?

Back to school.

And have you seen her since then?

Andy Asche was adamant that he hadnt
seen Natalie Cobb since that day. Shes been kind of moody, he offered. All
that crap about her mother getting arrested, stuff at school, you know.

Scobie tried again to get the
measure of Asche. If she contacts you, ask her to call home, and ask her to
call me, can you do that, please?

Sure, no problem.

* * * *

Sunday
was another still, grey day. It should have been a day of rest for Pam Murphyrest,
in her case, meaning an opportunity to train for the triathlonbut shed
received official notification that she was to present herself for a formal
interrogation on Monday, and spent the day going over her notes and trying to
contact Tank, who wasnt at home or answering his phone.

She couldnt call the sarge. She
couldnt call anyone. It was a miserable Sunday.

* * * *

It
turned miserable for Vyner, too.

When the text message came, hed
been writing in his journal,
Let there be one constant in all of your fine
dreams
you own your own destiny.
Not originalit had been spouted at
an own-your-own-life seminar hed attended when he got out of the Navybut what
you did was adapt to or move on from what has already occurred. Then the
message came,
Got another job 4 U,
and he was suddenly well and truly
obliged to own his own destiny.

Vyner shot a message back.
OK.

And back came the details.

30 thou,
Vyner replied, upping his price,
half
up front.

* * * *

45

Monday
morning.

Tessa Kane, Joe Ovens and the
hypnotist had been shown to a room called the victim suite, so-called because
it was recognised that rape victims, lost or recently orphaned children and
distressed adults needed a non-threatening room for their waiting and grieving.
Soft lighting, comfortable armchairs, a box of cuddly toys in the corner. Coke,
Fanta and mineral water in the fridge, spirits in a locked wall cupboard. A
table and padded chairs, TV/VCR set with tapes of The Simpsons, The Wiggles
and
Notting Hill.

Joseph Ovens was old school and
promptly stood when Ellen entered the room ahead of Challis and Sutton, a smile
on his broad, pleasant face. He gestured with a walking stick as Challis
introduced him to the others. The legs a bit gammy today.

Must be the fog, or hanging around
rivers with a fishing rod, Challis said with a grin. He knew Joe: Tessa Kane
had recommended him. Joe often drove Challis to conferences, the airport and
police headquarters in the city.

Challis turned inquiringly to the
hypnotist, a short, plump woman with severely permed grey hair, who cast quick,
assessing looks at each of the CIU detectives and immediately took control.

My name is Fran Lynch, she said. Ill
state from the outset that I know very little about the case, or the witness,
or the results of the police investigation. I prefer not to know. I dont want
to bias my approach through foreknowledge, making assumptions, offering leading
suggestions or asking leading questions, for the very good reason that I dont
want any potential evidence thrown out of court. Fair enough?

Challis shrugged. Sure.

I have no idea what Mr Ovens will
say in response to my questions, I dont know if what he says will help you or
not, and I dont even know if hell make a good subject for deep hypnosisno
offence, Mr Ovens.

None taken.

Ovens exchanged a grin with Challis.
He was getting a kick out of this.

As for my credentials, Lynch
continued, I trained as a psychologist and therapist, developing an interest
in forensic psychology and hypnosis. I lived in New York City for many years,
where I trained alongside an expert who was used regularly by the police and
the district attorneys office. Here in Australia my hypnosis has covered
everything from helping kids stop chewing their nails to getting descriptions
that have put rapists and murderers behind bars.

Challis nodded. There was a
challenge in her voice, and he simply wanted to get the session over and done
with.

Then the curtains were closed, the
dimmer switch set to low, and Challis, Tessa, Ellen and Scobie sat in the
shadows and watched. Ovens was shown into a deep, enveloping armchair, with
Fran Lynch sitting opposite in a stiff-backed chair. She began in a low, gentle
voice:

Close your eyes and relax, you are
letting go, feeling comfortable, no tension, no pain...

Now Im going to count to three,
and on the count of three your arms and hands will feel pleasantly loose and
heavy.

You will continue to relax,
drifting, drifting, deeper, deeper, all of your tensions draining away, no
cares or worries, no fears or anxieties, just deeper and deeper.

The lead-up took twelve minutes, at
the end of which Lynch counted to three again and said, And now you feel
totally relaxed, wonderfully peaceful in mind and body, and its time to go
back to a particular morning, youre heading along Lofty Ridge Road, a familiar
route, and something you see lodges in your mind. There is a house that youve
passed many times before, a steep driveway and an unfamiliar vehicle. Perhaps
you could describe it to me.

His posture limp, his voice slurred,
Ovens said:

I was driving along the road there
where it runs higher than the level of the houses on either side, and theres
this house and driveway I always watch out for because the old lady who lives
there hires me to drive her to the shops or her doctor once or twice a month,
in fact I drove her to hospital for a hip operation, so I dont expect to see a
strange car in her driveway.
Two
cars.

Could you describe these two cars?

There was a newish silver Volvo
station wagon near the house, and an older car coming up the driveway towards
me.

Describe that car for me.

It was a Holden Commodore, mid
1980s vintage.

Can you be sure?

My son had one, his first car.

What else can you tell me about the
Holden?