Challis - 03 - Snapshot (35 page)

He could feel the panic in Andy
Asche. Maybe Im a good cop some of the time, he thought, or good in some ways.
And maybe thats sufficient.

* * * *

Andy
was on the beach, working on his tan, blending in, another dropout or
backpacker amongst thousands of them on the Gold Coast, where the sun never
set. Except how many beach bums his age went on-line at the local library to
read the Melbourne newspapers?

And how many had twelve thousand
bucks in their pockets? Twelve grand, his total savings. He could maybe string
that out for almost a year, but kiss goodbye to his dream of buying a BMW
sports car.

The way everything had conspired
against him. First, that cop, Scobie Sutton, asking if he was Natalies
boyfriend, telling him she was missing. Missing? Andy seriously doubted
thatold Nat was off somewhere getting coked out of her brainbut it unnerved
him to have the cops sniffing around. Then, a day after sending out the
blackmail demands, hed been reading an old copy of the
Progress
in the
shire canteen and there, on the front page, had been a photograph of a guy in
one of the photos hed found on the laptop. Robert McQuarrie. A cops son. A
senior
cops son. And, according to the story, grieving husband of a woman whod
been shot dead.

So anyone sending this guy a
blackmail demand is going to find himself a murder suspect, right?

Time for the lad to make himself
scarce.

It had been a low-speed rather than
a high-speed escape. Andy had gone straight to High Street and cleaned out his
savings account, all twelve thousand. Hed debated going home, but what if they
were watching his pad? He stood on the footpath, trying to do a casual scan of
High Street. Trouble was, everyone had looked like an undercover cop on
stakeout.

So he hadnt gone home. Instead, he
went to the travel agent and bought a $99 Virgin Blue one-way flight to the
Gold Coast. That was the high-speed part. Getting to the airport was strictly
low-speed. Hed walked to the station, waited an hour for a Frankston train,
got to Frankston, walked through the shops to the Nepean Highway, waited ninety
minutes for the airport mini-bus, ridden the bus for another ninety minutes,
then waited another two hours for his flight to leave. Wandered around the
airport shops while he waited, almost bought a change of clothes, then told
himself not to be stupid, nothings cheap at the airport. Hed go to a jeans
and T-shirt place on the Gold Coast and get kitted out there.

Hed stay a week on the Gold Coast,
and then head to somewhere north of Cairns. He could keep drifting north. It
didnt cost much to sleep on the beach.

* * * *

53

Ellen
appeared in the incident room just after lunch on Wednesday, a plaster on her neck,
moving stiffly, all of her loose-limbed grace vanished, fatigue lines and
pallor marking her face. But she was cheerful and itching to workand itching
to know how Challis was. She couldnt read him; he put her with Scobie Sutton,
checking the publics responses to Joe Ovenss descriptions of the Commodore
and the driver. Before very long she was sighing. It was soon clear thatas
usually happened when photofits and vehicle descriptions were released by the
mediathe investigation had moved from a position of no help from the public to
too much.

Heres a good one, she said,
reading from a message slip. To quote: Hypnosis takes the subject into
another dimension, and so anything Mr Ovens saw relates to a different time and
place.

Scobie grunted. Like her, hed
divided the message slips that had come in since Monday evening into two piles:
immediate attention and maybe. All would be checked, however: even the
crazy and the greedy tell the truth sometimes. Half of these want to know if
theres a reward, he said.

And the other half want to do the
dirty on their husbands, brothers or ex-boyfriends, Ellen said. She paused. Heres
another, female caller, wouldnt give her name: The man in the picture is a
well-known al Qaeda operative. He is wearing white face paint to disguise his
dark skin. She caught Scobies eye, hoping for a chortle, but Scobie merely
looked sad, as if he wanted to help all the crazy, lonely people in the world.
She wished she were doing this with Challis. With Challis you could have a
giggle. She put the womans message slip on the maybe pile, muttering, Your TV
is talking to you again, love.

She glanced across the room to
Challiss partitioned office. The door was ajar; he was going through a list of
numberplate combinations and matching them to 1980s Holdens. He looked drawn.

She kept sorting, then stopped. Ah,
she murmured.

Scobie looked up. Another sad
creature?

She ignored him, went straight to
Challis, knocking and pulling the spare chair up to his desk. He was on the
phone, saying, I deny that. She was good at her job, and hanging up. The
super, he said.

Ellen understood. He read Tessas
profile of Janine.

Challis nodded tiredly. Whats up?

Something promising. A call early
this morning from a mechanic in Safety Beach. Until about six months ago he
used to service a 1983 Commodore, off-white in colour, one pale yellow door. In
fact, he sourced the door for the owner from a wrecked car.

Owners name?

Nora Gent, an address in Safety
Beach, Ellen said.

She watched Challis scan a list, and
was relieved to see his mood lighten. Here it is, Nora Gent, registered owner
of a 1983 Holden Commodore, QQP-359. He paused. Registration has lapsed. It
was due for renewal four months ago.

She sold it? Dumped it? It was
stolen?

Who knows? But we have to talk to
her. He reached for the telephone directory and leafed through it, muttering, Gent,
Gent, Gent. Not listed.

She moved away? Got married and
changed her name?

Useless to speculate, Challis
said. Ill take Scobie and have a word with her.

No, Ellen said.

No?

Take me.

Your neck...

Im fine.

He shrugged. Grab your coat.

Challis drove, headlights on,
heading towards the other side of the Peninsula. It was mid afternoon on a day
that would struggle to reach 13 degrees. Another sea fret, the fog mostly burnt
away but hanging in dismal patches here and there over the highway and in the
hollows of sodden paddocks. Ellen hunched deeper into her coat, wishing Challis
would say something. The recent past seemed to fill the space between his seat
and hers like an intrusive backseat passenger. It was made up of guilt,
embarrassment and desire that she knew was reciprocated but could notand
should notplay itself out.

I have to grow up, she told herself.
Im married. I have responsibilities. And workplace romances are tawdry and clichd.

No, this one wouldnt have been, she
amended a moment later. This one would have been special. Wrong, but special.

Not feeling very much better about
the situation, she coughed and said, Hal, Im sorry about Tessa.

He nodded. You did your best. Im
sorry you got shot.

She wondered how to put it. You
must feel bad.

Of course I do. No one deserves to
die like that. She was leaving the job, you know.

I didnt know.

Ellen, he said, to put it
plainly, I was fond of her, Ill miss her, but there was no future for us.

And none for us, Ellen told herself.

Twenty minutes later, they were in
Safety Beach. Here the wind blew cruelly off the bay, and the mechanic took
them into his office, wiping his hands with an oily rag. Greasy thumbprints
everywhere, on invoice books, work sheets, the
Progress,
out-of-date
calendars, spare-parts brochures. Ellen was careful not to sit, but she didnt
mind the grime or the odours of oil, grease and petrol. There was something
solid and dependable about the mechanic and his garage.

I went back through the paperwork,
he told them. Nora Gent, lives right here in Safety Beach.

What can you tell us about her?

Cheerful, not that oldabout
thirty?and always paid her bill on time.

You fitted a yellow door to her
car?

Thats right. Hers had rusted
through, a cop magnetno offenceso I found her another door from a wreck.

Which door?

The mechanic stared at the ceiling
and back through the months. Drivers door, he said finally.

What else can you tell us about
her?

Like what? I cant see her shooting
someone, if thats what you mean. Lovely girl.

Her job, Challis said patiently, boyfriend,
brother, husband.

She worked for a travel agent, I
know that much, always trying to get me to book a holiday. Ill get you a good
deal, shed say.

Family and friends?

Dont know, sorry.

You say she stopped coming to you
about six months ago. Do you know why?

Wouldnt have a clue. I have
short-term customers and long-term customers. They dont always tell me what
their plans are. But if you want me to hazard a guess, she sold the car and
moved away.

Or moved away and took the car with
her?

The mechanic shook his head
emphatically. The cars still around, only shes no longer driving it.

Ellen stiffened. Still around?

Yeah. I see it here and there, off
and on.

Driving by? Stopping off for fuel?

Just here and there.

Whos driving it?

Some guy.

Name? Address?

Wouldnt have a clue, sorry.

Can you describe him?

Let me see now... Not that old,
shaved head, a bit scruffy and overweight.

Is there anything else you can tell
us?

Thats about it, sorry.

Youve been a great help, Challis
said.

And they drove around to Nora Gents
address, where a tall Ethiopian woman showed them a small white card on a
hallstand inside the front door. On it, in a bold purple hand, was the name
Nora Gent and an address in New Zealand.

* * * *

54

Challis
briefed them first thing on Thursday, wearing a dark suit and a black tie.
Tessa Kanes funeral was at ten oclock, and he was one of the pallbearers. He
stood in his customary position at the head of the long table and felt a little
disassociated from the room, his detectives, and the investigations. Mugs of
tea and coffee steamed around the table; a basket of croissants sat within
reaching distance. No sea fret today, just a brisk wind pushing billowy cloud
masses across the face of a low, weak sun.

Nora Gent, he began, aged
twenty-seven, now residing in New Zealand. She works for JetAbout Travel and
they sent her to their Auckland office six months ago. She owned a 1983
Commodore, off-white with a pale yellow door, but sold it to her cousin before
leaving the country. Nathan Gent, twenty-three, ex-Navy, served in the Persian
Gulf in 2003, where he lost a finger in an accident. After that he became
unstable, and left the Navy. Settled in Dromana, nothing further known about
him. Apparently he didnt get around to registering the car in his name, and in
fact let the registration lapse.

Like the super said, Scobie
muttered, were not dealing with brain surgeons. Are we pulling him in?

Challis nodded. We have warrants
for his arrest and to search his house and the car.

Lets hope he was dumb enough to
keep the car.

Challis rested his hands on the back
of his chair and said, The thing is, he may have done a runner. The New
Zealand police werent able to contact Nora Gent until this morning. I spoke to
her by phone a couple of hours ago, got her cousins address, and drove past to
check it out. No car, curtains drawn, plenty of junk mail crammed in the
letterbox.

Ellen drained her coffee and reached
for a croissant, but the movement strained her wound, and she winced and
thought better of it. The car bothers me, she said, easing back in her seat. Its
not been spotted since the murder, not abandoned, not burnt, so has he driven
off in it, made his way to far north Queensland?

If hes as dumb as we think he is,
then yes, Scobie said. Maybe he fled in it the same day, then dumped or
torched it later on some back road the other side of Mount Isa.

Ive put out a nationwide alert,
Challis said. But youre right, we may never find it.

Or he saw the description in the
paper, a Mornington DC said, and fitted stolen plates and a door that matched
the colour of the car.

Thats possible, too, Challis
said. But first we need to get inside his house, arrest him if hes hiding
there, and search it and his life from top to bottom. He paused. The Navy
link needs further investigation.

They gave him inquiring looks. First,
he said, both Gent and Lowry served at the Navy base, and may have known each
other. Second, several handguns are missing from the Navy armoury. Lowry had
motives to kill Janine McQuarrie and Tessa Kane. Did he hire Gent and the
shooter? Is the shooter also ex-Navy? Did our shooter buy any of the missing
guns? Did Lowry or Gent broker the deal? Its worth tracking their movements in
the Navy, cross-referencing with the dead armourer and anyone who might have
left the service under a cloud.