Challis - 03 - Snapshot (31 page)

I noticed the number plate because
it was sort of partly my initials and my phone number.

At this point, Ovenss finger began
writing, tracing numbers and letters on the soft leather arm of his chair.
Lynch gently slipped a pad of notepaper under his hand and wrapped his fingers
around a pen. Ovens wrote, then stopped.

What else did you see?

The driver had to brake suddenly or
he would have collected me. He was youngish, shaved head, puffy kind of face.

Any other distinguishing features?

There was a long pause, and Challis
wondered if Ovens had gone to sleep. Then, in a slow, even voice, Not that I
can recall.

Challis scrawled a hurried note and
passed it to Lynch:
Ask if he noticed the drivers right hand.

Lynch scowled, pondered, and said, Did
the driver have both hands on the steering wheel?

Joe paused and said slowly, Yes.

Did you notice anything about them?

I dont follow you.

Challis could see that Lynch was
struggling not to lead Joe. She lost the struggle and said simply, Was he
wearing gloves, a watch, a ring?

Joe, in a fog, said slowly, No.

Challis sighed, disappointed.

And the other man? Lynch went on. Where
was he sitting?

The passenger seat.

Describe him for me, please.

His face was obscured by his arm. I
think he was putting on or taking off his cap, a black beanie. But he bothered
me, the taxi driver said. They both bothered me.

And the car, Mr Ovens. Can you be
more specific about the car?

This was the crucial question, and
Challis leaned forward intently. He hadnt wanted to disturb the rhythm of the
session, or offer Lynch leading material, but he did need to know if Ovenss
description reinforced Georgia McQuarries.

Joe Ovens grunted, as if finding
himself on familiar ground, and recited, Holden Commodore, early to mid 1980s,
mag wheels, a dirty white colour, tinted windowsan amateurish job because you
could see the bubbles under the filmand rust on the sill of the rear door but
not the drivers door. That was a kind of pale yellow, like theyd got it from
a wreckers yard.

Challis exchanged a smile and nod
with Ellen and Scobie, their differences temporarily forgotten.

You saw the car clearly, Mr Ovens?

In his dull voice, Joseph Ovens
said, I know all about cars. Plus I saw the drivers side of the car, then the
front number plate, as I passed it.

Ten minutes later, it was clear that
Lynch would get nothing more out of Ovens. Challis gathered the tape, which
would be transcribed immediately, and the notepaper on which Ovens had jotted
those letters and numbers he could remember seeing on the Commodore:
OT?
,
hed written,
?59.

* * * *

46

Ellen
was impressed by the session, despite herself, but Tessa Kane had been cool
towards her, and afterwards, as they were all filing out of the victim suite,
shed overheard Challis ask Kane out to dinner, to say thank you. Yeah, right.

She hadnt heard Kanes reply, but
the image of the pair of them seated in a restaurant burned inside her. So now,
back in the incident room, she was sharp with Challis. Did this Joe character
remember correct letters and numbers? Are they in the correct sequence? What if
the O was a Q,
or the T was a J or an I? What if the plates were stolen
from another vehicle, or are from another state?

Challis was defensive. What you say
is true, he said, and so we try all combinations. We also check the stolen
car register and ask them to cross-reference to reports of stolen plates.

Youd think theyd have dumped or
torched the car afterwards, but there have been no reports.

But earlier in the week we didnt
know what make and model of car we were looking for, said Challis impatiently,
and we only checked locally for abandoned or torched vehicles.

They could still be driving around
in it.

Then issue a general
be-on-the-lookout to all stations, he said heatedly.

Keep your shirt on. The description
of the driver might get us somewhere.

They glanced across to the corner of
the big room, where Scobie Sutton was seated with Joe Ovens before a laptop
screen. Earlier in the year, Scobie had attended a training course aimed at
helping the police generate computer likenesses based on witness descriptions.
This was his first opportunity to use it.

Georgias certain about the missing
finger?

Challis nodded firmly. Absolutely
certain.

Shes just a kid, Hal, Ellen said,
still stroppy, but also aware of the irony: playing devils advocate was often
what she did when they were working together, and working well.

Challis eyed her warily. She shows
the missing finger in several of the drawings. She was adamant, and I didnt
have to prompt or lead her.

There was an awkward pause. What
are you doing now? she asked.

Challis began to head towards his
office, saying over his shoulder, Transcribing the hypnosis tape onto my
laptop. Then when Scobie and Joe have agreed on a likeness, Ill install that,
too.

And not let the laptop out of your
sight?

And not let it out of my sight, he
said.

Ellen returned to her desk and began
to search the databases. Plenty of crims with missing fingers but none who
matched the other search parameters, none associated with the Peninsula,
organised hits or getaway drivers. Even so, she thought, easing the kinks in
her back, it was lucky that Joe Ovens had driven past Joy Humphreyss house at
the moment the killers were leaving. Anyone else might have driven past and
even glanced down the driveway, but the old taxi driver knew the elderly woman
who lived there, and that she was in hospital. We lay personal maps over
standard maps, Ellen thought. A taxi driver mentally maps the terrain with
details about clients and traffic hazards, a police officer with the locations
of unforgettable arrests, criminals, victims and crimes, and burglars with
getaway routes, sensor alarms and guard dogs.

* * * *

It
took Scobie an hour to create a face that satisfied Joseph Ovens, after which
hed fed the details into the data base, and now he was scrolling through
photographs of convicted crims whose features matched the computer-generated
likeness, Ovens saying, They all look the same after a while.

Scobie knew what Ovens meant. There
was
a certain sameness in the endless cascade of faces. Objectively speaking,
these burglars, con-men, rapists, junkies, armed robbers and murderers
possessed an endless variety of noses, chins, scars, eyes, lips and hairlines,
but they all had something in common: a deadness, a soullessness, behind the
eyes.

* * * *

Half
an hour later, Challis took Joseph Ovenss description of the Commodore and his
photofit of the driver to the media liaison officer, who would release both to
all of the newspapers and TV and radio stations. Then he attended to his
in-tray for a while: minutes of meetings he could barely remember; agendas for
meetings he intended to avoid; amendments to standing orders; organisational
flow chartsthe term information cascades catching his eye; risk assessment
papers; Ministry feedback on service performance indicatorswhatever that
meant; strategy papers on paedophilia and cyber porn; a report into the rise of
secretive right-wing organisations with names like Australia First and The
Borderers...

Then his door opened and McQuarrie
barked, Inspector? A word.

The man looked apoplectic. Challis
followed, not hurrying, murmuring to Ellen as he passed her desk, I bet his
spies have told him about the hypnosis session.

She gave him a rueful smile and
whispered, Good luck.

He found McQuarrie opening the door
to a conference room and barking Out, at a clutch of probationers, who were
cramming for a test.

Challis followed him in and closed
the door. McQuarrie went to the window, and swung around, hands behind his
erect back, lifting a little onto his toes and down again.

Sir?

Correct me if Im wrong, but Senior
Sergeant Kellock informs me that you had someone hypnotised this morning? And
your girlfriend attended?

Challis counted to ten. Thats
correct.

Why a hypnotist?

To help the witness remember what
hed seen.

I warned you, McQuarrie said
tightly, to keep a lid on the more delicate aspects of the investigation. I
dont want my sons photo plastered all over the media. I dont want his
involvement in these blasted sex parties made public. And you go and hire a
hypnotist with the connivance of Tessa Kane?

It occurred to Challis that
McQuarrie was blustering because he was afraid. Too much was happening, too
quickly, and he couldnt control the fallout. Youre well informed, sir.

McQuarrie stepped abruptly away from
the window, knocking a plastic cup of coffee or tea to the floor. Industrial
grade carpet, a tufted, nightmarish brown-grey, and unlikely to register a
stain. Whats the trade-off?

Trade-off, sir?

Your girlfriend gets to publish all
the details ahead of the metropolitan press? A scoop, in other words?

Ms Kane is not my girlfriend. And
the witness approached her first. She has promised not to compromise the
investigation in any way. Shes agreed to describe the hypnosis session as a
mood piece only. Meanwhile Ive released a photofit image of the driver, and a
description of the car, to all of the media outlets.

Which will drive the killers deeper
underground. Look what happened after that anonymous tip-off story: a
reverberating silence.

This time we have more concrete information,
which should stir memories.

Do you trust Ms Kane? Trust the
press in general? Dont be naive, son.

McQuarrie was suddenly Challiss
kindly uncle. Challis went very still.

Anyway, McQuarrie said, drawing
out a chair and indicating for Challis to follow suit, what do hypnotists,
psychologists and clairvoyants have to do with proper police work?

They have their place.

There was silence. McQuarrie brushed
lint from his sleeve. What transpired?

We have the make and model of the
car, a partial numberplate, and a description of the driver.

Does it tally with what my
granddaughter told you?

Yes.

I suppose thats something.

Challis waited.

Youre treating this information
seriously?

Im treating it as having
potential, sir, said Challis carefully. Ill submit it to standard
investigative procedures, as I would any information.

That last sentence sounded clumsy in
his mouth, as if hed swallowed one of McQuarries memos.

Good. Anything else makes us look
inept, as if were clutching at straws. McQuarrie paused. But getting back to
this rag of yours.

Rag?

The
Progress.
There have
been rumblings.

When McQuarrie failed to elaborate,
Challis said, What rumblings, sir, and what do they have to do with me?

McQuarrie sat back in his chair and
touched his fingertips together. Everything about the man is staged, a clich,
Challis thought, as McQuarrie said, Its felt, in certain quarters, that Ms
Kane has been overstepping the mark.

McQuarrie paused, but this time
Challis didnt fill the silence. He gazed at the superintendent, forcing the
man to elaborate.

The material she chooses to publish
is divisive, and potentially libellous.

McQuarrie stopped. Challis said, Since
when is that a police matter, sir? Has there been a formal complaint of actual
wrongdoing?

Its a police matter, McQuarrie
snarled, when a senior officer has an affair with the editor and passes
sensitive information to her.

Challis felt a pulse of anger, quick
and hot, and it must have shown in his eyes, for McQuarrie swallowed and braced
himself in his chair.

Dont do anything youll later
regret, Hal.

Challiss voice, when he found it,
was a low, dangerous rasp. My private life is no ones concern but my own. As
for police matters, I would never jeopardise an investigation. Never.

But shes your girlfriend. You pass
things on to her.

No, said Challis. Sir, whats
this about?

The
Progress
hasnt always
been a friend of the police, McQuarrie said, but well leave that aside. He
seemed to search for the words. I was wondering if you could have a quiet word
with Ms Kane.

Something about McQuarries wet
mouth and eyes then said
nudge nudge, wink wink,
as if he were offering
Challis a blokey endorsement for having sex with Tessa, for what might be said
in bed before, during and after love play.