Challis - 03 - Snapshot (39 page)

Where are we going?

Pam said impatiently, That car,
Tank, didnt you see?

See what?

Stopped to let that truck reverse
just now.

Oh.

Tankard straightened, seemed to make
an effort. Look at that
guy-

A man tying a banner to a picket
fence:
Devilbend Reservoir.
Out.

So?

Guerrilla tactics, Tankard said,
rubbing his meaty hands together. Come back after dark and rip it down.

Pam thought he might, too. So much
for free speech.

Tankard scowled and muttered, an
inarticulate man full of impatience and insupportable burdens. Pam thought he
was probably representative of most people and there was no point in probing
into his views. There, she said, taking her hand from the steering wheel and
pointing.

The township of Baxter was behind them.
They were passing through farmland again, but halfway up a long slope ahead of
them was a cyclone fence and a vast yard of wrecked cars. The red Mitsubishi
slowed, indicator light blinking, and pulled into the parking area outside the
main gates. Peninsula Wrecking, according to a faded sign.

Pam pulled in alongside the red car
and introduced herself to the startled driver, a pleasant-looking man in his
sixties. He was delighted to get the bag of rewards, but protested that he didnt
deserve to.

My wing mirror, he said, pointing.
Swiped it off getting petrol.

Pam appreciated the irony: it was a
roadworthy item. Even so, sir, youre a courteous driver, and I just know youre
going to fit the replacement mirror before driving away from here.

She grinned, he grinned.

She returned to the car, but Tank
was standing at the fence, looking in at row after row of cars, some damaged,
others mere shells. We couldnt stop for a few minutes, could we?

What for?

Busted window winder.

Pam pictured the wallowing,
barge-like station wagon in which he carted around young footballers and their
gear on Saturday mornings. Sure, why not.

While Tank asked for directions in
the office, Pam wandered. The huge lot had been sectioned according to make and
type of vehicle and was a scroungers dream. Down one row she went, up another.
She was struck by how few of the cars were damaged. Many were simply old or had
no resale value except as a source of secondhand parts. The sun had taken its
toll on the paintwork, the rain on exposed metal, and so at first she didnt
register the significance of the dirty-white 1983 Commodore sitting on its
axles in mud and grass in a row of similar sad old wrecks.

* * * *

Challis
spent Friday morning away from the incident room. The breaks were coming
quickly now, and he felt impatient. He visited the car impound and watched for
a while as the forensic techs printed the Commodore found by Pam Murphy and
examined it for fibres, hair and traces of blood and other fluids. Then he
spent a frustrating hour speaking to Nathan Gents neighbours. When he returned
to the Waterloo police station it was to a scene of chaos at the front desk. At
least twenty people were lined up waiting for customer service.

He poked his head around Kellocks
door. Whats up?

The senior sergeant shrugged his
massive shoulders tiredly. Maybe this doesnt apply to you hotshots in CIU,
but the Police Association has announced a go-slow.

It was hard to determine where
Kellock stood on the matter. Ah, Challis said.

The usual: better pay rates and
working conditions. And so we have no unpaid overtime, no court attendances
except by subpoena, bans on management duties, the assigning of custodial
nurses rather than police members to medicate prisoners, and the issuing of
discretionary warnings or summonses to appear in court, rather than penalty
notices.

As if Kellock were reading from a
press release. Challis sympathised with the Federation, always had. He nodded
briefly, then headed for the stairs, encountering Pam Murphy in the corridor. Sir,
she said, walking on.

Wait.

Sir?

That was a good job you did,
spotting the Commodore. Well done.

She blushed. Thanks. Sir.

Challis nodded and headed upstairs.

* * * *

An
hour later he called a briefing.

Heres what we have: on Sunday,
Ellen discovered a shallow grave in Myers Reserve. Were fairly certain the
body recovered at the scene is that of Nathan Gent. The age is right, the
clothing, the missing ring finger on the right hand. We expect dental
confirmation soon. We know that Gent had boughtbut not registeredhis cousins
1983 Holden Commodore. Two features of this car match the car seen leaving the
scene of Janine McQuarrie s murder by the taxi driver, Joe Ovens: a mismatched
drivers door and part of the registration. As you know, Georgia McQuarrie
described the driver as missing a finger on his right hand, but didnt
recognise a photo we found in Gents house because it showed him when he was
younger, with long hair. The neighbours describe him as overweight, with a
shaved head. Since then his sister has sent us a more recent photograph, and
both Georgia and Joseph Ovens are certain that hes the man driving the
Commodore.

He paused. One of the civilian
clerks came in with a container of freshly brewed coffee. Challis thanked her,
waited for her to leave, and went on:

Meanwhile, weve had a ballistics
report. Dr Berg recovered a 9mm slug from the body.

He showed them photographs. Scobie
Sutton sat up, alert. Doesnt match the slugs recovered from Janine McQuarrie
or Tessa Kane, by any chance?

No.

Scobie slumped. They all did.

However, Challis said, smiling at
them, there is an anomaly common to all three sets of slugs: a faint but
telling scrape mark. Our shooter used a suppressor. Either he didnt fit it
properly each time, or theres a slight flaw in its design or manufacture.

He used different pistols but the
same suppressor, Ellen said.

Thats the theory, Challis said.

So all three shootings are related.

Yes.

Our shooter tops Janine, a
Mornington DC said, and later tops the guy who drove himcleaning up loose
ends?

Challis caught Ellens compassionate
glance, and gave her a brief smile. If he hadnt let the media run with the
anonymous caller story, Nathan Gent might still be alive. But right now he
couldnt afford to think about that. Then later he shot Tessa Kane, he said, probably
acting alone this time. The motives still unclear, except that the sex parties
link both women and both murders.

Challis let them brood on that, then
told them more about Nathan Gent. After he lost his finger he was offered a
desk job, but declined, electing to leave the Navy instead. According to one of
the psychologists who assessed him at the time, he was deeply depressed. Maybe
that grew into disaffection. He leaves the Navy and hooks up with other
disaffected ex-Navy typesor at least one other, our shooter.

He watched them absorb that, and
went on: Then hes hired to be the driver on a hit, and makes a mistake, uses
his own car. Realising his mistake, he sells it to a wrecking yard near Baxter.
No plates, but the owner remembers Gent and gave a good description. As yet,
he said, glancing around the big table, theres no useful forensics. Plenty of
printstoo many. That car was stripped of its seats, steering wheel, radio,
seatbelts, rear view mirror, glovebox lid, virtually everything. But the labs
running the prints as we speak, so lets hope they find a match to someone whos
in the system.

Were sure its the car?

Yes. The plates were removed but we
matched the VIN and engine numbers to the car owned by Nora Gent.

All we need is one print, boss.

True, but maybe our shooters never
been printed. Maybe he wore gloves the whole time. And wed expect to find
Nathans prints.

They absorbed that. They had half an
ear to the phones in the room. It was like waiting for a watched pot to boil.
In fact, they were standing to file out of the room when the call came. Challis
motioned for them to sit, then replaced the receiver and grinned at them. Weve
got our one print, he said. Apparently our man checked his appearance in the
mirror attached to the sun visor. He paused. Trevor Vyner, done time for
assault and armed robbery. And, he said, hes ex-Navy.

They all seemed easier in their
chairs now.

* * * *

61

By
late afternoon they had an address for Vyner, search warrants and an arrest
warrant. Four Armed Response officers would go in first. Challis supposed they
were necessary, but they made him nervous. The country had almost zero gun
ownership, so what did they do from one day to the next but train and
fantasise? Over-trained and under-experienced, they had nothing to model their
behaviour on but American movies. He watched their swagger in the foyer of
Vyners building, young, trigger-happy men dressed in the latest street combat
gear. They knew who Challis was: the cuckold whose wife set him up to be
murdered by a fellow cop. They knew who Ellen was: the copthe
female
copwhod
let herself get shot. Well, that wasnt going to happen to
them,
their
gum-chewing jaws seemed to be saying.

Challis was almost glad that Vyners
flat was empty. Hed asked for a watch on the place while the warrants were
being sworn, and nobody had been spotted going in or out, but that hadnt meant
Vyner wasnt there, prepared to shoot it out to the death. He stepped through
the splintered doorframemanagement had made a key available, but that wasnt
the Armed Response teams styleand quickly prowled through the four spare,
unloved Ikea rooms. He guessed that Vyner carried the habits of teenage
detention, Navy life and prison with him, and had little room or need for
possessions.

You can go now, he said, tired of
edging around big men who were armed to the teeth.

What if he comes back?

Post two officers in the corridor
and two in the foyer, Challis said.

They filed out, their uniforms and
equipment creaking and clinking. Challis stood at the window and looked out
over the acres of new apartment buildings that had reclaimed some of the old
factory districts beside the river. Hed lost touch with the city. Hed walked
along Southbank with Ellen just now and wondered who the people were, eating in
the outdoor cafes, walking along the river path and watching the jugglers. He
guessed there was a lot of disposable income around nowadays. You didnt see it
in Waterloo.

Hal, said Ellen, coming up beside
him. The setting sun was warm through the glass, bringing on a drowsy kind of
desire in him, and he almost put his arm around her.

Find something?

These, Ellen said.

She showed him a couple of
notebooks. Challis flipped through them, stopping at key phrases here and
there. Some kind of anti-government, fundamentalist, Aryan survivalist nutcase?
he surmised.

Ellen grinned. Can you be more
specific?

Doesnt make him any less
dangerous.

No.

Here you are, said a voice.

They turned. McQuarrie stood there,
brisk, overcoated, slapping fine leather gloves against one palm. Off to a
Rotary dinner, guessed Challis sourly.

Sir.

I understand youve identified the
man who shot Janine?

Yes, sir, said Ellen, stepping
forward as if to forestall criticisms the man might want to make. She began to
lay it out for him, Vyners past and the possible importance of the Navy
connection, but he was soon nodding impatiently and finally cut her off. I
expect this means my son is now in the clear.

It was issued as a challenge, not a
question. Ellen looked to Challis for guidance, but Challis felt a surge of
anger, which went unrecognised by McQuarrie, who went on, You were way off
beam there, Hal, admit it. Wasted man-hours, unnecessary

The anger built in Challis, the
product of weeks of frustration and grief. It was hot and blinding. He had to
blink. He said tightly, No ones in the clear, least of all your son. He was,
and is, a logical suspect.

Logical? You dislike my son. Theres
no logic involved.

Ellen coughed. Ill continue
searching, she said, and slipped out of the room. The men ignored her. They
were facing off rigidly.

What have you got against Robert?
Is it that hes successful at what he does?

Challis felt goaded. He fought it. Identify
and eliminate, he said. Thats what we do. You know that.

McQuarrie flushed. He curled his
lip. The politics of envy, Hal. My son explained it to me. Its insidious,
spread by people like Tessa Kane, but I have to say I didnt expect that
you
would ascribe to

Too late he realised that hed gone
too far. No offence, he said, taking a step back.

Challis advanced on him, stabbed a
forefinger against the mans softly padded breastbone. She was a better person
than you or your son will ever be.