Chain of Evidence

by Garry Disher

  What happened?

  Told you, he pulled a knife.

  Scobie said stupidly, That one?

  No, a huge Japanese samurai sword that we put back over the fireplace. Of course that fucking knife.

  I have to be sure, said Scobie defensively. So, he cut you?

  No, he gave me a haircut, said Kellock, clutching a handkerchief to his forearm.

  Kel, admonished van Alphen mildly.

  Sorry. Sorry, Scobie.

  Scobie didnt believe it. Can I see?

  Kellock proffered his arm. Three shallow cuts, parallel to the watchstrap. Defensive wounds.

  Too shallow, too neatly arranged, for that. Scobie swallowed again. Thats what your report will say?

  Why? You think Im lying, Detective Constable Sutton?

  Im just here to note what was said and done, thats all, Scobie said.

  Mate, youre a real character.

  They were creeping him out. He heard a vehicle arriving, a heavy motor. That will be the ambulance, he said, relieved.

  He was gone about a minute, greeting the ambulance crew and showing them to the body. Soon the little room was crowded, and Scobies view of the body obscured. Weak pulse, one of the paramedics said. We have to get him to the hospital pronto.

  Scobie saw van Alphen and Kellock exchange a complicated glance. Were they relieved? Worried? He couldnt say.

  I need to bag the knife, Scobie said, pushing through to Nick Jarretts body, taking an evidence bag from his jacket pocket. He paused. He could have sworn the knife had been in Jarretts left hand. He could have sworn that Jarrett had been wearing gloves. Jarrett gasped then, drawing a painful, rattling breath. His hands fluttered.

  Mate, an ambulance officer said, elbowing Scobie, we have to get him out, now.

  Scobie bagged the knife wordlessly, using his last few seconds to run his gaze over Jarrett. There was a cut above one eyebrow, signs of swelling on one cheek.

  Mate?

  Okay, okay, just remove his overalls first.

  He stood back while it was done. Finally Jarrett was carried out to the ambulance, which tore away, sounding the siren once it had reached the main road.

  Weve got a situation, Scobie said.

  No we dont, said van Alphen emphatically.

  Scobie trembled and his voice wouldnt come. There were procedures to follow. But van Alphen and Kellock were his police colleagues. At the same time, he didnt exactly mourn Jarrett, who was a killer, a man prone to violence. Scobie didnt doubt that a tox screen would show large amounts of speed in Jarretts system. Jarrett would have been volatile, vicious and unpredictable, so it could have happened as described by van Alphen and Kellock.

  Headquarters will have to look into this.

  We know that.

  There will be a coronial inquest.

  In about a years time, Kellock said. A lot can happen in that time.

  Boss, I need to bag your weapon, Scobie said, his voice not holding up. I also need the outer clothing of both of you.

  Well, sure, said Kellock, not moving.

  I have to do this by the book, gabbled Scobie.

  Wouldnt have it any other way.

  I have a couple of forensic suits in the back of my car.

  Not a problem.

  Van Alphen and Kellock said nothing more but stared at him. He could feel their eyes at his back as he left the house.

  * * * *

  One hour later, dawn light streaking the horizon, Scobie called in at McDonalds for breakfast, a guilty Big Mac with fries because his nerves were shot. Then he called the hospital, learning that Nick Jarrett had died in the ambulance, and finally called Ellen to report the shooting a clumsy conversation on his part, he felt. Finally he drove up to the city and delivered the knife, gloves, bagged clothing and .38 to the ForenZics lab, arriving as the doors opened for the day. A guy called Riggs, young, abrupt, irritable, took custody of the evidence, the irritation growing as he removed the items one by one. Jesus, pal.

  What?

  Cross contamination.

  I was rushed, said Scobie, feeling sulky. Its clear enough what happened.

  Not to me. Gunshot residue and blood evidence are easily transferred. Youve got the clothing of several people here.

  Three: two police officers and the victim, a burglar.

  Oh, well thats all right, then, said Riggs snidely.

  One officer was slashed with the knife. He then shot the burglar.

  Dont you have procedures for collecting evidence? My findings will be meaningless.

  Scobie felt like weeping. None of this was his fault. Please see what you can do.

  * * * *

  26

  When Ellen arrived at work that morning she found people congregated in corridors and doorways, whispering, murmuring. It was partly elation, partly awe, partly apprehension about the fallout that would follow now, not only for Kellock and van Alphen but for all of them. Nobody was very sorry about Jarrett. Some were almost pleased that hed been shot dead, although they could not have done it themselves. Feelings were complicated, uneven, hard to pin down.

  She walked past Kellocks office. The door was open. He beckoned her in, saying, You heard?

  Yes.

  He looked exhausted. Van and I have been limited to desk duties until its sorted out.

  Ellen nodded. It was to be expected.

  But feel free to call on us if you need help with the Blasko investigation.

  Ellen blinked. Really?

  No problem, said Kellock evenly.

  * * * *

  Scobie was waiting for her upstairs. He hadnt shaved; his thinning hair was awry. Ellen, he said, relieved.

  She took him into her office. He wouldnt sit but paced in agitation. She waited, eventually prompting him: The Jarrett shooting.

  He continued to pace.

  Scobie!

  He jumped. What?

  Its clean, right?

  He was silent for some time. I got there about five this morning.

  And?

  I was tired. I wasnt taking everything in.

  Ellen closed her eyes, opened them again. Are you saying there are anomalies?

  He considered that. Theres an explanation for everything.

  You did it by the book, Scobie, tell me you did it by the book.

  He sat finally. He twisted in his seat. I can explain.

  The explanation was disjointed, and at the end of it she said, Was the knife Jarretts?

  Scobie stared at the carpet, then lifted his sorrowing face. She heard the fretfulness as he asked: Was he left or right handed? Was he or wasnt he wearing gloves? I went back there just now: the carpets been shampooed already.

  Ellen watched him.

  I got a bad vibe, Ellen, he said, not meeting her gaze.

  She wondered if hed ever uttered the word vibe aloud before. It didnt sound right in his mouth. What kind of knife was it?

  Generic kitchen knife. Could have come from anywhere. Could have come from the house.

  He always wore gloves?

  According to the collators, yes. His girlfriend wouldnt confirm or deny. Nor would his family.

  An image of Laurie Jarrett came to Ellen. She coughed. God, Scobie, I dont want a dirty shooting.

  Its not yours to worry about, Scobie said sourly. It was a uniformed operation, and the police shooting board will be stepping in.

  Still.

  Into the pause that followed, Scobie said softly, They threatened me.

  Who? The Jarretts?

  Van Alphen and Kellock.

  Theyre just a bit macho, thats all. They like to intimidate.

  It was more than that. When I arrived just now, Kellock said, Hows that daughter of yours going? A clear threat.

  Doesnt sound like one.

  You werent there, Scobie muttered.

  * * * *

  Ellen had barely started work when a call came from the front desk: Laurie Jarrett was in the foyer, angry, distraught. He wants to see you, Sar
ge.

  Me? The stakeout was a uniformed operation, not CIU.

  He says his nephew was set up, ambushed. Hell only speak to you.

  Put him in a conference room. Have a uniform outside the door.

  Sarge.

  Wondering what shed done to earn Laurie Jarretts regard, Ellen went downstairs, a part of her thinking that Nick Jarrett had got what he deserved, another part hoping it had been a clean shooting.

  She found the patriarch of the Jarrett clan in the foyer conference room, two nervous constables standing beside his chair. Hed come storming into the station, according to the officers on the front desk, but now looked calm and unreadable. Thanks for seeing me, he murmured.

  Ellen got down to business. Youre saying the police set your nephew up?

  I know they did, Jarrett said.

  The mans low tone and steady demeanour spelt barely concealed fury. Were sorry for your loss, Mr Jarrett, but

  You cunts set him up and bushwhacked him.

  Ellen flushed. Mr Jarrett, I know youre upset, but I find your language offensive.

  So charge me.

  It was 9 am. Shed brought her coffee mug with her and toyed with it now, idly noticing the words printed across it: Our day begins when yours ends. She looked up; Laurie Jarrett was staring at her bleakly across the conference room table. I want a face-to-face with the officers who shot Nick, he said.

  Theres no way thats going to happen.

  I want a full inquiry.

  All police shootings are rigorously examined, she said.

  He snorted. Words.

  Like I said, the shooting will be

  Youve always had it in for my nephew. Youve had it in for all of us.

  She wasnt going to take that lying down. Our officers are called to your house at least once a fortnight, Laurie. Legal searches of the cars and bedrooms of your sons, stepsons and nephews have regularly uncovered drugs and stolen goods. The younger kids are caught shoplifting almost weekly. You yourself have a record for burglary and assault. Did we fit you up for all of those crimes and charges? I dont think so.

  This time, he snarled, stabbing the table top with a slender finger, this time you did.

  Ellen shifted uncomfortably, compelled by his looks again. She didnt want to admit that it was a form of attraction. In response, something shifted in his gaze. Hed sensed the alteration in her body, and almost but not quite smiled. Then, to her astonishment, his eyes filled with tears.

  It wasnt a clean shooting.

  Laurie, he attacked two officers with a knife.

  A kitchen knife, possibly from a set found in the kitchen of the house. Ellen made a mental note: how did Nick Jarrett enter the house? Which rooms did he enter before being accosted? Did he go to the kitchen?

  He was lured, Ellen, Laurie Jarrett said.

  It was a shock, his using her first name, and quite out of order. He was a burglar, Mr Jarrett. Weve found burgled items in his girlfriends flat from time to time. He burgled to a pattern. We identified that pattern and intercepted him. He took drugs and was prone to violence. It was always going to be a matter of time before something like this occurred.

  Jarrett gave her a look, a man with a permanently unimpressed mind. It was a cops look, frankly. Eventually he said gently, Youre a sore loser.

  If thats all, Ellen said, standing, I have work to do.

  Just the beginning, sweetheart, Jarrett said, uncoiling gracefully from his chair.

  There will be a coroners inquest in due course.

  You mean a coroners whitewash.

  Ellen lost it, just a little. Look, weve just had the abduction and sexual assault of a young girl. Shes lucky to be alive. I am yet to find the man, or men, responsible. Meanwhile, the shooting of your nephew will be given full attention, but its not my concern.

  Laurie Jarrett, a slender, shapely, dangerous man, a man who had her number, smiled. The smile didnt reach his eyes. Katie Blasko is not the only one, he murmured.

  Ellen stiffened. What do you mean?

  He ignored the question and got to his feet. I have a lot to do, a grieving family, a funeral to arrange.

  * * * *

  Ellen returned to the CIU incident room and waded through reports and witness statements until mid afternoon. It was all fruitless, until Riggs, the technician from ForenZics, called. We have the results on those Katie Blasko samples.

  Ellen was impressed: shed expected the results much later. Maybe Superintendent McQuarrie had done the right thing in contracting CIUs forensic testing to the private lab. Not that the situation in any way matched the ideal, the ideal being one of those American cop shows like CSI, where a detective walks down a flight of stairs with a blood or fibre sample, and there is the lab, and the lab is full of experts who process evidence on the spot with state of the art equipmentand who also go out and make arrests. Even so, ForenZics had processed the samples from the Katie Blasko abuse house quickly. In Ellens experience, the state lab was often running weeks, even months behind. Not only had successive state governments failed to fund it adequately, but it was also swamped with work, for defence and prosecution lawyers had come to believe that forensic evidence could prove or disprove everything. Even the privately owned labs like ForenZics were overworked in testing samplesgiving second opinions, confirming the state labs results or throwing them into doubt. Consequently judges and prosecutors were putting pressure on the police to find additional, better and more irrevocable evidence.

  That was quick, Ellen said. Thank you.

  Just doing our job, Riggs said.

  Ellen swivelled in her chair. She gazed at the perforated ceiling battens, then unseeingly through the window that overlooked the car park and its scattering of police and private cars. So, what did you find?

  The bad news first. Plenty of fibres, but theyre generic to all kinds of cotton and synthetic clothing.

  DNA, said Ellen firmly, thats what I want.

  Dont rush me. We found blood, other fluids and skin traces that are a DNA match to Katie Blasko.

  As expected. I want to know who else was there.

  Dont rush me, said Riggs again. For your information, we did find traces of someone other than the victim.

  Enough for DNA?

  Yes.

  Ellen felt her skin tingle.

  And hes in the system, Riggs said. Neville Clode. He lives in Waterloo.

  * * * *

  Ellen left her office and found Scobie Sutton in the incident room, examining the doorknock canvass sheets, studiously ignoring Kees van Alphen, who was thumb tacking a wall map of the Peninsula. Ellen paused. Heard about the shooting, Van, she murmured. Bad luck.

  Or good luck. Depends how you see it.

  Quite. She pointed at the map. What are you doing?

  Since Im desk bound, I thought Id help CIU. Im mapping sex crimes. The blue pins are the home addresses of known sex offenders.

  There were not many of these, and most lived in the main population areas: Waterloo, Mornington and the coastal strip from Dromana to Sorrento. The red and yellow pins?

  The red pins show the locations of sexual assaults on children by strangers, the yellow pins show the locations of related offences.

  Good work, Ellen said. And it was, painstaking and probably pointless. A lot of police work was like that. What do you mean by related offences?

  Women, and young girls, have reported flashers along here, van Alphen said, indicating a couple of popular beaches. This woman he indicated another yellow pin was walking her dog and a man grabbed her breasts from behind. She screamed and he ran. She followed him to a nearby house, then called the police, who promptly arrested him.

  Ellen shook her head. Most crimes were stupid. Most criminals were stupid. This pin, van Alphen went on, indicates reports of men seen lurking near public toilets and schools.

  Fantastic, Van, thank you. Were stretched for resources.

  No worries.

  But broaden what youve been doing. In addition to incide
nts that are clearly sex related, I want everything you can find about abductions, abduction attempts, unsolved disappearances and murders, particularly of children and young people.