Challis - 03 - Snapshot

by Garry Disher

  Wait! Did your husband tell you not to speak to reporters? Does he have something to hide, do you think?

  Perhaps you didnt hear me, said the woman distinctly, shutting the door with a brisk click.

  * * * *

  Ellen was in Upper Penzance, half relieved and half chagrined to be working with Scobie Sutton instead of Challis. Their interview with Connie Rinehart completed, she got behind the wheel of the CIU Falcon, flipped open her mobile phone and reported in. Hal? Rinehart never met Janineit was all arranged by her doctor.

  What can you tell me about her?

  Thirty-four, suffers from agoraphobia, has scarcely left her house for the past five years. When Janine didnt arrive, she supposed shed made a mistake with the date or the time, but hadnt got around to checking with the clinic or her doctor. Shes very timid and withdrawn.

  Does she live anywhere near Mrs Humphreys?

  Several kilometres away.

  Does she know her?

  No.

  Does she know Christina Traynor?

  No.

  There was a pause, and Challis said, That leaves us with Janines phobia about making right-hand turns. Yesterday she was obliged to visit Rinehart at home, so she mapped out a route that would avoid turning right, and found herself in an unfamiliar area and stopped to check her street directory. Ive been looking at the map: someone driving from Mount Eliza to Upper Penzance without making right turns would probably pass through Penzance North. She was the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time, and got herself shot.

  Its a theory, Ellen said. See you back at the ranch.

  She started the car. Scobie promptly settled into yarning mode. Remember I was talking about Natalie Cobb yesterday?

  Ellen had been cooped up with him for hours, and forced herself to mutter, Yes.

  Well, Beth went to see the Cobbs after work yesterday. She told me something interesting. She arrived just as Natalie was slipping her mother some money. She said it was clear Natalie hadnt been to school all day. I myself saw her being picked up outside the courthouse by her boyfriend, and I guess she spent the day with him.

  Uh-huh, Ellen said, and then thought she should make an effort. Doing what with the boyfriend?

  Well, thats the question.

  Is the boyfriend known to us?

  Dont know. Dont know who he is.

  Be worth finding out.

  True.

  There was a blessed silence and then he said, Today was mad hair day.

  Ellens mind raced, but not for long. Hes talking about his bloody daughter again.

  If its mad hair day, or wear-what-you-like day, we have to get Ros up at least half an hour earlier than usual. She gets in a real knot about it, poor little thing. Do I look stupid in this? Are you sure its mad hair day? Youre doing it all wrong. And so on and so forth.

  The Suttons only child was a pale, wispy eight-year-old. Uh-huh, said Ellen.

  Maths, thats another thing that makes her anxious.

  I should be so lucky, Ellen thought. To break up the litany, she said, You spoke to the supers wife?

  Scobie groaned. Oh god.

  Bad, huh?

  She had plenty to say, but nothing to say, if you know what I mean.

  Ellen nodded. Janine was married to her son, and was therefore a paragon of virtue.

  That about covers it, Scobie said.

  * * * *

  Meanwhile Andy Asche was driving past the secondary college in Waterloo. Lunchtime, and Natalie, hanging around the front gate, gave him a nod, their signal that she was still intending to slip away from school during an afternoon lesson break and meet him around the corner.

  This afternoon they were hitting a house in Penzance Beach. Andy had a head full of potential targets. He worked part-time for the shire, in a job that took him all over the Peninsula. Last month, for example, hed spent two days delivering the new-style recycling bins to every house in Penzance Beach. At other times he might accompany the property valuation surveyor, going around to every property noting improvements and taking measurements for the next hike in shire rates. Or he drove around back roads, marking for attention ditches and culverts that were clogged with sand, twigs and pine needles.

  Whatever, he had a lot of facts at his fingertips. Such and such a house is always empty during the day. Another is only occupied on weekends, a third only in summer. This streets no good: theres always some busybody in her garden or staring out of her window. That street is full of barking dogs. Theres a top-of-the-range security system in this house; theres no security system in that house, despite the sticker in the window.

  Penzance Beach was always a good earner. A few locals lived there permanently, but mostly it consisted of beach shacks, which looked humble but were owned by wealthy city people who liked to come down on weekends or school holidays and maintain the level of comfort theyd grown accustomed to in the city: top quality TVs, VCRs, DVDs, microwaves, sports equipment, clothes, even mobile phones, cash and Walkmans left lying around in kids bedrooms. Wealth made teenagers indifferent to wealth. Andy Asches mother would have tanned his hide if hed been as careless with his possessions.

  * * * *

  27

  Challis had put in requests for assistance from the police and prison services in New South Wales after the mornings briefing, but when nothing had transpired by lunch time, he grabbed a sandwich from the canteen and checked his pigeonhole. The top circular read, Where circumstances and protocol allow, Victoria Police and civilian staff members will use both sides of a sheet of paper rather than two sheets. He almost crumpled it up and tossed it into the bin, but the circulars reverse side was blank, so he did the right thing and took it upstairs with him, to be used for making rough notes.

  Then Waterloo Motors called to say that his loan car was ready. He shrugged on his coat and left the station through the rear door to avoid the reporters camped outside the front door. Waterloo Motors was choked with cars awaiting service or repairs or to be collected by their owners. He picked out his loan car quickly, a rusted-out Toyota, with mag wheels, a fluffy steering wheel and the words Waterloo Motors pasted all over it. He collected the keys and drove it back to the station, enduring the blokey jibes of a few car-mad constables.

  By mid afternoon some preliminary information had come in from New South Wales. Blights prison visitors consisted of his parents, wife, brothers and two men whod once driven cabs for him. Hed shared a cell only once, with a man who was still incarcerated. Since then hed been in a single cell in a segregated block.

  What next? Fly to Sydney and interview every one of Blights visitors, every inmate in the prison? A sheer waste of time, and Challis couldnt see McQuarrie giving budget approval.

  Meanwhile he wasnt ruling out Janine McQuarrie as the intended victimor not entirelybut was prompted to close certain avenues related to her case by a bleating phone call from Robert McQuarrie: When are the police going to release my wifes body?

  Should be in the next day or two, Challis said, making a note to check with the pathologist.

  Theres also the car and her mobile phones. Surely youve finished checking them for evidence?

  A little chill crept over Challiss skin. Why the hurry? What was so important about these possessions ahead of the welfare of his daughter? These things take time in a murder investigation, sir, he said.

  McQuarrie said nothing but Challis could feel the mans irritation and impatience. You said phones? I understood that there was only one phone, he said, searching through the files on his desk for the crime-scene inventory.

  Two phones: one that she usesusedhands free in the car, and another that she carried around with her.

  Challis found the inventory. There was only one mobile phone listed, clip-mounted to the dash of the car. Hed assumed that was the phone Georgia had used to call 000. Had she used the second one instead? If so, where was it?

  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 peop
le 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.